I love Dartmouth. I do. But sometimes, I can't help but wonder whether my general standards of health have deteriorated since starting school here. I am now numb to the smell of a fraternity basement. I am more of an expert on digging six-inch holes than I would care to admit. And with my broken wrist currently in a cast, showers are now more of a luxury than an absolute necessity. Somewhere in Dartmouth's history, it became not just accepted, but condoned, to be really, really filthy. A friend of mine actually once told me that she did not want to hang out in Sig Ep's new house because the basement was "too sterile." Since when does anyone not hang out somewhere because it's TOO clean? Dartmouth, we have hit rock bottom. It's time to clean up our act. Literally. Consider this issue an opportunity for self-reflection on the not-so-savory hygiene practices you have perhaps adopted since coming to Dartmouth. Or at the very least, use this issue of The Mirror to wipe the frat juice off your shoes. It's gross and smelly, and the person sitting across from you is probably just being nice.
Letter from the Editor
