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Let's play a game I learned as a child --Using the names James Wolfensohn, Daniel Patrick Moynihan, Ruth Bader Ginsburg, President George W. Bush, Jim Lehrer, Condoleeza Rice and Mister Rogers, you pick which one doesn't fit. I'll give you a clue: they're all commencement day speakers at elite universities. Forget for a second that one of the people on the list, Dubya, is a complete idiot and you'll realize that all of the above are respected intellectuals and leaders. Usually, this is where I'd go off on a tirade about George W. and how I think he's death for the intellectual spirit of this nation, but that's not my intention today. I have a problem with Mister Rogers.
As I write this article on the eve of the Student Assembly elections, I could care less. About what? Well, for starters the self-importants who think they have the "power" to change the way the campus thinks about alcohol, the Greeks, life, baby harp seals, the 15 library construction projects and DDS delivery. Right about now, I sense a certain SA President will be beginning a blitz to me extolling the virtues of our representative organization. But hear me out; I'm reformed. I do believe the Assembly is important and has a place on campus. I love GreenPrint and other endeavors pursued by the Assembly this year (Well, the jury's still out about that "brilliant" DDS delivery idea). However, contrary to what is publicized, such programs and initiatives are purely auxiliary to the functioning of our campus -- which is why all this talk of "reform," "spirit" and "democracy" is grating.
I particularly enjoy spring. The air is clear and warm -- when not overcast and rainy -- and romance is in the air. The smell of fresh-cut grass, the chirping of newly-hatched birds and the sight of dandelions in bloom are just delicious. Oh, who am I kidding? I'm as much of a sucker for moonlight walks and "Ghost" as the next gal, but let's get real. The most important spring feature is the semi-annual molting, when girls at Dartmouth begin to shed layers. There's nothing quite like awaking from the dreary slumber of a New Hampshire winter to see a bevy of beauties chewing cud and burning their translucent bodies on the Green.
Some people are "extreme hardcore," others are "hardcore," and still others like me rarely venture into Pine Park without a flashlight, flare-gun and supply of toilet paper. I've never really considered myself much of an outdoorsman. Sure, I do enjoy the occasional brisk trot up a modest hill, like the walk between the River Apartments and Food Court, but I've never really aspired for more than weekend-walker status. It was with this in mind that I greeted the idea of hiking in the thin air of Utah with reserved enthusiasm.
I'll admit it. I've become something of an Olympics addict over the past week or so. Last night, after finding myself hypnotized by Michelle Kwan and giggling childishly at Irena Slutskaya (she's got a funny name), I began to wonder, "Hey, why are there no great Indian Winter Olympians? Moreover, where's the Indian Winter Olympics team?"
Every day I open The Dartmouth, our newspaper and see the same thing. "Katie Greenwood hasn't the faintest clue." "Katie Greenwood has got it wrong." "Don't judge me just because I'm part of the Greek system." "We're inclusive." "We're mutually selective. It's all about the fit." And to this I say, "Who cares?"
Unless you are a high and mighty med student, like my friend Varun who thinks his future is paved with gold, chances are that you will need to submit a rsum at some point. (In Varun's defense, he is a self-described "salt of the earth, man of the people" type.) To help answer your questions, I'm introducing my roommate and part-time swami, LeVaur. Around these parts, LeVaur is the closest thing we have to Miss Cleo, the psychic. He's Jamaican. In case you're wondering, neither LeVaur nor I is qualified to be dispensing advice, so, as they say in Latin America, caveat emptor.
Lint flabbergasts me. I'm not talking about the stuff that creeps up my stomach to burrow in my navel. I'm talking about the fluffy gray residue in the dryer. Whenever I wash clothes, I'm always astounded to find how much has accumulated in the lint-trap of the dryer. (And why is it always an odd gray color? Occasionally it'll be some cotton-candy pink or bluish hue, but for the most part, it's a rather unattractive slate-gray tone. Even when I wash my whites, the lint always comes out the same color.)
Geographic ineptness is ravaging the country. This trend is an offshoot of Americentrism, the theory that we're great and the rest of the world can kiss our asses. The average American's knowledge of the world's geography extends only to a few main, let's call them, "countries": the United States, Mexico, Canada, South America, China, Great Britain, the Soviet Union, Europe, Asia, India and Down Under.
Have you noticed this new species roaming the country? They look and act just like you or me, for the most part, with one exception -- they seem to have cellular phones surgically grafted to their heads. I thought that, perhaps, I attended college at the one place immune to invasion by these people, but it looks like I'm wrong. I knew this place was doomed, as well, when a phone rang in my econ class. But at least there hasn't been a full-out assault by the cell-phone toters. Recently, I was sitting on a MetroBus in DC, admiring one such implant and picking out bits of conversation.
I just realized how rude I've been. I never
Having spent substantial parts of the last
Throw out everything you've been sent. Ignore everything you've been told. I'm the only advice-monger you need consult during your transition to college. Here, without further adieu, is the highly-praised, never-duplicated, much-anticipated "Top 20 Things You Should Know Upon Entering Dartmouth."
I had never before experienced what most people would consider a decent, or even normal, celebration of our nation's independence. And now that it's been a week, and I've finally recovered, I want to tell people about it.
The word "equity" connotes a balance, fairness and concepts of justice. We in the United States have long considered ourselves a just, equal and fair society. Internationally, however, this is not true. The political realitiy is we are an environmental bully. The U.S. government has repeatedly stymied attempts to forge a binding global agreement on global warming. The most recent attempt is the Kyoto Protocol, which the Bush administration has declared "dead" and "unfair" to U.S. interests. Before passing judgement that the Kyoto Protocol is unfair to the U.S., I suggest an in depth examination of environmental equity. President Bush is correct: Kyoto is an imperfect document, but it is the best one we have.
Is it just me, or are there ridiculously large numbers of SUV commercials on TV nowadays? I know that some people view the sports-utility vehicle as the best thing since coal burning power plants, but total immersion is hardly the answer. Consider the following. This past weekend, I was, in my typical anti-social manner, enjoying a Sunday NBA basketball game. At one point the game became so interesting (now I know why they don't show the Bucks and the Hornets on network TV more often) that I gave up on watching the action, choosing instead to undertake odd tasks I generally like to take care of least once a month, like washing clothes and dishes. But whenever they took a commercial break, I made sure that I was back in my seat, to sample the latest from Budweiser, Nike and Adidas, only to be inundated by Toyota, Isuzu, Ford, Chevy, General Motors and Dodge.
President George W. Bush's energy policy amounts to what I like to refer to as the Fight Club mentality. Don't understand what I mean? Consider the following. In the movie, Fight Club, Edward Norton's character, the nameless Narrator, crouches over Angel Face's (Jared Leto) prostrate body and gives him the whipping of a lifetime, brutalizing him and disfiguring his face beyond recognition. As we see this, the Narrator explains, "I wanted to destroy something beautiful."