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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.
Young Wes isn’t too fond of his classes. For example, he despises his 6D, which runs from 9 p.m. to 2 a.m. on Friday nights with x-hours scheduled exclusively over Green Key weekend. That’s right — 72 straight x-hours. “Moving Dartmouth Forward,” people. While he hasn’t yet honed his skills in “Primate Endocrinology,” he has developed quite the arsenal of excuses to get out of class. And it’s not your typical, “Oh, I overslept,” or “My throat hurts,” or the classic, “My family was slaughtered in a tragic boating accident in the Bermuda Triangle.” No, Wes has his professors wrapped around his little finger with some of the most creative whoppers out there. Let’s take a look at some highlights.
Senior Staff Photographer Seamore Zhu '19 explores the history of humans in relation to the Earth by capturing the way we have come to see and use nature to lock ourselves into smaller, more constructed spaces.
Happy week seven, Mirror readers. We hope you’ve recovered from your weekends dressing up in pastels, eating pig and frolicking in the mud. Perhaps the mother who Caroline heard exclaim to her son, “Honey, no offense, but Dartmouth students are SO weird!” was right after all.
Senior staff photographer Eliza McDonough '18 looks intothe nature of distractions.
In 1972, Dartmouth began accepting women. Once women arrived on campus, they not only immersed themselves into academic life, but also got involved in activities outside of the classroom. When they discovered that they could not join certain clubs, they created their own outlets for creativity. Jody Hill Simpson ’74 was one such trailblazer.
In Tomas Tranströmmer’s poem “The Blue House” (1997), a man stands in the woods outside of his home and sees with new eyes. It is as though he were dead and suddenly flooded with sight. Before him, the house transforms into a child’s drawing. The timber is heavy with sorrow and joy. The garden is a new world awash with weeds. The walls and ceilings tell a story different than he remembers. At the end of the poem, everything falls away except for a single image: a battered ship setting sail on raging seas. Each of our lives is trailed by a phantom life, he asserts, “a sister vessel which plows an entirely different route.”
You’re sitting in your 9L, absolutely exhausted and totally unable to pay attention to the subject that your professor is lecturing about. The notes on your laptop screen begin to blur as your eyes droop. Maybe you should check your email — that will give you something to do, to keep you from falling asleep.
You’re in your 9L. The professor opens his mouth to speak and you’re already bored, scrolling through Yik Yak and Facebook with both thumbs. Stop it. This term will be different. You’ll pay attention. You’ll love learning. Ooh! Snapchat! No, snap out of it. The Stamp Act and Tariff of Abomination used to fascinate you. What happened? Ugh, you wish you could go back in time when there weren’t distractions.
PLAN SAM: What are you looking forward to doing in the next four weeks?
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.
Happy week six, Mirror readers and happy May! It’s practically impossible to believe that 2016 is already one third over. Where has the time gone? More importantly, how has Caroline already given up on all 17 of her New Year’s resolutions?
Senior staff photographer Kate Herrington explores human nature and communication on campus.
Music professor Michael Casey is working with a new kind of musical instrument: the human brain. He is the director of Bregman Media Labs at Dartmouth, where music, computer science and neuroscience meet.
When we first meet someone new, especially at the beginning of college, the question we often ask after learning his or her name is “Where are you from?” This is likely because discussions about hometowns, shared cultures, mutual connections or friends, can be wonderful icebreakers when trying to get to know someone.
A couple of weeks ago, I read an article about the mating ritual of seahorses for a biology class about animal communication. The paper describes how a male seahorse will show interest in a female via a prolonged courtship dance, hoping to secure her as a life-long mate.
We’ve all been there. Staring at the never changing “12:17 p.m.” on our laptops, back row of Astro 2, wondering what soup awaits us at Collis. Just when the planets couldn’t get more boring, the stars align, and you see her. She’s so original with her Patagonia fleece, black leggings, Dartmouth baseball cap and white Converse high tops. You’ve never seen anything like her before. But you resist. She’s a black hole. Get any closer and she’ll swallow you up.
FULFILL SAM and SAM STILL are bent over their senior spring bucket list.
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.
Happy Wednesday, Mirror readers. Looking out at the falling snow as we pen this editor’s note, it’s hard to believe that we’re approaching the halfway point of the spring term. We can only hope for a snowless May, but at this point jinxing Mother Nature seems dangerous — next thing we know it’ll be snowing during Green Key. Dartmouth students would never get over such a travesty.