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It’s a blustery Monday morning in the dingy Novack cellar. Coffee stains and overworked pre-meds haunt the desks. Oliver Welmed chews the bit with his lab partner/girlfriend/chess co-captain, Ivana Bræk over their morning gallon of espresso.
Take a cursory glance around the Green, and you’d be hard-pressed not to find at least one person sporting a Patagonia fleece or trudging through the snow in L.L. Bean boots. In the warmer months, it’s common to see people pattering across the grass in Birkenstocks or clad in plaid shirts and khakis.
Merriam and Webster define something sustainable as “able to be used without being completely used up or destroyed; involving methods that do not completely use up or destroy natural resources; able to last or continue for a long time.”
PUSHY SAM and PASSIVE SAM are discussing search tactics.
I finished my collegiate swimming career this past weekend and I still can’t believe it.
Environmental Studies 3, “Environment and Society: Towards Sustainability,” was my first class at Dartmouth. My daily walk to class was the only time which I’d ever happily walk from my dreaded River cluster dorm all the way to the Life Sciences Center.
One of the biggest problems I have with my day-to-day life here at Dartmouth is how hard it is to find time for fun reading. You know, fiction and non-fiction books and articles that I can read purely for my enjoyment without the pressure of an essay and a grade. Not to say I do not enjoy my readings for class; I do not consider this problem of mine to be one that is exacerbated by Dartmouth, per se. The issue is more about the insane amounts of time I spend in front of electronic screens. I doubt I am completely alone in this sentiment — even in these beautiful woods. But I do wonder if I could do a better job.
When I asked a family friend to recall the day of her mother’s diagnosis of Alzheimer’s disease, she said she remembered feeling afraid.
“Geez, my head’s killing me!” Josie Cuervo laments, rising from her top bunk perch. It’s 3:00 P.M. on a Saturday afternoon. Josie remembers nothing. Glancing about the room, she sees a large stain on the ground, her bra resting amongst her windowsill Chia pets, and an empty space where her phone used to be. She hears a knock on her door.
SNOW SAM and ON A MISSAM are watching snow fall.
Greetings, Mirror readers. Thanks for taking the time to read the tangential musings that comprise these editor’s notes. Caroline and Hayley are impressed that their vehement views on social media and lack of New Year’s Resolutions haven’t scared you off yet.
It’s hard to believe that about 40 years ago, everyone ate at Thayer, not Foco, and that the Orozco Mural Room was the most social part of the library. But the biggest difference between Dartmouth now and then was not solely the dining hall location or the noise level of a particular room. The most startling change to me at the College has been the number of female students.
It was my last night in Paris. I wanted to stay out all night, walking the streets I’d learned, trusting the kindness I’d found, refusing the morning’s impending arrival.
To snap or not to snap? That is always the question. Waking up with bed head — not to snap (okay well maybe just to friends #wokeuplikethis). Morning KAF line — definite snap. Thursday night rager at Bar Hop — add a filter and snap that to your story ASAP! Snap what you want when you want and it will disappear in just 24 hours. Although snaps disappear after a few seconds, can they have long term effects on your mental health?
Happy Friday once again, Mirror readers. You, like us, are probably plummeting into disbelief and chagrin that we are already halfway through January. Maybe like Caroline, you’ve already given up on 16 of your 17 resolutions (the only successful one being to keep a daily gratitude journal, which is rapidly becoming illegible). Or maybe like Hayley, you completely forgot to make resolutions and are still in denial that is already 2016.
SAMANTHA COOPER
This past weekend was the first time in my four years here that I ate more of my meals in town than in FoCo. For people who know me well, this is a big deal! Until this fall I used a good 17 or 18 of my 20 weekly mealswipes in FoCo. Many of my friends even call me “FoCo Joe,” though that nickname was actually conceived as the title of my long-standing column on Dartbeat, the online blog companion to the print version of The Dartmouth. Humor me while I self-cross-promote, and use fake words while I’m at it — FoCo Joe chronicles my creative endeavors as a wannabe dessert chef in Dartmouth’s most family-friendly cafeteria. Indeed, FoCo’s vast collections of eats and drinks ought to satisfy everyone, in my humble opinion. Meals are often my favorite parts of my days here: if not for the food, then for the company. Not that I am opposed to any quality solo meals upstairs, or even in the forbidden dark side. I am just advocating strongly for spending quality time leisurely with friends over a meal or a coffee.
“Ugh, my family is so stupid and old-fashioned,” laments Aaron Fleak after spending New Years back home in Arkansas. “What losers! They wouldn’t know a hashtag from a hashbrown, BuzzFeed from a buzz cut or a sepia filter from a Brita filter. I’m surrounded by animals.”
In July 2014, I was spending my third straight summer in Hanover. I was working as a teaching assistant for “Classics 4,” helping with a digital mapping project in the art history department, editing an educational website’s mythology curriculum, kicking off research on my thesis and avoiding the contemplation of the spectre of adulthood which had by this point fully sunk its teeth into my unrelenting existence.
SAM and SAM TOO are solving a mystery. This is part one of several.
The Dartmouth: Through the Ages presents a curated collection of the newspaper's archives from 1900 to the present.
