Sam's Little Larks
(01/08/16 2:54am)
(WIN)TER SAM and (LOSE)TER SAM discuss the pros and cons of the season.
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(WIN)TER SAM and (LOSE)TER SAM discuss the pros and cons of the season.
Taylor Mayde, your typical nondescript, Collis pasta loving, Birkenstock wearing Dartmouth Senior has decided it’s about time she start looking for a job. What did she major in, you ask? Environmental Science modified with Theater with a double minor in Italian and Psychology, not to mention her FSP in New Zealand for Linguistics. Taylor is a veritable melting pot of interests, a real Renaissance woman, or as her mean old Uncle Jack says, a useless piece of garbage. Hush up, Uncle Jack, she thinks as she enters the career fair. With the blazer she borrowed from her roommate and the heels she found on Psi U’s lawn, she’s ready for anything these recruiters might throw at her.
As winter term 2016 kicks off, Dartmouth has been filled with harried students by day and a silent tundra by night. Frisbees, lacrosse sticks and tennis balls are being dropped in favor of cozier, indoor options like hot cocoa, hockey games and the library. But these are not the only things being dropped this winter season. In the warmth of their dorms and homes, hundreds of Dartmouth students are dropping their resumes on Dartboard this winter, with hopes that one corporate all-star will favor their application and transform their career.
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.
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