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Fresh snow covers the ground as the Dartmouth Coach pulls up in front of the Hanover Inn. I step off the bus, grab my suitcase and trek toward my dorm. It’s hard to imagine, but just six weeks ago the sun was out and the grass on the Green was visible. Now, a blanket of white covers the entire campus. Winter term has arrived.
Leslie Butler is a professor in the history department who recently undertook a year-long writing fellowship funded by the National Endowment for the Humanities. Butler used this time to work on her current book, which explores the political role of women in the 19th century. Butler will return to teaching classes in American cultural and intellectual history this winter in addition to continuing work on her book.
Every painting has a final brushstroke. Every sculpture has a finishing touch. Even every photograph uploaded on Instagram has a last filter adjustment. Regardless of medium, a piece of artwork will eventually reach a point where its artist decides to stop making any more changes.
Nestled in the stacks of Baker-Berry Library in the company of grand ideas and long, winding histories of Dartmouth College is a book that is in many ways unremarkable, save for the ways it illuminates the quotidian beauty of life as a student here. “Days at Dartmouth,” a collection of letters written by Americo Secondo DeMasi ’35, records his ramblings on the mundane — grades, upcoming exams, fencing practice. DeMasi passed away in the winter of his junior year on Feb. 25, 1934 when a furnace gas leak in Theta Chi filled the house with lethal carbon monoxide fumes, killing him and eight others in their sleep. After his death, DeMasi’s high school teacher Clara Gill compiled the letters he wrote to her, his parents and his girlfriend, Peggy, into the memorial housed on our library shelves. The result is an epistolary memoir that articulates the commonalities of the Dartmouth experience despite the differences that mark the span between our time and his.
I have cried during a run on numerous occasions — from frustration, from exhaustion, from pain. But I run most every day, and when asked if I enjoy running, I do not hesitate to reply, “Yes.” The follow-up question to that response is usually, “Why?” Truthfully, I do not have a good answer.
A final scene is often the deciding factor in an audience’s opinion of a work of art. The ending of a book, play or movie is the last bite which, if served right, gives the audience cause for further meditation.
To some Dartmouth students, receiving a degree may be all the proof they need that they accomplished something over their last four years. Some Dartmouth musicians, however, also choose to demonstrate their development through culminating senior recitals.
Rugby: a physically, mentally and emotionally demanding sport.
Annette: I first met Lauren at an “Incoming Student Meet-Up” in Falmouth, Maine during our senior year of high school. Ten of us awkward, nervous students stood around in a circle attempting small talk, while our parents hovered, watching us eagerly but trying to look discrete. LB18 and I smiled at each other and exchanged a few friendly words. I left the barbeque thinking, “Wow, the girl Lauren from Bangor in the yellow dress seems nice!” Apparently Lauren, on the other hand, left the gathering with an assumption that I was slightly “stuck-up,” and after stalking me on Facebook that night, supposedly concluded that we would not be friends at Dartmouth. Guess I need to work on my first impressions.
What’s the best Halloween costume you’ve ever worn?
“I’ve really always liked a degree of ambivalence in texts,” women’s, gender and sexuality studies professor Gabriele Dietze said. “I think if you are looking to something which is not organized by binaries — gender binaries or epistemological binaries — you learn, you find some kind of tension. I like to use a queer lense to open my own perception and open the perceptions of the students.”
It’s 9:55 a.m. and you’re dashing to your 10A on a Thursday morning. The clothes you grab from your closet (or your floor) are probably the last things on your mind. When you bought that Patagonia last year, the company’s “1% for the Planet” partnership probably was not your motivation. The fact that it took 4,000 liters of water to produce those jeans you slipped on is likely not at the forefront of your mind during your light jog to class. However, maybe these truths should be.
Janine Scheiner is a psychology professor currently teaching Psychology 52.01, “Developmental Psychopathology,” a course that introduces childhood psychopathology from a developmental perspective. Since 1989, she has worked as a clinical psychologist, conducting psychological assessments and providing consultants for families. This week, the Mirror interviewed Scheiner to unmask the sociopathic and psychopathic condition.
Happy Week 8, Mirror readers! This week, your esteemed editors arrived at Robinson Hall fully prepared for Halloween celebrations. Annette, May and Lauren thought long and hard about what they wanted to dress up as this year, when photo editor Tiffany realized that the answer had been staring them in the face all term long: intrepid EIC Ray Lu ’18. Tiffany quickly set to finding the most embarrassing photo of Ray available on the internet (it was his portrait for his “First Team” column back during sophomore summer) and blowing it up so big on Microsoft Word that she had to hide behind the column in KAF to avoid public ridicule. At 12:04 p.m., May sent a text to Tiffany asking her whereabouts, only to receive the following response: “I’ll be at KAF in 15. I’m printing out Ray.” Tiffany proceeded to cut out the large copies of Ray’s head and tape them onto Popsicle sticks to create makeshift masks, while Lauren, Annette and May harassed the collective three Sig Eps that they know for house gear. (May, ingenious as she is, decided to tape a paper sign that read “Doucheland” on her shirt to mimic Ray’s Deutschland jersey.)
Saba photographs her interpretation of this week's theme, masks.
Noises can be readily identified as pleasant or unpleasant. For me, the sound of raindrops on my window is pleasant, while the sound of nails scraping against a chalkboard is decidedly unpleasant. These evaluations are made possible by complex chemical pathways in my brain that convert sensory stimuli into nuanced physical and affective responses. But how do we respond to an absence of stimuli? What if there are no sound waves to press against our ear drums?
We are in the midst of week seven, and by now, students are all too familiar with a certain buzzword on campus.
Amelia Kahl ’01 is an associate curator of academic programming at the Hood Museum of Art. She focuses on mini-curatorial projects, working with faculty members across all disciplines to choose objects to present to their classes.
