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The Dartmouth
June 11, 2025 | Latest Issue
The Dartmouth
Mirror
Mirror

Editor's Note

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“To which subject will Charlie turn his unsharpened ‘thinking’ this week?” my readers mutter as they stream into lecture halls. “Will this week’s column be as devoid of interest or substance as previous weeks’?”


Mirror

The D Runs The Numbers

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12 - The number of principles, including “observe and interact” and “design from patterns to details,” invoked by permaculture advocates. 1,211, 600 - The number of signatures accrued on the Divest Dartmouth campaign’s online petition and the number of likes on its Facebook page, respectively. 35 - The percent of Americans who express skepticism about the science behind climate change. 2,155 - The number of pages of the latest IPCC report. 4.5 million - The number of gallons of Fuel 6 oil Dartmouth consumes annually.


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If You Don't Know, Now You Know

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But this winter is cold. Is global warming still real? Dang! Got ’em! It’s super hilarious and insightful to wonder aloud whether the snow dump we experienced invalidates of decades careful scientific reasoning.






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The Student As Critic

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We could all be flâneurs — the ambling, idling scholars of 19th century Paris. We could all soak in the rich, historic landscape of our frigid hamlet. Balzac called the activity the “gastronomy of the eye.” Baudelaire deemed them “botanists of the sidewalk.” They feasted upon the urban sweep as if it were a museum — the citizens its patrons and the architecture its pieces, curated and juxtaposed to maximize experience.


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“Green Space”

In this frightening post-Dimensions show landscape, there is a real demand for more parodies of popular songs set to Dartmouth lyrics. And even if there isn’t a real demand, we will draft the song anyway. \nSing to the tune of Taylor Swift’s “Blank Space” (2014).


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Alt To Some, In To Many

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“Dartmouth is a party school.” It’s hard to guess how many times I heard this phrase when I was accepted to Dartmouth, but if I had to make a approximation for the sake of this article, I’d guess it was somewhere in the thousands. I heard it from snarky adults who had never been north of the Mason-Dixon line. I heard it from friends at graduation parties. I heard it from concerned elderly people in the grocery store. Sometimes I even heard it from the small, scared voice inside of my head. Nevertheless, I lugged my straight-laced, sleep-loving, decidedly sober self all the way to New Hampshire and hoped for the best.


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Fridays with Marian

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And there you have it — all the news from this past week. No need to watch the news, read CNN.com or open those Skimm daily news emails. In the meantime, there’s no rest for the weary. A hard-hitting — and completely qualified — reporter like myself is always on the job. I’d be nothing without my fanbase, so thanks for your support and love. I would like to dedicate this column to “Anonymous” who commented on last week’s column online. Your support means the world to me. And I will continue to produce this “kitchy” “drivel” with a “lack of substance” in your honor.




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Editor's Note

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You can become attached to a place very quickly. I endured quite a bit of abuse from friends about how often I studied in the 1902 room during my early terms at the College — and I’ll admit that I still like the place today.


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Boots and Rallies

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I know there’s some Japanese show where they put large, exotic insects in glass jars in order to induce fights between them — this is the kind of thing some people find entertaining. I don’t find as much entertainment value in the spectacle, but I know how it feels to be an insect like that, trapped in others’ personal space.