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This week, the Mirror explores the beautiful and beastly parts of campus, of Dartmouth and ourselves. Does beauty ever become beastly? When are beasts beautiful? In this issue we look at both sides of the coin, night and day, good and bad. We aim to find beauty in every beast and shed light on the beastly side of what we call beautiful. What are the beastly, or wild, aspects of campus? One might see evidence of the “untamed” parts by observing the strewn beer cans on Frat Row after a weekend full of parties, Theta Delta Chi fraternity at 2:30 a.m. or the Big Empty Meeting Area at midnight. While the beastly side only shows up every now and then, Dartmouth’s beauty is on full display every day. It’s in its expansive grounds, in the quiet peace of the Tower Room, the well-worn front steps of Robinson Hall. Most of all, it’s in the people — people’s smiles, hugs and friendly “Hellos.”
On any given morning, as I walk to my 9:00 a.m. class, I have a 50 percent chance of running into — that is, physically colliding with — someone running on the sidewalk. Dartmouth’s campus is filled with people being active, running, biking and playing frisbee on the Green. The weather barely registers; you’re just as likely to see someone jogging in the rain as in the 80 degree sunshine. It’s undeniable that Dartmouth’s student body is an unusually athletic one, with 75 percent of undergraduates participating in sports. With such an athletically-involved campus, I looked into whether or not the college’s active culture affects the body image of the men of Dartmouth.
In a world infatuated with photoshopped supermodels and airbrushed celebrities, many struggle with coming to terms with their own sense of beauty and style. But how has the Dartmouth culture shaped the ways in which different people express their beauty and style while at Dartmouth?
Sometimes, when walking outside, the people in front of me walk really slowly and it makes me feel a bit agitated.
This past Saturday, I brought shame to my middle school self and disappointment to my high school beliefs. When I sent a picture to family, my brother teasingly called me “a hack fraud.” My father said, “They look a bit like my torn t-shirts”. My grandmother wanted to know why I had bought a small tent built with old jeans.
Most of us have an ex — a significant other, a hookup or even a friend. But not every college student has experienced “the X.”
It’s not unusual to find Dartmouth ranked highly on lists of the most beautiful college campuses, and not without good reason. From the fiery reds of fall to the delicate whites of winter to the vivid greens of spring and summer, it can sometimes feel like every inch of campus is manicured to perfection.
This week is an ode to the alphabet, to words. The alphabet is one of the first things we learn as children, symbols permanantly etched into our minds as we carefully traced the letters on colorful construction paper. This is where we begin. Twenty-six letters and a childhood song, and all of a sudden the world is a new place.
Most would agree that children deserve all the help that they need in order to develop into their best selves. Still, it may be surprising just how many programs Dartmouth has for college students that are dedicated to working with local youth. The six youth education and mentoring programs recognized by the Center for Social Impact — America Reads, DREAM, Growing Change, Outdoor Leadership Experience, SIBS and Summer Enrichment at Dartmouth — offer Dartmouth students a variety of ways to help children in and around the Upper Valley.
What does computer hacking mean? Today it can mean anything from using a computer to gain unauthorized access to information to simply accessing someone’s online credentials without permission, like when strangers “hack” Facebook accounts left logged in on public computers.
Swedish D.J. Avicii passed away on Apr. 20 at age 28. Since then, most of the media coverage has focused on speculations about the cause of his death and the toxic nature of electronic dance music culture. I will refrain from dissecting these topics because I believe that the fact of Avicii’s passing is more thought-provoking than the circumstances that surround it. The rest is bordering on gossip that does little to honor the memory of an artist who was generous to his audience and fully dedicated to the melodic and uplifting music many of us came to know him through.
You hear the words “I’m fine” all the time at Dartmouth. It’s part of the lingo, the same as words like “Foco” and “facetimey.” It’s just something we say. Whether we’re inundated by three midterms over the course of 48 hours, four extracurricular meetings in a single day or a crisis at home that we are unable to deal with, when someone waves at us across the hall and asks how we’re doing, the vast majority of us respond with the same two words.
If a Cornell or University of Pennsylvania student were to stand in the middle of the Green on a sunny day, they might overhear comments containing foreign phrases such as “My English class is such a layup” or “He never responded to my flitz....” The visitor might scratch their head, shrug their shoulders and say, “It’s all Greek to me.” At Dartmouth, we have our very own language, reflecting our unique culture cultivated in the hills of New Hampshire. With any language, there are idioms and expressions reserved for fluent speakers who understand these unique phrases.
The Rassias method, created by former French and Italian professor John Rassias, has touched countless students and teachers globally. Even after his passing in 2015, this legacy continues to grow and influence language education worldwide. Developed during Rassias’s time teaching languages to Peace Corps volunteers, the Rassias method was designed to engage people in learning the language by emphasizing real-life situations and the spoken word.
Numbers confuse me, science eludes me, but fortunately I possess the “useless” ability to hear the rhythm between words and read too deeply into texts — to transform the female body into a gesture of capitalist resistance, a character’s mixed skin tone into the embodiment of hybridity, a spectral figure into the enduring presence of our past or — if I’m feeling particularly misanthropic — the nonhuman, neoliberal Other.