Rory Levine: Time to leave the 'elitist' traditions behind

OK, I have to admit: I was disappointed. I know, I know -- the list is lame, it's absurd, it's totally biased; in fact, I too find the whole thing pretty damn obnoxious. And yeah, I know, bitching and moaning about being excluded after the second grade is pretty sad.

But try as I might to deny my feelings of dejection and woe to salvage the final shreds of my dignity before I graduate, they were real. Being left off of 34th Street's Cultural Elite List really bummed me out.

For those lingering few who remain wholly oblivious to this rather insufferable tradition, let me fill you in: once a year, the slackers, hacks and White Stripes fans over at the DP's sister publication take a break from writing crude jokes and vulgar innuendos to create and publish a list of approximately 40 seniors who have, by means unknown to the remainder of the student body, rendered themselves special, important or just plain unforgettable in the minds of 34th Street editors. Offering up reasons as simple and inexplicable as "being in Paris right now" or having hair that's blocked the view of many a Communications student, the list serves as little more than an overtly public means of commemorating friends and celebrating private jokes while reminding the rest of us -- numbering approximately 2,450 -- that we're just not quite as cool, at least not this week.

Honestly, though, I wasn't surprised by my omission. I've never been much of a "man about campus," at least not in the social scenes that matter to this much-ballyhooed list. Plus, as many of my friends know, Street editor extraordinaire (and Hamptons Magazine regular) Ross Clark and I don't exactly get along well. And while we could sit here and argue over every senior's qualifications, that's really not the point, either.

However, after I got over my rejection (yeah, fine, whatever, it took a few hours), I began to realize that it wasn't just this damn list that was getting to me. From the unavoidable BMOC showcase a month ago to the Mr. and Ms. Penn Bodybuilding competition a few weeks back, it seems like every time I gather the courage to stroll down Locust Walk, there's yet another contest being advertised, another chance for students to reject and snub the masses to allow a select few to reign. (I fully expect next year's Senior Gift Drive project to be the addition of velvet ropes guarding off select walkways for only the most elite toes.)

And heck, that's not even considering the upcoming fraternity and sorority rush season, a process I always assumed was designed to hurt as many feelings as possible by rudely dismissing interested students seemingly in favor of those with the right body mass, the right hair product and the right bank account.

It's no secret that from an admissions perspective, Penn is a highly competitive school, with each incoming class more and more selective -- Convocation practically exists for the purpose of advertising just this to the freshman class. And while it's unlikely that this trend'll slow down anytime soon, the student body seems unable to let this go, constantly challenging one another to find new ways to feel special by putting down their peers.

So what gives? Why is merely attending the fifth-most academically prestigious university in America not enough for so many of my classmates? Why are we so unsatisfied with selecting our words, our clothes and our friends and lovers that we choose to go even further by taking these judgments public, openly reminding others that try as you might, you'll never be "one of us?" Why can't we ever move past the kindergarten playground and stop excluding each other?

As I've mentioned before, this semester I caved and joined a senior society, a group of over-involved students supposedly intended to bring unity by, you guessed it, declining over half of the applicants. Somehow, to my utter shock (and my parents' overwhelming joy and pride), I was admitted, supposedly marking my entrance to the "cool kids' cafeteria table." Needless to say, I was quite uncomfortable with this newly acquired verification. I mean, what if I did the wrong thing, like eat -- for all I knew, eating could be "sooo last year."

Then, this past week, I got into an argument with my mom about choosing to exclude this achievement from my resum‚, a decision she seemed to think was equivalent to gunning down a group of handicapped preschoolers. I tried to explain to her that my inclusion didn't really mean much -- I was still as uncool and ostracized on campus as ever -- and I doubted future employers would be impressed by the society's approval, likely based on my selection of sweaters one evening. But just like Clark and his comrades last week, she too seemed to find valuable merit in privileged inclusion.

Look, I know we'll never all get along -- I'm not about to break into Kumbaya here. I'd just love to see these snooty traditions go the way of fellow snob Steve Madden and quietly sneak off campus. Hell, I may not be "culturally elite," but I can dream, can't I? Or has that gone "Members Only," too?

Rory Levine is a senior Communications major from West Nyack, N.Y.

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