Over the next three days—“Dimensions,” in fancy admissions-talk—you may notice some changes around Dear Old Dartmouth, and we at TDI know that change is threatening and uncertain, like our change from diapers to undies (surprisingly successful), or from safety-blankie to no safety-blankie (transition far less smooth. Give it back! GIVE IT BACK!!). You’ll have questions: “Who are all these kids? I’ve never seen them on Facebook.” “Where did these dudes sleeping on my floor come from—is my roommate gay?” “Why are there all these hot girls at Sig Nu?” “What ‘rock-climbing gym’?” “Do you think Karl Furstenberg took into account whether they would hang out or not? I hope so.” “Oh, which part of Connecticut are you from?” “This is just a curiosity question: what is the age of consent in New Hampshire?” “Doug…are you...gay?”

Sure the college-shopping process is confusing for all the prospies, but everyone seems to forget that, dammit, it’s confusing for us “Dartmouth students” too! And so we at TDI have endeavored to break down our new visitors into easy-to-digest categories that should help you fulfill that essential human craving for completely-uninformed judgment of other people. Here they are, the prospies you’ll be running into/over in the next few days:

The Nervous Prospie—this prospie is easily identified by his skittish demeanor and atrocious striped sweater (thanks for nothing, Hanukkah Harry). He’s the one in the ‘prsmob on Webster Ave. playing the angel perched on every scrawny prospie shoulder. “I don’t know guys, I don’t think we should go into that frat house, drinking is totally illegal if you’re under 21. I heard they kick you out of Dartmouth and the police put you in jail for a month if they catch you—and they tell your parents! Come on guys, I heard there was a jewelry workshop at Collis and that panel about diverse experiences at Dartmouth looks really neat. We could get ice cream after! Guys…guys…” But what are a capella performances against the Allure of the Forbidden (note: lumberjacking competitions, like the one pictured above that convinced your author to come to Dartmouth during Dimensions of yore, are another matter entirely)? And who is the ferryman to the Prospie Netherworld, that smoky, fratty den of vice and legend, who but the…

The Nascent Sweet Dude Prospie—his sweetness has been forced to lie dormant under the harsh topsoil of high school excellence. Between that 4.3 GPA, that Latin Club presidency, and those parents (“majorly weak”), this prospie’s sweetness has been stifled, suffocated until now, but ready to bloom into a beautiful ragey flower now that he is officially At College. “Dude, are you serious? Look at all these frats! I’ll bet there are people in them getting, like, actually alcohol-drunk right now! Maybe even weed-drunk! Come on guys, I knew this guy in high school who is a brother at Sigma Phi Epsilon, I can totally get us in there. I heard they’re serving beer there. Did you know they drink Keystone Light here? What? How is it possible that you’ve never heard of it? Dude, it’s so good, it’s like the best beer ever. Like, I would drink it at every meal if I could. I mean, I will, once I’m in college. One time, I was at this party (at this girl’s house), and I drank so many beers that I actually threw up. Everyone at the party was like, ‘Holy cow, that kid just drank so many beers. How is it even possible for a human being to drink so many beers?’ No, I’m not making this up!”

Of course, not all Nascent Sweet Dude Prospies are all talk and no game—your author’s host’s other two prospies actually got a room at the Hanover Inn (!) to take prospettes back to. Meanwhile, I danced with a girl—I mean, college-danced, which is pretty close to third base I think. She never came back to Dartmouth, much like the prospie I hos(t)ed last year.

The I’m Not Even Going Here Prospie—“I don’t know, Dartmouth is ok, I guess. Like, I’m really more of a city person and so, like, being out here in the middle of nowhere isn’t really worth it for a school that was only ranked ninth in the 2006 U.S. News and World Report college rankings, which I coincidentally just finished masturbating to. I’m really just here to waste my parents’ money, but I’ve actually already decided on Yale.” You know this prospie—the one who conspicuously wears around a hoodie emblazoned with another Ivy League school’s name and who rolls his eyes and tries extremely hard to look bored in the classes he sits in on. “I mean, history is interesting and all, but I learned all that stuff in my AP class in sophomore year. I know, most people took it their junior year, but I still got a 5 on the test.” But as prospie dichotomy dictates, there is indeed a prospie Leonardo to this prospie’s Shredder…

The I Am So Going Here! Prospie—this prospie is the one with the Dartmouth t-shirt, Dartmouth shorts-with-the-letters-on-the-ass, and Keggy socks. While the other prospies are trying to figure out where the computers are (to check High School Facebook) or, indeed, where their rooms are (“For the love of God, where is the River Cluster? How did I walk twenty minutes from the Green and end up at the Green again? I’m going to get mugged, I just know it! MOMMMM!” –the author, 4:30am, Dimensions 2004, night one), this prospie has already mapped out the campus, been to Homecoming, done the “required” reading (tip: not required), and gone on a DOC Trip (what?). You will know this prospie because he knows more about Dartmouth than you do: “Hey, I noticed that you go to Dartmouth. So you can tell me whether the 1934 Jose Orozco mural ‘The Epic of American Civilization’ is in the basement of Baker Library or Berry Library, right?” “Uhhh…there’s vending machines in Berry…and I think there’s an art museum here? Or something…”

The First-Time-Drunk Prospie—out of all the prospies, this one’s the surest bet for strolling into your basement a few months down the road, two nights before Orientation starts and before even putting sheets on his bed, and calling next on a table. The First-Time Drunk Prospie decides to have “one or two” beers, just to get a little taste of what college life will be like, and, four games of tree later, has decided that Dartmouth is somewhere between martyr heaven (the one with the virgins) and a neverending water park, but with candy instead of water. “Duuuude, everyone here is soo smarrrt and…and…cool and…all the girls/guys are realllly hot…wait…who peed in my pants?”

Of course, there are other subgroups and outliers: the I Must Do Every Single Activity on the Dimensions Schedule Prospie, the I Must Do Every Single Activity on the Dimensions Schedule While Baked Out of My Mind Prospie, the My SAT Score Somehow Slips Into Every Conversation Prospie, the College Boys Are So Dreamy/College Girls Are So Purty Prospie, and the ‘Prsmob Captain (it’s important to have one, you know). But that’s a starter for you—now go forth and welcome them with open arms and open beds. But not Open Containers for God’s sake—don’t you know anything about NH law you crazy prospie?!