When I read stories like last Sunday's New York Times piece "Sex in the Ivy League," basically about how Harvard students are too uptight and take themselves far too seriously, I once again thanked my lucky stars that I go to Dartmouth, the Ivy League of Croos, gratuitous streaking and Animal House. Let's be honest, we don't only party harder than the rest of our Ivy bretheren, we laugh harder too. The perks of a 13% acceptance rate -- clearly more class clowns or, like, fun people.
Which is not to say Dartmouth is an easy place; maybe we laugh to keep from crying. Maybe we're overcompensating for self-perceived awkwardness. Of course, at Dartmouth everything is "awkward" (seriously, what is the deal with people banging jokes into the ground already?), so go figure. Read Rembert's spread so you can be funny, and I can stop rolling my eyes at people in lines for food. Flair alone can't protect you from a horrible sense of humor.
