Texas-sized dorms. The Estrogym and ping-pong. Vandy Vans. Fourth meal. It’s all coming to an end. What is this place we’ve been living in the past eight months? What were the goals of the Commons? Does anyone remember? Goal #1: Add to Vanderbilt’s prestige. Check. Selectivity for the Class of 2012 was 23%, and for the Class of 2013 it was 19%. Number of applications surged. These results may be due to the buzz of the Commons, or they may be predominantly due to other factors, such as a reputation for financial generosity. A slightly cynical measure of success, prestige nonetheless cannot be discounted. Goal #2: Build a culture of the mind. X. Listening to Dean Wcislo describe his ambitions for the Commons during a campus tour last spring, I couldn’t help but feel that vague air of suspicion that accompanies phrases such as “the ownership society” or “Every Man a King.” Dean Wcislo himself has been very accommodating, frequently opening up his home for student and faculty dinners. But his enthusiasm seems not to have caught on with the students. Why? It comes down to one inescapable fact: college is time-consuming, and most of us have little time left over for other events. It is not because we don’t value learning, but because we are so busy with schoolwork, or activities, or trying to recover from it all. For precisely this reason I’ve had trouble starting a band and the Vanderbilt Scientific Review (email if you’re interested; we’re trying again this fall). Do philosophical and political debates take place here? Yes, there is one ongoing in this study area right now as I type. But these discussions do not derive from a “spirit of the Commons,” they occur spontaneously among college-aged kids the world over. Case in point: last semester, my faculty head of house held screenings of the presidential debates in our seminar room. The discussions inspired by the debates lasted over an hour and touched on anything from Palin’s fashion sense to 19th-century leftist politics in the third world. But we didn’t get together because we were attached to the Commons; we were just interested in the election like everyone else in the world. Still, those of us in attendance felt we were, erm, somewhat eccentric in how we chose to spend that Friday night. This semester our head of house has tried to resurrect that spirit of discussion by screening three films on immigration. I was the only one who showed up. The licenses to screen the films cost $350 each. They dump top-notch jazz musicians right on our doorstep, for crying out loud. And nobody seems to care. Other initiatives have been more worthwhile. Each semester Stambaugh has held a “coffee house”; students sang, played their instruments, did stand-up comedy, and snacked on delicious food. We even had a spontaneous jam session. For once I felt a real sense of community. Similarly, a week ago Hank Ingram held a field day on an afternoon of rare sun. Top-40 radio fodder blaring, we bounced on a huge inflatable obstacle course, played soccer and Ultimate, and ate box lunches. These sorts of events should happen monthly, not biannually – and ideally, spontaneously. In light of the above, I hesitate to call the Commons an unqualified failure or success. Has the Commons facilitated us? Of course. But whose living situation wouldn’t be helped by a few million dollars? And at what cost socially, in terms of reduced bonding and feelings of resentment with upperclassmen? Have we freshmen “wasted” the Commons, as Katherine Miller writes? Perhaps. Spoiled brats? Possibly. But what is here to waste, besides above-average dining and enormous buildings? Even so, if history judges the Commons a failure, then the blame rests solely with us, the Class of 2012. They’ve done just about everything for us but cancel homework. We were given a Utopia. I hope we didn’t take it for granted.