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The final traces of winter are starting to disappear, and April is almost among us. Students are trading puffer jackets for bombers, bare-legged frisbee players are returning to the Green and the small clumps of lingering snow are finally melting away. Each day, the sun shines down on Hanover for a few minutes longer, bringing us more warmth and certainty that this term is going to be a good one.
Do you remember your first dream job? Not the one that you wanted when you were four and the only careers you knew were doctor, artist and airplane pilot, but the one you had your heart set on after discovering your first real passion.
When I was sixteen, I broke up with my high school boyfriend in the worst way possible. Let me set the scene: It’s the week before Valentine’s Day and I’m sitting at the dinner table doing homework; I was reading “Pride and Prejudice” for class — all too ironic. My phone won’t stop buzzing because my boyfriend and I are text-arguing about whatever high schoolers fight over. The distraction is driving me crazy because at that time I cared about school more than most things — including relationships — and I got so annoyed that I just called him up and ended it. On the phone. The week of Valentine’s Day.
This article is featured in the 2023 Winter Carnival special issue.
This article is featured in the 2023 Winter Carnival special issue.
The year is 2007 and I am five years old, standing in a Blockbuster. My dad says I can pick out any movie I want, and I choose the original “Nosferatu” and an unmemorable B horror movie. When I try to fall asleep after our amateur double feature, I can’t. For the first and last time, I am truly frightened by a movie, so scared that I don't sleep the entire night. I consider this a watershed moment in my life — the first time a film evoked any emotion in me.
It’s week 9 and I’m tired. Between problem sets and outlines for final papers, I’m looking for an escape. So whether you’re on the market for a movie that will scare you more than finals or a book to curl up with once you’re home for Thanksgiving, here are five of my favorite fall stories with fall written all over them — pun not intended.
Scrolling through an “Architectural Digest” article on the most beautiful college dorms in America, I’m not even a little surprised that Dartmouth didn’t make the cut. Although my family and friends from home have often called our campus idyllic, that’s probably because they’ve never had to use the gender-neutral bathroom in the Masses or decide whether or not to turn on the sterile overhead lights in the Choates while they’re hooking up with someone. Despite the challenges presented to students by our shabby dorms, some have managed to make it work.
This article is featured in the 2022 Homecoming special issue.
I smoked my first cigarette when I was 17. The week before, I had been hired at a pseudo-hipster falafel and kabob restaurant, where I had instantly fallen in love with my punk, college-dropout coworker who took smoke breaks about every other hour. Naturally, I asked one of my friends to “teach” me how to smoke, so I wouldn’t make a fool of myself if my coworker ever asked me if I wanted a cigarette.
At six years old, I sat quietly in front of the television as my mother put on my favorite movie of all time. Pyramids, pharaohs and gold artifacts flashed before the screen, and I was immersed in the world of “The Mummy,” a film about explorers in the 1920s who awaken an ancient high priest in their quest to excavate the famed “City of the Dead.” I can hardly begin to describe the impact that this film had on me as a small child; soon after watching it, when my teacher asked me what I wanted to be when I was older, I proudly told her I wanted to be an archaeologist, just like my mom and Evie O’Connell, the female protagonist of the film. Growing up, I begged my mom to let me read her old Egyptology books from when she was in college, despite the fact that I was in middle school at the time and could not easily comprehend archaic textbooks from the 1980s. Even though archaeology is no longer my dream profession, Egyptian and broader Middle Eastern Studies have held a special place in my heart ever since.
This article is featured in the 2022 Freshman special issue.
On any given day — weekend or not — Dartmouth students can be found crammed wall-to-wall in the living room of a Greek space. It’s a familiar feeling: incredibly humid air, 10 people piling onto one couch and three unfinished assignments we’re trying to avoid. Outsiders might wonder why anyone would subject themselves to such uncomfortable conditions. It’s because they’re waiting to see one of Dartmouth’s many talented performance groups, and, trust me, it’s totally worth it.
It’s all so typical.
For any graduating senior, their waning time at Dartmouth can elicit a myriad of emotions. There’s pride for their accomplishments, regret for the things they wish they did, joy for the memories they shared and sadness for the things they will miss. As they attend final a cappella performances, classes, club meetings and parties, many of these students have one thing on their mind: Cherishing their ‘lasts.’ For athletes, the end of their time at Dartmouth also comes with a first — their first time not competing in a sport that has played an integral role in their lives.
