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That’s Just How We Roll

(05/25/22 9:25am)

Even on our fairly small campus, Dartmouth students seem to utilize every alternate means of transportation — regardless of the season. In winter, that meant cross country skis, and now that the weather is warming, we’re taking out our skateboards, bikes and, of course, rollerblades. When the sun is shining, rarely a day passes when we don’t see someone blading, and we had to ask ourselves: Why is rollerblading such a staple across campus?


Living out the Listserv

(05/18/22 6:20am)

Ah, the sweet sound of the Dartmouth Listserv blowing up your inbox on a Monday morning. We despise the Listserv for many reasons. Most of all, we hate how it makes us think we’re more popular than we are. 35 new emails? That must be that woman emailing me back about that internship, or Hinman notifying me of the arrival of my outfit for Green Key and at least four flitzes from all the cute guys I made prolonged eye contact with in the library yesterday, right? No, unfortunately the Listserv breaks our hearts once again — it’s just the notification for the Sports Analytics meeting on Tuesday. 


Drunk Thoughts, Sober Words?

(04/27/22 6:20am)

I was in that fuzzy space between sleeping and waking when I remembered that I couldn’t remember. The trash can beside the bed, the backwards t-shirt, the taste of frat in my mouth. Nice. Within minutes I was out the door, sneakers slamming hard against the cracked sidewalks. There was a part of me that desired some sort of physical undoing, like the act of sweating would somehow rid me of my poor decisions from the night before. I ran four miles that morning and jumped into the Connecticut with all my clothes on, probably still half-drunk. Soggy and confused, I returned to my room with the lyric line of “Why the fuck did I just do that?” reverberating around the inside of my skull. I didn’t know the answer to my own question, but I suspected that it had something to do with what I couldn’t process, what I didn’t want to sit in. Waking up to the taste of stale tequila on your tongue and foreign bruises all down your body from drunken falls makes for a depressing morning.




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