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(11/19/99 11:00am)
As senior fall draws to a close I, like many other seniors, am beginning to think about my future. Actually, the more correct term would be that I am beginning to panic about my future. Due to what Career Services would probably define as a "genetic abnormality," I am not participating in corporate recruiting. Instead, I have decided to pursue a career in journalism, or what my parent's refer to as "starving."
(10/21/99 9:00am)
As most people know, this weekend is Homecoming. I say most people, because I am not so sure about the freshmen. I don't know if it is just that I am getting old and Alzheimer's is setting in but I really believe we had more school spirit when I was younger. I remember the home side of the alumni stadium split into two sections, one for the freshmen and one for everybody else. When I went to a football game the other weekend I could count the number of '03s on one hand. It was a pathetic show. Granted, when I was a freshmen the football team went 10-0 but that really has nothing to do with it. I'm talking about school spirit.
(10/07/99 9:00am)
According to the Bible, in the beginning God brought every living creature to Adam and whatever Adam called it, "that was the name thereof." Apparently, God gave this power to the Trustees too.
(09/23/99 9:00am)
Recently, people have been asking me when I was going to write about my sister's first day's as a freshman. The truth is, I wasn't going to. I'm a senior. I have LSATS to take, personal applications write and a whole bunch of other things to do that also have the potential to ruin the rest of my life. However, last night my sister actually asked when I was going to write about her. I decided if Sara was personally asking for me to satirize her in front of the most diverse freshman class ever then it was an opportunity I could not pass up. Therefore, I have decided to share with the entire school, and especially the cute freshman boys, some of the highlights of Sara's first week.
(05/12/99 9:00am)
This past weekend I got to re-view Dartmouth through 'shmen eyes. Last Wednesday, my sister, who is a member of the incoming class of 2003, came up to visit me. She was here for four days and during that time I was able to re-experience Dartmouth through the eyes of someone who is experiencing it all for the first time. When she first arrived I opened the door to find her bending under the weight of a thirty pound backpack and a duffel bag the length of my room. Interestingly, although she brought three dresses, eight pairs of pants and 22 tank tops, the need for a towel, shorts or toothpaste never crossed her mind. Furthermore, not only did she bring over 20 outfits for four days, but she somehow managed to wear all of these clothes and over half of mine.
(04/20/99 9:00am)
So, what do you want to be when you grow up? When we were five that was the easiest question in the world. I was going to be a billionaire, my best friend was going to be a ballerina, and my boyfriend was going to be President of the United States. At five, the difficulties or impracticalities of these dreams were irrelevant. At that point we had 15 years or three life spans before we would even graduate college, let alone have to figure out how to turn our dreams into realities. As I approach 21, I am no longer sure that billionaire is the right career choice. In fact, I am no longer sure it is actually a career, although I do have a number of friends majoring in it. However, if billionaire isn't the right career choice, what is?
(04/07/99 9:00am)
As I sat down to read The Dartmouth at lunch on Monday, the headline "Hate mailings target gays, Jews" caught my eye. According to the article, last week anti-Semitic and antihomosexual pamphlets were distributed to a number of prominent gay and Jewish leaders on campus. Similarly, last year around this time a Jewish star and the words "death to you" were painted on the door of one of the Jewish apartments. My purpose in writing this article is not to concentrate on the incidents but on the response or rather, the lack of response to them.
(08/21/98 9:00am)
I didn't want to write about Clinton. I don't like writing articles about the news of the week, especially when it's gossipy scandalous stuff. But, Tuesday changed all that. That afternoon I got a blitz from my dorm cluster saying "come watch Clinton at ten. Snacks will be provided." I walked into the TV room at ten and saw about 30 people eating ice cream cones, watching the pre-season football game, and waiting eagerly for the real entertainment to begin. It was at that moment that I realized how utterly ridiculous and pathetic this whole thing is.
(08/07/98 9:00am)
Next fall I am participating in a transfer program at the University of Edinburgh, but it is not one affiliated with Dartmouth. The other day, I got a phone call from my program informing me I was missing a needed form and asking to send it in as soon as possible. I apologized and told them I would send it that day. They replied that it was no problem and then asked if I had any questions they could help me with. In addition, this was not the first deadline I had missed but the third. Each time, I simply got a phone call, or a letter informing me about what I was missing and politely asking me to send it in. There was no screaming, yelling, crying, fining or ruining of my life. I was amazed. After two years at Dartmouth, I had forgotten that administrative people could be nice. At first, I rationalized their behavior by the fact I was paying them $9,000 for my term at Edinburgh, but then I remembered that I'm paying well over $100,000 for my years at Dartmouth.
(07/24/98 9:00am)
Last weekend's Tubestock was everything it was supposed to be. The sun was shining, the water was warm and everyone was out there enjoying the day. It didn't matter that most of the rafts sunk or that we all got burned to a crisp, Tubestock was great. More than anything else, it clearly showed that Dartmouth students know how to enjoy themselves. Unfortunately, I can hardly say the same thing about the administration.
(07/10/98 9:00am)
When I arranged my D-plan freshman spring I thought the only thing better than four terms at Dartmouth was five. At that time, I was nearing the end of my freshman year and was deeply dreading leaving my friends and freedom and once again living at home. As every college student quickly realizes visiting home is great. Parents give their kids a sort of one or two week grace period in which the child can do no wrong. In fact, the shorter your stay at home the more your parents will do for you. This past spring break I was only home for two days during which I had my bed made twice, six meals cooked for me and my two 50 pound bags of laundry washed and folded. Unfortunately, summers are not like that and the same parents who once treated you as an honored guest, quickly remember you're a part of the family and the laziest member at that.
(01/09/98 11:00am)
This fall to my surprise and no one else's, I joined a sorority. After a tedious rush process that I calculated took up 36 hours of my life, I finally joined a house. Although sorority rush is unquestionably worse, there are some definite benefits in belonging to a sorority as opposed to a fraternity.
(11/10/97 11:00am)
This summer my family took a trip to Aus tralia. They teasingly told me that if I "wasn't too grown up to vacation with them" I was invited along. I decided I was no where near too grown up for an all-expense-paid trip and selflessly agreed to the free food, hotel and airfare. I stated that I would be more than happy to follow them to the country where beer is pronounced as a two syllable word and you can ask for it at 18. This trip was not my first time traveling with my family. During previous trips we often had disagreements and miscommunications which taught us all the importance of being able to compromise. For example, on this trip we decided we would try to travel relatively lightly and everyone agreed to only take one bag. Even mom agreed to the one bag plan -- one bag for her clothes, one for her shoes and one for her toiletries. Like I said, compromise is the key.
(11/06/97 11:00am)
Last year was my first experience with Homecoming. I vividly remember the excitement of the freshman sweep and the anticipation of the bonfire. During the running, laughing and the scrambling to find my friends I recall being dimly aware of a crowd in front of Dartmouth Hall. I was slightly curious but more interested in getting a front row view of the bonfire than anything they could have been doing up on the hill. This year as a slightly less impatient sophomore I decided I would take part in the songs and speeches I had missed the year before.
(09/26/97 9:00am)
I returned to Dartmouth a week early in order to get re-acclimated to being at school. I needed time to set up my room and my accounts and time to stop referring to myself as a '99 -- although our grades may change, we're zeros for life. My freshman year there was a big debate about what they were going to call us: 2000's, zeros, 2k and oughty oughts were all suggested.
(05/19/97 9:00am)
Last summer when my housing notice finally came I excitedly tore it open. I quickly scanned the page to find out where I would be living: Cohen. I had never heard of that dorm so I took out my trusty Dartmouth map and I looked for it, and I looked and looked and looked and then, when I finally found it, I realized my mistake. I had been looking on campus when everyone knows that the Choates are practically in West Leb. Well I did finally find them and all hopes for good housing weren't dashed immediately. It was still possible they could be nice dorms, have big rooms, their own bathrooms, fireplaces ... well, that was a fantasy.
(05/09/97 9:00am)
About a week ago I got my first rush blitz. It was starting. What had been a passing thought was now a concrete one. Five minutes after that first blitz I got another "so you going on Friday?" Then another "going to the rush dinner", then another "wanna go to the dinner?" and finally "what are you wearing to the dinner?". Some place in the back of my mind a little voice with a valley girl accent exclaimed "Like oh my god, I have nothing to wear!" So of course I suppressed this annoying little voice and determined to wear overalls and sneakers. I don't want to belong to a house that cares about what I look like or how I dress; they should want me because I'm me. I continued with this line of thought just long enough to see all my friends in skirts and make-up and turned right around to change.
(05/01/97 9:00am)
If you went out this weekend you may have noticed the hordes of parents wandering around campus. They were the ones with the all too conspicuous name tags and the varying shades of green apparel. It was Freshman Parent's Weekend and I, like many other lucky freshmen, was visited by my parents. If you had looked carefully you could have easily spotted us freshmen. We were the ones standing between two adults usually slightly cringing at either our parents' clothing, what they were saying, their need to have a picture in front of every building at Dartmouth or most likely a combination of all of the above.
(04/21/97 9:00am)
It's the summer before your freshman fall and the admissions office is inundating you with brochures, newsletters and countless forms that you separate into piles of "important" and "do later." Among the "important" piles is the roommate application. The form by which the College will match you up with your soul mate, the person who will immediately understand your hopes and dreams and will bind you two in a lasting friendship transcending the brief span of your collegiate years.... yeah, right.
(04/10/97 9:00am)
It's a cold snowy night and I am walking back to the Choates. My head is buried into my neck, my fingers feel like icicles, my snot is freezing in my nose and through tear-blurred vision I watch my feet to make sure they are still moving. Right, left, right, left and then, like an oasis in the desert, there is Russell Sage in front of me. I fumble with the door and then, like a miracle, I'm inside and begin to thaw in the warmth. I walk through the Hyphen and Butterfield and back out into the frozen night, but warmer with the confidence I can make it home. Does this sound familiar? Just about anyone who has survived a winter at Dartmouth understands the benefits of cutting through buildings, but let's reverse the story. This time I 'm going to dinner. My fingers are still icicles and my feet are still numb. I get to the back door of Butterfield and, with visions of warmth and shelter, I pull on the handle, and I pull and I pull but the damn thing is locked and, cursing the New Hampshire winter and the random security at this school, I somehow get my ice-block body to Thayer.