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I spent my New Year’s Eve at home with my drunk friends — Kathy and Anderson — on CNN squabbling with one another. I, sober and stressed by packing woes, watched in awe as the ball dropped in Times Square. Would I ever be there in person? Hell no. I can only imagine myself standing in the same place for hours at a time, having to pee discreetly in a plastic water bottle or suffer the consequences of holding it in, wondering “Why in the world would I ever commit to such a heinous act?” Maybe I could do it with the sweet coddling of a significant other, in the hopes of making it on America’s home screens while making out. Or, better yet, making out while simultaneously showing off my Confused Baby Boy adorned with layers and layers of fleece. “He is so cute and cuddly,” America will think. Well, in this case, America is stupid. Babies deserve better.
On a grimy fall morning, my hood pulled up and combat boots strapped on tight, I maneuvered through the sea of grey and black. Maybe it was due to the exhausting drainage of week nine or the fact that the foggy atmosphere was drizzling raindrops — and of course, some were participating in a demonstration that called for their dark clothing — but the entire student body seemed to have come down with a faint, sleepy syndrome. The campus no longer emulated the peak foliage from just a few weeks back; rather, college students scurried from door to door in neutral tones like ghosts.
Netflix. Moscato. Chocolate. Pajamas. Cozy, cozy bed. These are the words that come to mind when describing the typical SWUG. While Dartmouth’s vision of a SWUG — a “senior washed-up girl” — may not jive well with the “party hard, don’t care” vision of SWUGs at many other colleges, it might just be better in the long Hanover winters.
It’s often said that Dartmouth has a drinking problem. Yet alcohol is not always the guilty party. Many students limit their consumption of beer, wine and liquor to a few nights a week, but another drug is a part of their daily routines. And unlike alcohol, it’s socially acceptable before noon — we’re talking about caffeine.
It’s the end of week nine. The leaves are gone and the cold is here to stay. The sun will not appear for another six months. We all know what time it is. Finals! Campus stress levels will soon skyrocket. The 1902 Room will smell of sleeplessness and fear. The stacks will become an eight-story panic room. Freshman will use their notes as tissues. But are finals really that bad? We may be bumped and bruised, but we make it through them time and time again. We Yik Yak and Snapchat our woes, but we make finals much worse than they are. Inspired by Dave Doyle’s “Ultimate Final Exam,” this is what we make our finals out to be like when we’re worrying.
Rose: Something positive about the past year.
FREE SPEECH SAM and POLITICALLY CORRECT SAM are waiting in line for Hillary Clinton.
Wow, did week nine hit me hard.
On March 29, 2013, The Mirror published Maggie and Maddie’s first joint article, “Sharing Like Wildfire.” They were pumped. When they saw the article, however, they barely recognized it. Maddie highlighted the parts of the article that Maddie and Maggie had actually turned in, and all that was yellow were some statistics and direct quotes. To quote the article, “During spring break, the selection of a new Pope was simplified down for worldwide consumption to a succinct #whitesmoke.” Maddie and Maggie were “v” confused. They had absolutely no clue what this meant (was the pope caught smoking??) and had to google it to seem half as witty as the article made them out to be.
The Dartmouth received 243 responses to a survey about taboos on campus, including questions about sex, crime and hygiene.
In one part of campus, students sit in the worn armchairs of quaint Sanborn Library, reading about Voltaire’s ideologies, composing essays that debate the merits of capitalism or solving mathematical equations that would mystify even the most accomplished of engineers. Dignified in dress and sophisticated in speech, they illustrate a quintessential scene of Ivy League academia.
Aside from us, there are approximately 1,114 other ’19s at Dartmouth. They come from across the globe — from here in New Hampshire to Thailand to Kenya. And yet, we haven’t a heard a single one of them admit to being homesick.
What are the most taboo topics at Dartmouth?
I hate to admit it, but there is something special about going for a drive.
STAY HERE FOREVER SAM and LET’S BLOW THIS POPSICLE STAND SAM are watching an impossibly early sunset from next to Shattuck Observatory
Color 1: The Post-Trip Lonely
During Maddie and Maggie’s freshman year, they quickly formed a little crush on a senior boy. Because of his very distinct (read: beautiful) spectacles, they nicknamed him “Glasses Kid.” He just looked so hip, so studious, so worldly. He probably read Sartre (in French) by day and played classical Spanish music on his guitar by night. He was our real life Jim Sturgess from “21” (2008) — the quintessential Ivy League badass. They hoped that one day he would notice them. He never did.
Children amble around, clad in costumes resembling pumpkins, angels and superheroes, lugging enormous pillowcases or orange plastic bins filled to the brim with candy. Elsewhere, older adolescents and adults host costume parties where they play spooky music and serve drinks called “The Vampire’s Kiss” and “Witch’s Brew.” Others watch movies like “Halloweentown” (1998) and “Harry Potter” while munching on candy corn.
It’s just after sunset as I walk down an alleyway in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, trying to make out the numbers on the buildings I pass. After double-checking my ticket for the right address, I join a group of people standing outside a building with a sign that reads “Deadwick’s Ethereal Emporium.” Glancing around, I’m getting a very touristy vibe from the group. I’m clearly the youngest, except for two pre-teen girls who stand with their mom clutching Starbucks cups between their mittened hands. I take a moment to wonder why I didn’t get Starbucks first. That was the move. With the sun down, it’s getting cold fast, and I’m wondering how much longer we’ll have to wait. I turn to a nice-looking elderly couple on my right.
Since the very first Halloween, people around the globe have always found ways to sexify everyday costumes — nurse, cat, witch, what have you. With a snip, snip here and a snip, snip there, that playful pumpkin becomes one steamy gourd. Others can’t help but shout, “Give me a load of that seed!” For the people and animals these sensual costumes imitate, however, Halloween can truly be a scary time. Here to talk about it are the costumes themselves.