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“I’m too old for this!” I have exclaimed in frustration time and time again as I open my phone and bounce between four different apps before eventually putting my device down in defeat. Why did I open my phone again? Mindlessness and forgetfulness can plague even the most Type-A college student. Though I am only 20, I swear on my life that my memory is not nearly as good as it used to be. But how much of that cod psychology can be written down to confirmation bias? In order to learn more about the brain of college students and the science of forgetting, I spoke to psychology and brain sciences professor Robert Santulli, who specializes in aging, dementia and Alzheimer’s disease.
Everyone loves maple syrup, right? That delicious, teeth-rotting liquid amber you can use to drench pancakes, waffles and (controversially) bacon in an attempt to make your heart stop faster? New Hampshire –– and more famously, Vermont –– is known for the production of maple syrup. Starch stored in sugar maple trees during winter months is converted back into liquid sugar as spring approaches. Ground water plus sugar equals sap, which is then “tapped” by inserting a spigot into the trunk of the tree and drained into buckets. Clear sap is then boiled at extremely high temperatures, giving the final product its signature color and viscosity. The process of production itself seems pretty simple. I wouldn’t quote me on that, though, because I’ve never done it. But a select few at Dartmouth have.
Despite the best efforts of the Dartmouth bubble, news permeates every second and area of our lives. Push notifications from Twitter, Instagram and your news app of choice in the bucket of pure content that gets dumped over our heads in the morning. Amidst all this information, it is more difficult than ever to discern fact from fiction. This week’s theme of admissions examines the concept of truth as an admission of truth. English and creative writing professor Jeff Sharlet answered some questions about the current state of journalism, truth-telling and his personal experience entering into and thriving in the world of writing.
Ah, winter. My favorite season. It’s freezing cold and wet and dark. We get a faithful weekly cycle of snow that turns from powder to slush to mud and then frozen into black ice again. I live in constant fear of slipping and falling and have accepted my fate that multiple pairs of pants will, indeed, rip on the way down. Gravel and salt make incursions into our heavy winter boots and cozy dorm rooms. The hot water situation has never been worse and leaving a building with wet hair is the beginning of pneumonia or, at the very least, hair icicles. Unlucky car owners spend an unreasonable amount of time digging out their vehicles from snowdrifts. I wear so many layers of clothing that leaving a classroom becomes an ordeal similar to how I imagine astronauts suit up to enter the vacuum of space. Not infrequently, I’ve compared my MWF trek between the Class of 1978 Life Sciences Center and the Black Visual Arts Center to climbing Mount Everest.
“Risk it for the biscuit!” “Do the damn thing!” “Ball the f— up!”
If you know me or have read anything I’ve written for The Dartmouth, you know that I am a true academic. Therefore, I am clearly incredibly qualified give you definitive summaries of all of Dartmouth’s study spaces. Strap in folks.
Self-care at Dartmouth is hard. Your roommate has sexiled you three times during the past weekend, and you’re not excited for Valentine’s Day. Midterm grades are rolling in, and now you’re reflecting upon your life choices (why didn’t you put an NRO on that class again? Oh yeah, because apparently you can’t NRO more than one course). Remember that person you swore you were going to grab a meal with when you saw them in KAF line Week 2? How’s that going? It’s so cold that you get brain freeze just from walking between Collis and the Hop. EVERYONE IS SICK.
I first heard about Comparative Literature 42.01, “Prada, Chanel, Ferrari: History and Literature” during the tail end of this past fall term. Long enough into the term that I’d begun to feel that itch: the one that you feel when you have just finished midterms and major projects, but have yet to begin finals. The calm before the storm, a lull right before things get crazy, prompts me to start looking at the course timetable for next term. Fantasizing about classes that I didn’t currently have to worry about, the escapism trickled into conversations with friends. Soon, our mumbled grievances during rushed meals turned into almost giddy, romanticized exploration of courses we didn’t have to do work for yet. Somewhere along the way, appearing almost out of nowhere, the mythos of “Prada” was created, and it was felt everywhere on campus. As soon as course selection period began, the class filled up instantaneously, perhaps based on the assumption that it was graded entirely on attendance and four pop quizzes. The class limit was increased from 30 to 60, then again to 200. On the first day of winter term, not accounting for unregistered attendees hoping to get off the waitlist, the class numbered somewhere around 230 people.
William Shakespeare wrote the words spoken in Juliet’s impassioned monologue centuries ago. The colloquial idiom, later popularized as “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet”, has permeated our conscious and lexicon. The quote appears to mock the absurdity of names, or rather, mock our obsession surrounding the sanctity of our names. Why do we care so much about what we’re called? Why would we care enough to change those names?
What scares college students? Honestly, it’s hard to say. I’m scared by a lot. So I turned to some of my braver friends for an indication of what makes Dartmouth students quake in their boots — aside from the negative 17 degree weather. Here’s what we came up with:
A little over a year ago, I entered Dartmouth’s not-yet-freezing campus a bright-eyed and bushy tailed NARP (Non-Athletic Regular Person). I soon noticed the omnipresence of varsity gear at Dartmouth: black backpacks with telltale stitched green player numbers, Peak Performance shirts and Dartmouth green attire that punctuate the wardrobe of 913 students this year.
Dartmouth is a school full of traditions and these traditions are what bind our community tightly together. Passionate alumni often revisit campus to share their tales of triumph, trial and tribulation. For some, a significant aspect of their “Dartmouth Experience” includes falling in love. (It seems like every week students can be found either running around fires, jumping in freezing ponds, pulling all-nighters to go to Lou’s Bakery or even confessing their unrequited crushes on Last Chances.)