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The other morning, I was chatting with a friend of mine who goes to college in a big city. About halfway through the phone call, he realized that he was out of milk and a few other groceries. “No worries,” he said, “I’ll just run across the street to grab some more.” Jokingly, I remarked, “Oh, off to the nearest CVS?” After a pause, he replied, “uh… why would I ever go to CVS for groceries?”
This article is featured in the 2023 Winter Carnival special issue.
This column is featured in the 2022 Homecoming special issue.
Like most adults across the world, my dad isn’t necessarily a tech whiz. He’s called me up before in efforts to figure out how to turn on the TV, install a new iPhone app or create a Spotify playlist. Of course, I happily oblige (although I couldn’t help being a little frustrated when he somehow managed to turn his phone’s default language to Croatian). Yet there is one element of his relationship with technology that drives me up a wall. For someone who spends hours of their daily routine on their phone, he’s intensely critical of me, and my other siblings, for the time we spend on our devices.
This article is featured in the 2022 Freshman special issue.
This column is featured in the 2022 Green Key special issue.
As much as I love studying with my AirPods, there is a slight glitch that’s been bugging me: Siri is a bit too eager to chat. Usually, when the AirPods are in my ears and a new message comes in, Siri will announce its contents through the earbuds; it’s a useful feature, even if it sometimes catches me off guard. However, for about five seconds after I put my AirPods back in their case, any incoming messages will still be read aloud by Siri — but instead of coming through the pods, they’ll be announced on speaker to the whole world.
On Feb. 26, as Russian troops marched toward Kyiv, the United States government reportedly offered Ukrainian president Volodymyr Zelenskyy a chance to escape the country. Zelenskyy apparently responded quickly: “The fight is here,” he said. “I need ammunition, not a ride.”
This article is featured in the 2022 Winter Carnival special issue.
Criticizing Dartmouth is, admittedly, pretty easy.
When I began working at a spunky, midtown startup last summer, I expected to slog through a hopefully rewarding, but probably boring, few months. I braced myself for long hours of worksheet organization, awkward water cooler small talk with 30-year-olds and the majority of my time spent twiddling my thumbs instead of actually accomplishing real, important work.
I love the Choates.
The first time I went to a gym, I dropped a weight on my foot. I was a stick-thin, anxiety-riddled 18-year-old who had just arrived in Tel Aviv on a gap year program. The only reason I was at this strange, odorous facility in the first place was because my friends had somehow cajoled me into accompanying them, even though I was staunchly against actually joining the gym. When we strolled down the aisles of panting millennials on ellipticals and bulging Israeli Defense Forces soldiers pumping ungodly heavy curls, however, my perspective quickly began to change. Contrary to my expectations, I wasn’t being judged for my super-skinny arms at all. Nobody cared if I was barely able to wobble up a 20-pound weight— they were simply concerned with their own workout. When I attempted to lug a 30-pounder over to my bench, the weight rolled right off the rack, thunking onto my right foot. And yet, while my pain was very real, the expected accompanying embarrassment simply never came.
