Dear Doug,

In your response to a woman of color’s statement you quoted a few of her words: “I am highly impressed by their (the Bennets) sensitivity to the needs of every student on campus.”

You said you were pleased by this complement and boasted of the numerous awards the University has recently won for diversity and academics. You, once again, were lauded for social awareness.

You, of all people. Was it not you who was defrosted out of that block of ice (which was made into the hilarious Pauly Shore film, Encino Man II) and hired as president to make Wesleyan like it was during the end of your first tenure? Why aren’t there any extremely modern buildings next to the old ones? I am appalled.

Why, just the other day, my old college chum, Chauncey Hostetter happened to be on campus and drank four or five bottles of Johnnie Walker Blue while tripping so hard we almost became castrati. We then strolled through Clark Hall, barely noticing the place without the usual racial epithets and slurs. For old time sake, Chauncey and I went to chalk “Some Jews are really funny” only to find that anti-hate-based paint coats the walls. Thanks a lot Doug. We had to get our jollies by urinating on Low Rise and eating a baby.

You speak of unrest between the demographics. I can recall meeting a couple of hockey-playing WASPs at my exclusive country club, who said they were excited about living in 200 Church next year and destroying the gender binary in circuitry (“A female cable does not need to identify hirself as a female just because the male cable inserts itself into hir, or because it likes to give head,” one of them told me). These kids shouldn’t be in 200 Church; they have blonde hair, for L. Ron’s sake. They should be at DKE trying to figure out why that place smells like bleach while putting seven drinks on their cafeteria trays and sitting in the back of intro econ classes.

Furthermore, you speak of reverting back to the educational standards implemented in your first tenure. I can recall a mathematics professor telling me that students don’t even come to class hung over anymore. In fact, when he made a rum cake for the class the kids all told him that they were trying to keep straightedge. In my day I was so baked that the only way I could tell if it was a Friday morning class was if the girls still had vomit in their hair and the guys were strapped up to an I.V. I remember coming in so wasted that I didn’t even notice that a heroin needle was still in my arm or that I was wearing the girl I fucked’s muumuu. Even so, that was only when we went to class. I would spend most days masturbating to the syndicated episodes of Sex in the City on TBS and trying to learn the guitar part to Elton John’s “Tiny Dancer” only to realize that there is no guitar part to “Tiny Dancer” and then play MadLibs by myself.

It’s apparent that these students are just being held to a standard that is much too high. One of my colleagues wanted to write a Wespeak about the issue, but was afraid no one would respond because the kids were too busy working. In my day, everyone would respond to Wespeaks regardless of their workload. Maybe this is because in my day we had more bullshit classes (ex. “Introduction to Early 1990s Children’s Literature: Where’s Waldo?,” “Elementary Counting,” “Basic Breathing,” “Advanced Early 1990s Children’s Literature: Seriously, Where the Fuck is Waldo? I Have a Doctorate in This Shit and I Still Can’t Find Him,” and Dance classes), or maybe it is because my generation was much more comfortable pontificating and making statements on issues hastily and without research. Sure, in retrospect most of our thoughts have been proven wrong (e.g. the “Take Back the Night” program was started by members of NAMBLA; while working for the FBI Evan Carp won a Nobel Peace Prize for his ability to spot terrorists; the term “heteronormitive” actual comes from an Ancient Greek term meaning faggot), but we at least could act like we were smart, Doug, and that is the most important thing.

Look, Doug, I am not trying to say that I’m perfect (hell, I’m 72 years old and I’m writing in to a shitty newspaper), but I do own sixty-dollar socks and I’ve read Waiting for Godot. I realize that if I am supposedly writing this as a 72 year old man, you must be at least 117 or so, but what the fuck are you doing to the University that I am obviously out of touch with and occasionally donate money towards?