Blitz kicks ass. Here's a story to illustrate why.
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Blitz kicks ass. Here's a story to illustrate why.
Since I spent my last two big weekend columns talking about the Dartmouth Seven and the importance of being legendary (R.I.P. Rec League Legends), I'm kind of at a loss for what to say about Green Key. I guess there are only so many times you can talk about the Dartmouth Seven before people start to catch on. So I'll just spend this column writing down thoughts that fill my head.
Dartmouth: Do less.
We won. We got him. Osama bin Laden is dead.
If you haven't seen Discovery Channel's "Human Planet," then you need to park your ass in front of an HD TV and start watching. It's the best thing on TV these days. It's from the people who did "Planet Earth," only instead of documenting animals and all the crazy things they do, the show looks at us. People. Humans. And all the crazy things that we do. The show focuses mostly on the 2 percent of the human population that still lives as hunter-gatherers. What those people do to survive on a daily basis is pretty nuts.
A couple friends and I led a fake tour over Dimensions, and it was one of the most rewarding things I've done in a long time. We saw 30 '15s hanging out on the Green with no apparent agenda, so we approached them. "You guys here for the 3:20 tour?"
I have a problem. It's somewhat troubling, but I'm not losing sleep over it.
My mom was really happy to see me pack up all my bequests. Which is understandable. For the past two years, I've come home in June with a trash bag full of what appears to her (and the rest of the world) to be the most ugly and disgusting clothing imaginable. They have paint splotches on them. There are other dudes' names written in them. A lot of them don't have sleeves. Some have vulgar jokes written on them. When I'm home, my mom won't let me out of the house with any bequests on. I get that.
I just retired as a social chair. Self-call, I know. Despite the enormous chafery that is the job of social chair, the duties of the position allowed me to be one of the few students on campus to regularly enjoy the company of Jack Stinson. Because of this, I'm on the inside of the "Social Chair Jackets" joke. And now I'm going to bring all of you to the inside of this joke. And then I'll segue to another topic. But first, the jackets.
College administrators recently circulated a survey to members of the senior class to help them give out awards at the end of the year. It's basically a form in which they ask us to self-call as much as possible so that they can know everything we've done and accomplished during our time at Dartmouth. You know at Class Day when they read off the list of activities for people who win the Barrett Cup and stuff like that? This is where they get that list.
This column is going to be unpopular. Don't care.
Yo, fuck numbers. I mean it. We're all terrible people when we focus on the numbers. Can we please just stop with numbers? I'm not reading the rest of The Mirror this week since it'll bother me so much.
Writer's Note: This column was written before I realized that the snow sculpture wasn't hollow. But don't let that make my argument hollow. The spirit remains. You can change prepositions if you want it to be accurate. Whatever. I'm not re-writing.
Every suggestion so far for a new Dartmouth mascot is stupid. You know why? Because none of these suggestions would please everyone.
Summer of 2007. I've just graduated from high school, I'm awkward, I'm set to matriculate at Dartmouth and I spend my days trying (and failing) to get with girls and find that mythical fun-and-booze-filled party. I hear that there's a funny new movie out called "Superbad." I go see it. It's about some guys who are in their last few weeks of high school, are awkward, are set to matriculate at Dartmouth and spend their days pursuing the same goals that I do.
I am terrified about the prospect of a senior Spring without Homeplate. Terrified. Absolutely terrified.
There is one thing in Hanover that confuses me more than anything else. More than the Sun God. More than the inclusion of that extra ingredient in Collis baked goods. More than any other Dartmouth culture reference that I can pull out. The thing that confuses me the most is Michael's.
Some girls who aspire to become mothers can't pinpoint where their desire to experience the miracle of life comes from. It's an urge rooted deep in their biology and they just know it's right. Conversely, I can pinpoint exactly where my desire to write a thesis came from or at least, the seed for that desire.
I spent the first year of my college career thinking that Dartmouth was inherently a man's school. The relatively late coeducation, the prevalence of the fraternity system, the generally masculine feel of New England attribute it to what you want. When you're in a fraternity or in the alumni section of a football game, it can seem obvious. And because I assumed that everyone felt the same way that I did, I assumed everybody would be more inclined to send their son to Dartmouth than their daughter. I would want a man to go to a man's school.
There are some skills that Dartmouth students have down pat and then there are some skills that we just don't have. The ability to find the right spot in the back of our throats? Check. The ability to interact honestly and respectfully with the opposite sex? (Sorry for the heteronormativity sue me.) That's one that we don't really have in the bag. We're also bad at other stuff, too. So Grandpa Tom is going to share some of his wisdom.