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This feels ironic to write: Connor Allen gives his first-year self college advice. Yes, I am advising myself: He, who just recently asked Chat GPT “what should my career be?” and who still leans heavily upon upperclassmen for advice himself.
Fraternity rush season has at last come and gone. You didn’t have to look too hard to watch it unfold: One could have noted the sudden uptake in carefully crafted texts to upperclassmen, messages that are eager to show interest but certainly not too eager. Or you could have taken a look at Foco. Normally devoid of upperclassmen (no longer shackled by the inconveniences of the Ivy Unlimited meal plan), dark side was flooded with unexpected pairings of brothers and aspiring brothers alike for the past month. Chuckles were more nervous than usual, and perhaps the senior brother who had given up on a career in comedy found his hopes reignited by the easy laughs his charm generated among the ’26s.
About a month ago, my teammates and I finished the Dartmouth Outing Club Fifty. Some quick context: A bunch of people sign up in groups of four for the lottery-based chance to hike 53 miles in one go, with plenty of emotional and physical support along the way from disparate reaches of Dartmouth’s wonderful, wacky and brightly-attired outdoor community. As soon as my team and I were selected as some of the fortunate few to torture ourselves for a day and a half back in late June, I knew I was going to want to write about the experience. Plenty have done it, and I’ve grown to love the formal outlet for reflection that a good published article provides.
According to an average Instagram scroll, there are a couple different types of winterim available to Dartmouth students, all of which have their pros and cons:
Dartmouth fall is in full swing. By this point in the term, you have likely been subjected to incessant Instagram stories of fall foliage — myself admittedly included in the onslaught of pretty pictures of leaves. You have probably seen Sun God’s eerie strolls around campus, witnessed fraternity pledges complete their “technically-not-hazing” pledge tasks (I personally enjoyed the elevator bellboy in Baker-Berry Library) and enjoyed the muted calm of a campus after the social apocalypse of rush. You may have also sensed the nervous trembling of the Harvard football team as it prepares for its Oct. 29 battle against the Big Green.
According to a 1955 news clip, “It didn’t cost Dad as much in those days to send Junior to college.” In the article entitled “Dartmouth Boys Found Cost of Food Low in ‘06,” the author regarded a 1906 Dartmouth “supper” menu with the vague resentment towards years of inflation with which we might view a decades-old list of food prices. It’s hard not to be swept away by a similar sense of nostalgia when eyeing the $7 fruit cups currently sold at the Hop.
As one often does walking around a small campus with a small population, I run into people I know frequently. But when the circumstances are wrong, this can be a very grave thing. These are the worst of interactions, those with semi-acquaintances. If you have the fortitude to bear it, picture a long passageway, maybe a hallway or one of the wide gravel paths cutting across the Green at seemingly arbitrary angles. Say you’ve just had class at Silsby, and want to run to Hinman. All would be well, but there they are: someone you sort of know, strolling from the opposite end of the Green, certain to pass you by and force your hand.
Picture this. You are me, having taken on a story for The Mirror last week before burning out every fuse in the human body during the course of Green Key weekend. You are stressed — nay, frazzled — yet still barely able to stay awake during your econ class because you pledged to drink much less caffeine after taking pre-workout at 2 a.m. two nights ago and experiencing a hopefully-not-concerning heart polyrhythm. These are the feelings that wear down your body and mind as you remember that your article (due the day before) still needs to be written. It is Monday in the most catastrophic sense — bloated and weary, uncomfortably stuffed with responsibilities, classes and urgent room cleanups that might be better described as disaster relief. It’s a purgatorial Monday, which I imagine strikes a chord with many of you, since I don’t recall being alone at the Friday concert.
The notification appears: it’s time to BeReal. With just one alert, people all over campus — and all over the world — pick up their phones to snap a picture of whatever they are doing at that instant. Designed to capture friends at their “realest” moments, BeReal is a social media app that alerts users at a different time each day to take and share a picture in just two minutes. Subsequently, the app is catered to teenagers who want to break the social media facade of vacation photos, filters and fakeness.
Two terms after the projected completion date of Fall 2021, the Arthur L. Irving Institute for Energy and Society has replaced the tangled maze of pipes and rubble that once blocked so many walks to the River Cluster. Now, the gorgeous glass exterior of the building stands proudly, staring down Baker-Berry Library from the end of Tuck Drive. This is no accident: As the Institute’s website explains, “in the direct view of the Baker Library Tower, the symbolic heart of the College’s liberal arts commitment, the building serves as a nexus of Dartmouth energy and society research, education, and engagement, across all disciplines.”
In relative terms, this year’s plunge should have been easy: more of a Baltic Plunge, as was evidenced by the dripping, increasingly unwieldy ice sculptures lining the path of my long, still-anxious walk from Collis to the point of no return. In Dartmouth winter terms, our Friday plunge happened on a balmy, 45 degree day — so balmy it inspired me and others to don flip flops and t-shirts. I had volunteered at the Mirror section’s previous week’s meeting on a whim — in the fullest capacity of the word — to brave Occom’s icy depths for the sake of journalism. I was now fairly pleased by the ski-day-ruining weather that had spoiled my mood all week. At last, the day of atonement for my past arrogance (“it’s just water! It’ll be fine!”) had arrived, and the warmish weather provided only a slight psychological boost.
Like many, I was often frustrated during my senior year of high school by the swirling mystery encapsulating my college admissions fate. Would Dartmouth prefer if I highlighted my volunteer hours, or should I instead save my precious humble-bragging essay space to discuss some vague, appealing concept like character? I hated how much the college admissions process reduced my passions to a cold, calculated maximization problem, wherein my only constraints were sleep hours and maintaining some level of humanity. Even worse was the Lovecraftian, existential horror of it all: No matter how much effort I managed, my fate was equivalent to that of a Bingo ball bouncing around in the cage — that is, totally, unconscionably random. College admissions, no matter how hard one could try to game the system, had all the agency of a blinded swing at the pinata.
Before we begin, we should explain our respective backgrounds. The two of us share some commonalities — we both live in the Mid Fayerweather dorm and call southwestern Connecticut home. Yet, there is one shocking, irreconcilable difference between us — while Ally has budgeted well this term, with about 100 DBA left, Connor has negative 42.57.
Every day on Librex is a new day: a few Tuesdays ago, the only topic of discussion was — as you might guess — it being Tuesday. We’ve now moved into 403 discourse, where all Librex users and abusers have (rather mystifyingly) given their thoughts on people who live in rooms with the number 403. Gone are the constant rush posts of yester-week, nostalgic artifacts of a bygone era; here to stay are self-therapy posts and 4 a.m. M4F’s (for non-users, this implies that the male poster (M) is looking ‘4’ a female).
The return to pseudo-normalcy has been accompanied by campus facilities becoming over-crowded and under-staffed. Despite these challenges, students can look forward to reuniting with their favorite staff members, like Souleymane Marzouk — the beloved Courtyard Cafe worker who has gained campus fame for his bubbly personality.
On my official Dartmouth tour, there seemed to be an odd trend: Some beautiful, classical buildings (or houses, I’d almost immediately learn) were taboos my tour guide danced around — “Here is Foco, short for Food Court! We sure love slang here at Dartmouth! Kindly ignore that building with fancy ancient letters!” Yes, the Dartmouth administration — and, by extension, Dartmouth tour guides — seemed to operate with a collective hushed embarrassment regarding not just the existence, but the dominance of Greek life on campus. For an institution that comprises such a massive part of student life, should Greek life not be a selling point for admissions’ advertising strategies?
