Not My Dartmouth
You know, I've heard that Dartmouth is like the date rape capital of the world."
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You know, I've heard that Dartmouth is like the date rape capital of the world."
So there I sat in the doctor's examining room, wearing only that garment known by those in the medical profession as a "johnny" and by the rest of us as an "embarrassment." I'd been waiting in this Mass. General Hospital room for about fifteen minutes now, and I was getting somewhat impatient, as well as considerably chilly.
I remember about a year or two ago there was a big stink about a series of "Sleazy the Wonder Squirrel" cartoons in which Sleazy and company criticized Dick's House. What an uproar there was. Dr. Jack Turco wrote letters to the editor. I think deans were involved. It was a big mess. I remember thinking, "God help Chris Miller if he ever gets sick." But it's recently dawned on me that it is up to God to help any of us who rely on Dick's House to diagnose and treat our illnesses.
They got married in June of 1942, right in the middle of World War II. He was an officer in the army, tall and dark-haired, and she was a petite young secretary in Boston who had never planned on getting married and having children. Neither of them knew what they were getting into, but they knew whatever it was, they were in it together.
For years, Dartmouth students have complained about the lack of a dating scene on this campus. Task forces have convened, discussions have been held, all to no avail. No one seems to know how to solve the problem. No one except me, that is. I know the answer because I know ... The Rules.
You gotta feel bad for Bob Dole. I mean, if I were a disabled war hero, an extremely influential member of Congress since the dawn of time and a morally upright hardworking American, I would be extremely annoyed at running a distant second to a smooth-talking, draft-dodging, skirt-chasing, scandal-ridden country boy like Bill Clinton. It's enough to make a young idealistic college student cranky, never mind someone four times that old; no wonder Dole always looks vaguely constipated. But that's politics, I guess, and both candidates have been in the business long enough to realize that that's the way it works. Things aren't always fair. So be it.
"Planning your escape?" asked Mikey.
Freshman fall, I could find nothing wrong with Dartmouth. The "College on the Hill" was my own private Utopia -- I had fallen in love with the picturesque autumn scenery, the students who seemed so good at balancing work and fun, and the professors who inspired me.
Ok," said one of the Aquinas House chaplains. "The next question I'm going to ask you is, what is it about you that makes you unique?"
So," said my Harvard-educated dentist, coming into the small sterile room and walking over to the chair where I sat.
You know what?" I asked Cheryl, "This stinks." We were both sitting on my bed in my tiny single, poring over our ORCs in an attempt to get our lives in order.
The completion of this year's snow sculpture, an abominable snowman breaking out of a pile of books, will mark the end of nearly six weeks of packing and sculpting for a small, dedicated group of students on the Winter Carnival Council.
The Department of Women's Health at Dick's House opened this term with a new philosophy that has received good reviews from students.