Breaking Through: Sex Ed
A public school education leaves quite a few things to be desired. Take sex education, for example.
A public school education leaves quite a few things to be desired. Take sex education, for example.
Dear Carol, It started out innocently enough -- just a casual conversation over the sandwich counter at Food Court.
Dining at Dartmouth is weird. "Getting a meal" consists of much more than just a plate of General Tso's chicken or a Banana Log wrap.
'11 AD [playing pong] : Can we stop playing this game and go study? '10 Girl 1: You know what would make every girl want us during rush?
Safety and Security Sergeant David Hunt knows everything about the ins and outs of the Dartmouth social scene.
Male '12: So basically my first encounter with H-Po was back in October. I had just come back from Heorot, and I was just being an idiot and was holding a Keystone can. "Oh, I'm not gonna get caught by H-Po, I can just, like, move the can to the other side of my body, and they'll never be able to see it," I thought to myself at the time. The girl I was with wanted me to walk her back to her dorm, so we were on this corner of indecision: She wanted to go home, and I wanted to go to EBAs.
Shirley Hu / The Dartmouth Staff Imagine: You're slouched on your grandparents' paisley sofa, contentedly watching MTV's "Bromance," while Granny's in the kitchen jarring strawberry preserves, and Gramps dozes in the La-Z-Boy.
Bad choices happen. Too much alcohol happens. S&S happens. Even with these inevitabilities, however, there's no reason that getting picked up should constitute a necessary element of the essential Dartmouth experience.
Having passed over the threshold of youth and entered the beer-soaked beginnings of adulthood, the first years of college hold a special charm and promise.
I'm over 21, I've been at Dartmouth for almost four years now, and I'm a girl, which means I normally don't have the urge to chuck things at people, or if I do, I seldom follow through with it. Because of all this, I'm not really all that worried about my relationship with Safety and Security.
Dear Sydney, Lately I have found myself seized with premature baby lust and other emotional responses disproportionate to the stimulus.
On the first day of Amber's job as a nude art model, she was nervous. "I was walking there trying to calm myself down and prepare myself for it," she said. Several minutes after the robe came off, however, she relaxed. "When you're there you're holding a pose, you don't have time to look at yourself." Amber started modeling this year, and said it is something she has always thought about pursuing. "Most people wouldn't even consider doing it," she said.
I know this isn't necessarily the topic of The Mirror this week, but I was stunned and a wee bit upset to return to campus on Wednesday from The District of Columbia and not see an article in The Dartmouth, America's Oldest College Newspaper -- Founded 1799, that had a student reporter doing more than simply describing the basics of the inauguration festivities.
As the mercury continues its steady drop, the discerning Dartmouth fashion lover is forced to trade his or her impractical fripperies and fineries for the warmth of utilitarian winter gear.
The words we choose make all the difference. For example, if one of the Novack employees milling about behind the counter finally turns to me and asks, "What can I get for you?" I merely say, "A large coffee with soymilk and a bottle of water and also a large cup of ice and this Vitamin Water, please." However, if a Novack employee chooses their words slightly differently, and asks me, "How can I help you?" I find myself requesting a dirty martini, straight-up with a twist of vicodin, and make that four olives -- this being breakfast, after all. You see, there is a vast disparity between what Novack "can do for me" and what would actually be "helpful." But this canyon between civility and depravity is easily bridged each day -- and just as easily breached -- by language. Consider sex.
It's week three, and we are still continuing to find so much in common. We are proud, yet slightly disappointed at the same time, to say we have never been Good Sammed or had a run-in with S&S or H-Po.
Aryeh Drager / The Dartmouth Staff After strapping on your head lamp, tying up your hiking boots and tightening your backpack in preparation for your freshman DOC trip, did you tearfully give your friends good bye hugs and kisses, or did you see your departure as an opportunity to ditch the ball and chain and move on to bigger and better things?
Editor's Note: As a Hanover area "townie," Graeme Calloway '12 resented Dartmouth students who crossed the street in front of his car.
'09 Guy: Of course I'm drinking. Do you really think that I'm going to be sober and stand around a gross, smelly basement watching people try to awkwardly worm their way into each others' pants? '12 Guy: I only boot in toilets because I have class. '09 Girl: Triple sec is horrid.
Your home friends: They're the ones who knew you before you thought doming was a sport. Blitz is alien to them, they think large fires surrounded by teeming hordes signify something akin to the occult and, for these special some-ones, pong means Beirut.