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I arrived at Dartmouth nearly four years ago as a wide-eyed girl wheeling two oversized duffel bags to the Choates. Butterflies ruffled my stomach as I looked around at picturesque Baker Tower, the rolling New Hampshire hills and the beautiful... BOYS.
My ethics and public policy professor assigned the class a paper topic of particular salience for those preparing to enter the job market — “Among the occupational choices available to you, are you morally obligated to choose an occupation that (you believe) serves the social good?”
WING IT SAM and WINGMAN SAM are nestled among a lot of trash: cardboard, branches, packing tape, hot glue, cans, bottles and plastic bags. They are making letters, maybe. It’s supposed to spell “JUST TRANSITION.”
Hello, Mirror readers, and happy week three. Now that the weather has finally reached (slightly) above freezing temperatures it’s easier to believe that we’re already one fourth of the way into the spring term.
Senior staff photographer Eliza McDonough wanders around campus, gets lost and finds symmetry.
All things change with time, including campus. The Mirror explores, in this photo essa, how locales can change with the seasons — or simply some snowfall.
As an Indian-American woman with immigrant parents, I was both shocked and yet not at all surprised to have found greater diversity at Dartmouth. Granted, the Long Island town from which I hail served as a skewed baseline and left me deeply confused about my identity (or as my grandmother likes to call me an ABCD — American Born Confused Desi). I ate my idly and sambar out of tupperware amongst the PB&Js, and I could never really empathize with girls in the summer complaining about their peeling sunburns. Physically and culturally, I stood out. The problem was, I never had a penchant for the limelight. I still don’t. I don’t sit in the back of class because I hate engaging in the classroom: I do it because sitting in the front makes me feel as though all my classmates are watching my every move — what I write down, how many times I touch my hair and whether I’ll have any nail left to gnaw on before class ends. The point is, I hated standing out. I yearned to fit in, and more so to blend in.
Philosophy professor James Binkoski looks like he should be on a college brochure. He’s well-dressed, his face is a little ruddy from the cold, and he sports a rugged New Hampshirite beard. He’s the kind of professor who looks like he would be against maintaining a Canvas page, but he’s not.
Paul and Emily Brigham return to Dartmouth for their 50th reunion. They met their senior spring at a mutual friend’s “chill wine/16Soberwhat? party” and have been nagging each other ever since. After a few bottles of champagne at the reunion dinner and awkward conversation with former trippees and hook-ups and trippee hook-ups, the Class of 2016 walks to the BEMA to unearth their senior time capsule.
BEEN SAM and BEEN DIFFERENT are talking at the Collis front desk. A tour of eager high schoolers has just exited.
This first week of the spring term featured discussions of spring break activities in all their predictable forms. Across campus, sun-kissed faces exchange tales of adventures and extravagances. What was less discussed though, were the moments in between: the tranquilities and the comforts of rest, at home or elsewhere.
Happy Wednesday, Mirror readers. We hope you are handling the abrupt change in weather better than your Mirror editors are. “It will stop snowing eventually, right?” Hayley asks Caroline in a defeated voice, thinking longingly of sunny days in Hanover.
RETIRING SAM and EXPIRING SAM are sitting on the Collis porch. It is almost-sunny. RETIRING SAM is wearing shorts, a little prematurely. He doesn’t have a backpack. EXPIRING SAM does.
I’m a klutz. Over the course of my first-year trip, I sprained one ankle, rolled the other and lost roughly two square inches of skin to a hastily applied bandage over the rolled ankle. The side-effect of my clumsiness is that I was less surprised by my trip’s raid than my fellow trippees, as I was informed a raid was occurring, partially to arrange the aforementioned bandage.
Orientation week, a random smattering of the class of 2016 piled into Alumni Gymnasium Hall for some official-sounding “Welcome to Dartmouth” event. I say “random smattering” because I’m pretty sure half of us didn’t go — like that “Strange as This Weather Has Been” class book lecture that was supposed to bind us all together over summer reading. I think the only thing I remember from that book was that a main character got splinters on her butt from having sex in a shed.
’Twas the night before 16S, with students on the loose.Not a creature was resting, not even a moose.
Happy spring term, Mirror readers! We hope you had wonderful and relaxing spring breaks, and that you didn’t miss us too much. If so, rest assured, we have an entire term ahead of us to satiate you with Mirror issues.
What was your most fun experience at Dartmouth?
It’s springtime, and you know what that means. No, not sundresses, stargazing, frolicking naked or being arrested for frolicking naked. It’s one-act season! Theater in the park is about to start up soon, so we’ve been receiving hundreds of one-acts to select for our spring repertoire. Here are the worst pitches we read.