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(10/15/10 2:00am)
Okay so you should get by now that I hate the future. Not like the universal "future" where Segways replace walking, but no one's fat because all calories have been removed from food without any effect whatsoever on taste. Because I think that sounds lovely. And plausible. The detestable future I speak of, rather, is that utterly impossible, science fiction world that exists post-college. I find the idea of such a life so nauseatingly fictitious that I will not discuss such things with you fine people; I simply refuse to waste your time with inconceivable "imminent" scenarios of water coolers, taxes and just-one-drink-with-dinner. To do so would be to risk my hard-earned journalistic credibility.
(10/08/10 2:00am)
Oh hey. You again. I am psyched to see you. You think I'm being sarcastic because of the seemingly unenthusiastic use of periods here, but it's really not that. I really do want to hug-you-via-punctuation right now but I can't. You see, this week, Dartmouth decided to slap my soul in the face. Twice.
(10/01/10 2:00am)
OH MY GOD HI YOU'RE BACK!
(09/24/10 2:00am)
Well, hello there. You are reading my column. That is very nice of you. I like your taste in skimmable-items-in-The-Mirror-I-can-read-while-waiting-on-the-Novack-line. You impress me more and more with every sentence you read/stare-in-the-general-direction-of. Whoa, you're at sentence six?! Oh hey, rockstar. Time for you to proceed to paragraph two.
(04/09/10 2:00am)
It's been said that no one knows what the future holds. False. The future holds robots. In fact, if you're so inclined, robots will hold the future for you. After months (days) of research (lunch at Collis), I have found that the general hope for the future of our generation is that robots will be our best friends forever. Seriously, even though Tom Mandel '11 claims, "there's literally nothing cooler than a floating car," it appears that the majority of Dartmouth students simply fiend for robots. But not just any robot. No, my interviewees were very specific (and mostly high), holding an exact picture of everything their ideal robot would offer. Thus, ladies and gentleman, I present to you the future of technology, the ultimate companion: The Brobot. The Brobot (potentially named Bartholomew) will meet the following requirements:- Has a built-in Hop ice-machine for dispensing both crushed and cubed ice speedily and consistently everywhere.- Comes complete with a built-in political correctness detector, assuring your blitzes will not warrant future forums again.- Will single-handedly bring high tops back in style.- Acts as your sober wingman, indicating a 0-1 binary of your chances of scoring. Will flash sign "Lay up!" if you're lucky.- Adds all your pictures to Facebook under a witty title relating to the letter of the given term. 10SilverIsUsuallyTheColorOfRobots!- Erases the mess of cookie-dipping with a built-in Sweet Scooper (trademark pending), a combination of tongs and ladle that creators Michaels Bush and Lewis '11 assure is "the ultimate accessory for the cookie enthusiast."- Automatically produces sundresses and lax pennies when the temperature gets above 60 degrees Ok, 45 degrees.- Always remembers to suppress recipient lists. - Defeats R2-D2U, the nemesis robot who alerts you that you're still up doing work at 1 a.m.- Answers all your nagging questions like, "What is a rucksack for, if not a ruck?" (A small flightless bird? A performer in the Big Apple Ruckus?)- Moonlights as a crusader for the destruction of the Sun God.- Is BFF with Gaga.- Magically un-sends your drunk blitzes because, even in the future, Dartmouth wants you to irrevocably embarrass yourself. On the regular.- Never interrupts you except to say how pretty you are.- Teaches me how to drive. And by drive, I mean, take the written test for my permit.- Provides you with whatever questionably legal substances you may need to think of inventions for the future for, say, a Mirror article.- Rotates your spaghetti by pressing a small button on his index finger.- Brushes your teeth for you. Because that can be tiring.- Will ostracize any approaching clowns or life-size dolls. - Waits in line from 2 p.m. to 3:30 p.m. to get you Jason Derulo tickets.- Is equipped to repair any injured, tinier robots you may come across.
(01/29/10 4:00am)
The other day, I was reading The New York Times on my way to work, feeling like a mature woman of the world. That is, until I had to get from page A1 to A11. Having yet to understand the distinction between folding and crumpling the paper, I thought the best tactic would be to widen the diameter of the paper by stretching it taut, giving it a clearer path to a neat fold. But as I tried to bend the page, I suddenly heard a small squeal of pain from the woman to my left. I had given her a paper cut.
(10/09/09 2:00am)
Professor Celia Chen '78 of the biological sciences department has had the gift (or curse) of experiencing two different Dartmouths: the 51-percent female campus we know today, and the male-dominated campus of her undergraduate years. A member of the third coed class (the last all-male class was in its last year at the College when she arrived as a freshman), Professor Chen relives the horrible, wonderful, and the shockingly mundane experiences of Dartmouth in the late 1970s.
(08/21/09 2:00am)
For the past three days, "End of the Road" by Boyz II Men has been on a constant loop in my head. Like members Nathan, Michael, Shawn and Wanya, I know my days are numbered but I "can't let go." As hard as it is to admit, I've realized that when summer's over, so is my time in SHEBAlite, meaning that people will only think I'm remotely cool for two more weeks. As harsh a reality as this is, it's something other people too like Bill Mergner, a double-threat in both SHEBAlite and Dog Days of Summer have to face. Knowing that he will only be considered to have talent until the end of August, Mergner mused, "It's kinda like we're the Monstars at the end of Space Jam, and Michael Jordan is about to dunk on us, take back the talent that we stole, and return it to its rightful owners. The end is near, you know?"
(07/10/09 2:00am)
Today I had to call my mother and admit I broke my phone this weekend. Since I had called her exactly one week ago to tell her I dropped my phone's battery down a sewer, she was not exactly pleased. As I began concocting a legitimate explanation, I realized she would never believe an angry squirrel with a taste for Blackberry Bolds roams the College's campus. There was only one thing to say: "I'm sorry, Mom. I fail."
(02/27/09 9:58am)
Of course, there are some mildly normal people at the gym. In fact, you might even find a contender for Mr. Universe (or at least Mr. Big Green) if you're lucky. But, for the most part, the students found passing by the front desk guard during the gym's peak hours are freaks. Here's a glimpse at some of the more memorable characters whose odd behavior enhance all of our workouts...
(10/10/08 6:37am)
Every time I speak to my great-aunt Helen, she says she forgot the sound of my voice because she hasn't spoken to me in years. This comment does not vary based on the length of time between phone calls; she's said it to me in the same mournful tone whether it has been months between contact or merely a day.
(02/15/08 10:40am)
on the romance-intolerant Dartmouth campus
(01/25/08 10:51am)
You check out the new photo albums on Facebook, and you read, "Created just a moment ago."
(11/02/07 7:03am)
As the air in Hanover grows numbingly cold and you begin to feel that if you leave your bed the universe will implode, it's easy to become a hermit. You can have deep conversations on BlitzMail while you look at tagged pictures of your friends without ever having to put on shoes. But, in order to avoid utter social suicide, it's important to trade Facebook for facetime at least once a day. Where can you get in and get out with minimal effort and maximum socializing? Here is your guide to some of the optimum facetime locales; some may be obvious, some may be ridiculous, but they will all get you seen.