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A couple of weeks ago, I read an article about the mating ritual of seahorses for a biology class about animal communication. The paper describes how a male seahorse will show interest in a female via a prolonged courtship dance, hoping to secure her as a life-long mate.
We’ve all been there. Staring at the never changing “12:17 p.m.” on our laptops, back row of Astro 2, wondering what soup awaits us at Collis. Just when the planets couldn’t get more boring, the stars align, and you see her. She’s so original with her Patagonia fleece, black leggings, Dartmouth baseball cap and white Converse high tops. You’ve never seen anything like her before. But you resist. She’s a black hole. Get any closer and she’ll swallow you up.
FULFILL SAM and SAM STILL are bent over their senior spring bucket list.
A sophomore on the women’s swim team recently revealed to me that she and her parents talk on the phone three times a day.
Happy Wednesday, Mirror readers. Looking out at the falling snow as we pen this editor’s note, it’s hard to believe that we’re approaching the halfway point of the spring term. We can only hope for a snowless May, but at this point jinxing Mother Nature seems dangerous — next thing we know it’ll be snowing during Green Key. Dartmouth students would never get over such a travesty.
As dawn breaks on another beautiful Hanover day, Dave and his buddies crack open a couple of PediaSure bottles in the hopes of curing their hangovers. Strewn across Collis porch like the miscreants they are, they stew over last nights events.
SIT SAM: Come on. There will be no line at KAF. We can get iced coffees and sit somewhere nice.
I had an extra hour to spare on Sunday, when my two-hour commitment ended unexpectedly early. My body was itching for a workout of some kind. My body does this to me when too many days pass without any real form of exercise. The day was too nice to waste in the gym, though.
You’re sitting in your 9L, groggy and exhausted from working late in the library the night before, sipping your coffee and praying that the caffeine kicks in as soon as possible. Your professor ambles to the front of the room, fiddling with the computer as he, presumably, sets up for his lecture of the day. You sigh with defeat, pulling out your notebook and pen, praying that this next hour and five minutes will speed by.
Senior Staff Photographer Tiffany Zhai '18 explores the impact of warmer weather on Dartmouth culture.
Happy April 20, Mirror readers. Just a reminder to be wary of any brownies you’re offered today, unless they’re free samples at KAF — in that case, fight tooth and nail to get one.
Theodore Geisel ’25
Here at Dartmouth, most students don’t think twice about leaving their laptop out in the open when they take a coffee break or run to print something in the library. It seems unlikely that someone would come and steal anything, mostly because the vast majority of people in the library are students, and presumably, students trust one another — at least with valuable electronics.
When I first came to Dartmouth this past fall, I was genuinely concerned that I wouldn’t find “my people,” a sentiment that I’m sure many other freshmen shared. Who was going to be my college partner in crime? My best friend? My rival best friend who would motivate me to do better? The twin I never had?
Today, we’re here to celebrate not pop culture, but flop culture. That is, long-lost fads that have been left in the past where they belong. Human history is filled with the what ifs and have nots. These are the trends that almost made it, but didn’t quite have the stuff. You won’t find these in the history books. Cute British accents during the Revolutionary War “Thanks love!” “Terribly sorry!” “Belt up ya barmy fizzog ya twit!” What do all these things have in common? They’ll make anyone swoon if said in a British accent. The cute British boy minstrels “The Judas Brothers” wooed all the American girls of the 1760s with their loose bloomers and lack of dysentery. Their hit songs “Best Hymn Ever” and “Love Yourself (But Not Indecently)” caused even the crotchety old miller, Sir Chester Miller, to go weak in the knees. Their accents could stop witch hunts and consumption in their tracks. That is, until the Revolutionary War began and “The Judas Brothers” had to flee for their lives. Their siren songs were never heard again. Hand Piercings, 0 C.E. Ear piercings were so 50 B.C.E. Tongue rings? Get out of here! The trendsetting Romans were looking for the next big thing and Pontius Pilates had run out of answers. After one too many Bacchanalia, daredevils Typhus and Lupus were playing gladiator, until Lupus accidentally skewered Typhus’ hand. The party screeched to a halt. But the famous fashionista, Pilates, declared the pierced hand the future of fashion. Boy, did he nail it! Soon, all the Romans were clamoring to pierce their paws. That is, until Jesus rolled into town and totally ruined it. Clifford the Big Red Dog during the Cold War Everyone remembers Clifford from their childhood. Who didn’t want a giant, crimson beast to ride around on in the late ’90s? Little do people know that Clifford originated in the ’50s as a symbol of national pride after World War II. That is, Russian national pride. Stalin chose the giant canine as the symbol for united workers, strong economy and borscht. Dogs of the world, unite! You have nothing to lose but your leashes! Eisenhower, however, put that dog down. Any American child seen idolizing the socialist monster was sent to the gulag and forced to eat borscht. Woof! The 2004 ‘Katrina Doll’ Picture this. It’s 2004. Barbie is dominating the doll market and nobody could compete. American Girl and their dolls were floundering. They needed the quintessential doll that would topple Barbie’s tyranny. So they came up with Katrina, the all American girl who loved everything hockey, especially the Carolina Hurricanes. She took the doll world by storm, and soon Katrina dolls were flooding the market. Mattel needed rescuing, but no one could save them. Even FEMA — Federal Emergency Mattel Aid — couldn’t help. Fortunately for Mattel, Hurricane Katrina swept the competition away the following year. Cremation in Pompeii Traditional burials were so blah. A wooden box for all of eternity? No thanks. Hip Pompeiians needed to die in style circa 78 CE. Sacrifices were all the rage. Fire was on fire. Soon, all the sexy teenagers wanted to be incinerated. Hot! Unfortunately, Mount Vesuvius really harshed the mellow on this one. Needless to say, the cremation business and everyone else were soon turned to dust. Flea Markets and Rat Races after the Black Plague We all love a good flea market. Antiques, vintage clothes and delightful old women. But did you know that flea markets originated in the Middle Ages, where they actually sold fleas to people? That’s right. Flea circuses were hotter than Satan’s wrath in 1320. And rat races. Everyone loved a good rat race. I always put my money on Seabiscuit, the fastest thoroughbred rat in town. Business was booming, that is, until people were dropping dead at the race track. Not because of the excitement, but because of the deadly pathogen that soon swept Europe faster than the flea market trend. Oh well, another pastime down the drain.
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.