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Last Thursday, in an attempt to avoid the work that was already weighing me down, I set off down Main Street to visit Hanover’s only movie theater, the Nugget. As I walked through town, I reflected on the sometimes jarring experience of visiting local businesses near Dartmouth.
According to a 1955 news clip, “It didn’t cost Dad as much in those days to send Junior to college.” In the article entitled “Dartmouth Boys Found Cost of Food Low in ‘06,” the author regarded a 1906 Dartmouth “supper” menu with the vague resentment towards years of inflation with which we might view a decades-old list of food prices. It’s hard not to be swept away by a similar sense of nostalgia when eyeing the $7 fruit cups currently sold at the Hop.
If you’re reading this, you’ve probably been rejected from something at Dartmouth. If you haven’t yet, we sincerely hope that you will be soon. This isn’t because we’re sadists and we want to see you fail. Instead, we hope to see you succeed. We just know, after going through painful rejection ourselves, that trying — and failing — is an integral part of a person’s eventual success.
It was summertime in California, and as my hometown bestie and I lay basking in the sun, “Stick Season” by Noah Kahan played from a speaker nestled in the sand.
It’s week one, but it just doesn’t feel like autumn leaves are falling down like pieces into place. Maybe it’s the still-green forestry or the crowds of unfamiliar new faces or the fact that this is my last fall ever, but I can’t shake this term’s particularly frantic feeling.
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.
The first time I walked into Foco, the sheer amount of options was dizzying. Loading my plate up with everything from the Ma Thayer’s station and grabbing a few famous chocolate chip cookies, I was certain I would never get tired of Dartmouth Dining and all it had to offer. That lasted until week three; after eating my fifth consecutive meal of fries and chicken nuggets, I knew that something had to change. While the College’s food offerings are often mediocre, and sometimes downright dangerous — I’ll never forget the time I found a decayed bug in the soy sauce accompanying my sushi roll — it’s a nearly universal experience for students across the nation. Takeout from Tuk Tuk is always an option, but instead of hurting your wallet, it’s better to figure out the hacks of Dartmouth Dining and which tricks work for you. As a Muslim and a picky eater, I’ve become a veteran at navigating the Dartmouth food scene, and I’ve compiled some of the best tips to making the most out of your meal plan.
Hello again Dartmouth.
I am not an outdoorsy person by any means. I’ve gone camping perhaps twice in my life and I can barely set up a tent. Techniques like hanging bear bags and cooking with camping stoves are foreign to me. Most of my gear for First-Year Trips and other hikes had to be purchased from my local REI just before freshman year. Despite all this, somehow I thought it would be a great idea to set out with a group of eight ’26s into the hills of Vermont, leading trip C4: Moderate Hiking.
This editors’ note is featured in the 2022 Freshman special issue.
This article is featured in the 2022 Freshman special issue.
This article is featured in the 2022 Freshman special issue.
This article is featured in the 2022 Freshman special issue.
This article is featured in the 2022 Freshman special issue.
This article is featured in the 2022 Freshman special issue.
This article is featured in the 2022 Freshman special issue.
This article is featured in the 2022 Freshman special issue.
This article is featured in the 2022 Freshman special issue.
We’re at the end of sophomore summer — finals are approaching, off-terms are inching ever closer and the ’24s are about to be thrown into flux due to the fragmented nature of the D-plan. There are friends who I won’t see until March. Change is in the air.
As I sat next to a four-foot teddy bear in my Greek house on a Monday night, I thought to myself: Is it really week nine? Time flies during every term, but sophomore summer was different. Last-minute stargazing trips to the golf course, Sunday evening bubblegum-colored skies, that one 5 a.m. walk with my roommate back home — it feels like just yesterday that I locked myself out of my off-campus apartment on my first day and had to break in through the kitchen window.
