Joe Kind: A Guy
The time has come, for me to lip-sync for my life.
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The time has come, for me to lip-sync for my life.
Two years ago today, I was on my 20-hour return busride to Buenos Aires, Argentina. I had just spent the long weekend in Bariloche, Argentina’s equivalent of Vail or Vancouver. This trip occurred a little past the halfway point of my Spanish LSA, during the dead quiet of Bariloche’s fall season. The town was pretty sleepy, waiting patiently and eagerly for snow — unlike Hanover during any of my four fall quarters at Dartmouth.
There I was, in a room full of mirrors. I had known this feeling of fear was inevitable, and yet I still wasn’t totally prepared for what was to come.
A sophomore on the women’s swim team recently revealed to me that she and her parents talk on the phone three times a day.
I had an extra hour to spare on Sunday, when my two-hour commitment ended unexpectedly early. My body was itching for a workout of some kind. My body does this to me when too many days pass without any real form of exercise. The day was too nice to waste in the gym, though.
My ethics and public policy professor assigned the class a paper topic of particular salience for those preparing to enter the job market — “Among the occupational choices available to you, are you morally obligated to choose an occupation that (you believe) serves the social good?”
This first week of the spring term featured discussions of spring break activities in all their predictable forms. Across campus, sun-kissed faces exchange tales of adventures and extravagances. What was less discussed though, were the moments in between: the tranquilities and the comforts of rest, at home or elsewhere.
’Twas the night before 16S, with students on the loose.Not a creature was resting, not even a moose.
This past weekend was the men’s swimming and diving Ivy League Championships meet, or “Ivies,” as we call it. I was lucky enough to watch my teammates swim their final races of the season at Brown University. I concluded my swim season, and ultimately my collegiate swimming career, a little over five weeks ago. The team at that time was just beginning to weather the bulk of its competition schedule. Now that the entire team is done, I have the pleasure of watching my teammates, particularly my fellow seniors, begin the struggle that is permanent NARPdom. The lifestyle is a transition — no more 6 a.m. practices, no more morning and afternoon workouts and no more excuses to eat multiple Foco desserts at dinner. That is, no more predetermined schedule around which everything seems to operate. Five weeks later and my body and mind are still struggling to put the pieces together.
I think I can speak for most college students across the country when I say that home matters. These connections are sure to fall on a spectrum, but these relationships inevitably exist in some form.
My name is Joe Kind. I’m a guy. I love FoCo desserts and long walks on the beach. People say I’m really shy when they first meet me, but once they get to know me they realize how much fun I am!
Dear Governor Bush (or should I call you Jeb?) (or should I really just call you Jeb!),
I finished my collegiate swimming career this past weekend and I still can’t believe it.
One of the biggest problems I have with my day-to-day life here at Dartmouth is how hard it is to find time for fun reading. You know, fiction and non-fiction books and articles that I can read purely for my enjoyment without the pressure of an essay and a grade. Not to say I do not enjoy my readings for class; I do not consider this problem of mine to be one that is exacerbated by Dartmouth, per se. The issue is more about the insane amounts of time I spend in front of electronic screens. I doubt I am completely alone in this sentiment — even in these beautiful woods. But I do wonder if I could do a better job.
This past weekend was the first time in my four years here that I ate more of my meals in town than in FoCo. For people who know me well, this is a big deal! Until this fall I used a good 17 or 18 of my 20 weekly mealswipes in FoCo. Many of my friends even call me “FoCo Joe,” though that nickname was actually conceived as the title of my long-standing column on Dartbeat, the online blog companion to the print version of The Dartmouth. Humor me while I self-cross-promote, and use fake words while I’m at it — FoCo Joe chronicles my creative endeavors as a wannabe dessert chef in Dartmouth’s most family-friendly cafeteria. Indeed, FoCo’s vast collections of eats and drinks ought to satisfy everyone, in my humble opinion. Meals are often my favorite parts of my days here: if not for the food, then for the company. Not that I am opposed to any quality solo meals upstairs, or even in the forbidden dark side. I am just advocating strongly for spending quality time leisurely with friends over a meal or a coffee.
I spent my New Year’s Eve at home with my drunk friends — Kathy and Anderson — on CNN squabbling with one another. I, sober and stressed by packing woes, watched in awe as the ball dropped in Times Square. Would I ever be there in person? Hell no. I can only imagine myself standing in the same place for hours at a time, having to pee discreetly in a plastic water bottle or suffer the consequences of holding it in, wondering “Why in the world would I ever commit to such a heinous act?” Maybe I could do it with the sweet coddling of a significant other, in the hopes of making it on America’s home screens while making out. Or, better yet, making out while simultaneously showing off my Confused Baby Boy adorned with layers and layers of fleece. “He is so cute and cuddly,” America will think. Well, in this case, America is stupid. Babies deserve better.
Wow, did week nine hit me hard.
I hate to admit it, but there is something special about going for a drive.
Halloween has rolled around, and once again I am struggling to think of a good costume.
The social media hashtag “no new friends” has existed for quite some time now as a seemingly clever photo caption or as its own hashtag supplanting a witty Facebook status or tweet (for those of us who still tweet…). Like many trends, the phrase has lost much of its original pleasing power at the cost of its rising ubiquity. But perhaps there is a deeper truth here as well.