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Ahhhh, college. Give a rouse for a liberal arts education and wholesome experiences that have the power to shape you as a person! However, have you ever wondered just how much these experiences have changed how you see the world? Fear not, for I can assure you that Dartmouth experiences have definitely changed you for the better.
To rally, or not to rally — that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to studyThe bio and art history of outrageous liberal artsOr to take arms against a sea of Keystone™
’19: “Playing shrub is like playing Quidditch with only two hoops.”’20 #1: “He just kept trying to kiss me over and over again”’20 #2: “Like a perpetual motion machine toward your face”’19 (Post-Super Bowl): "I tried to kick him out last night, but you can't remove someone from a three-person group message."’20: “Do you NOT know the term wall star?”
I’m sure you’re all familiar with the beloved children’s program “The Magic School Bus,” in which a batty school teacher leads a group of intrepid elementary school students on wacky adventures through time and space, learning a broad array of facts about the natural world along the way.
In my second year at the Delaware Advanced Institute for Unreality Studies, the Blockor Memorial Art and Artifice Speculum, where I worked as a work-study student attendant, hosted a special exhibition entitled “Space Astonishes!” — an exploration by several musicians and visual artists of the aesthetic category of the sublime.
An important woman in my life once told me that “minor distinctions make the man” — a token aphorism whereby she justified her ceaseless vituperation of others, often me, for transgressing upon “Good Style” so criminally as to put prepositions at the ends of sentences (something up with which she simply could not put). “Fitzgerald said that,” she said, after saying it herself two or three times. “He always had his suits tailored at Brooks Brothers, you know.”
“Sarah!” I’d cry, “Bradford! How would you like to join me out on the fire escape? We can smoke clove cigarettes and read Camus to one another!”
My rental bike was stolen last week from the knoll between Fahey-McLane and frat row. Let me say, if you’re the mongrel who stole it and you’re reading this, I wish you no bodily harm. I would rather you grow up to perfectly resemble a parent you despise, or a person whose presence will remain addicting to you for the rest of your life breaks your heart, or you realize on an early deathbed that you never had a proud moment that came from within.
The topic of this article is sorority rush. My first introduction to the nightmare circus of sorority rush came when I was a sophomore, sitting in Collis and watching what I later learned were bids get handed out. I saw girls come up to the table where the Rogue Eyes were seated, open an envelope and proceed to either screech with glee, or to twitch a little and give an affected “Yay!”
“Son of a Gun” is a Dartmouth drinking song that’s managed to survive into the 21st century through the repertoires of a cappella groups and oddball enthusiasts. It’s also a favorite of mine, primarily because it’s basically a song about beer, which, along with my girlfriend and “Seinfeld,” constitute the only three things that give my wretched life any meaning. “Son of a Gun” is a joyful panegyric on fun and festivity — “Let every honest fellooooow / Drink his glass of hearty cheeeeeer! / For I’m a student of old Dartmouth and a son of a gun for beer!”
A little blasphemous, a little extreme, very dark and maybe a little bit true. Or completely true, at least in spirit, as I judged when I heard this for the first time. Meet circa-2004 Aaron R. Pellowski ’15, a moody adolescent equipped with a decidedly anti-other-people disposition and an ego so bloated it almost burped. I became demonically obsessed with the theory that any person even remotely in touch with the world should be petrified with disgust.