The best part of the Superbowl, besides when the Patriots MURDERED the Seahawks on the biggest stage and on the biggest play, was Left Shark.
Left Shark stole the half time show from Katy Perry, Missy Eliott and Lenny “Biggest Scarf In the World” Kravitz, and went viral. Since I only blog about hard hitting news, I decided to tackle the idea of the Left Shark as a student at Brown.
= .25 x Left Shark (I am
not a math concentrator)
Where would Left Shark live?
Left Shark couldn’t live in any of the freshman dorms because the water pressure is too low and a shark could not survive in a Keeney or Andrews bathroom. Trust me, I have tested this (R.I.P. Simon, my hammerhead friend). To be safe, Left Shark would live in the pool in Nelson because he is a shark and sharks live in water… no brainer. Also, realistically, Left Shark would eat any given roommate.
They ring Wriston Quad and Patriot’s Court; they’re bumping on any given Saturday night; and they are literally nothing like what you imagined after watching Animal House for the first time. Behold the modern Greek houses of Brown University, important brotherhoods to some and party venues to others. In this series, we take a look at College Hill’s Greek life through the years: its impressively rich history, its present-day situation, and its future.
Because of the abundance of information on Brunonian fraternities and sororities, this series will be divided into several parts.
To set things off, Ra Ra Brunonia presents: Greek Life, Part 1: The rise of the frat.
Last weekend, as I was perusing Facebook, I came across an invitation for yet another Brown party. To my delight, this party featured three of my favorite things: Tom Cruise, costumes, and boys dressing up, in costume, like Tom Cruise. Sign me up, I thought, and I quickly pressed “Join Event.”
Over the course of the week, my friend and I constructed the perfect outfits for this party. We became regulars at the Army/Navy Store, and I spent $60 in Urban Outfitters on a pair of new jeans. Ridiculous? Definitely. But you didn’t see my butt: By the time Saturday night had arrived, we had created the ultimate Top Gun personas. We had straightened our hair, applied our makeup, and perfectly placed our new aviators atop our heads. She was Maverick and I was Goose, and we were ready to take flight into “the target-rich” environment of memorable frat parties, our dog-tag necklaces hanging loosely around our necks. Our mission was to look like sex; mission was accomplished.
We finally made our way to Wriston and, much to our chagrin, there was a small—but still large enough to be frustrating—crowd standing outside of the frat. I was close enough to see the frat bros standing nonchalantly on their porch, decked out in pilot jumpsuits, hair gelled to perfection. My one friend took to using her body in an attempt to get in, but her boobs did nothing to entrance the stoic pilot at the door. Even my tried-and-true “shy and approachable” glance wasn’t working. So, my friends and I were left to wait outside amongst a sea of leather jackets, tipsiness slowly turning into sobriety.
News flash: Greek life is a man’s world. At least that’s the case according to Samantha Wishman, a Penn grad. In her recent article for The Daily Beast, “Frat Culture’s Woman Problem,” Wishman argues that a double standard exists between fraternities and sororities on college campuses: while fraternities are often given almost free rein to party and are only subject to disciplinary action when they commit serious criminal offenses, sororities are strictly scrutinized by their national organizations for even holding parties with alcohol. Continue Reading