Rush Hour in Baker-Berry Library
One of the most significant movements that affect our everyday lives as Dartmouth students can be seen in such a common place as Baker-Berry Library.
One of the most significant movements that affect our everyday lives as Dartmouth students can be seen in such a common place as Baker-Berry Library.
Long gone are the days of struggling to pick your Top Eight friends on Myspace, engaging in poke wars via Facebook and chatting with your friends on AIM while your parents aren’t using the shared family computer.
In the wake of the polarizing confirmation of Brett Kavanaugh to the U.S. Supreme Court following multiple credible allegations of sexual misconduct, this week’s Mirror theme of gender falls at an tremendously relevant time.
Gender. Some of us think about it more than others — one may happen to notice this particular aspect of one’s identity more in certain situations, such as walking home at night in the city.
Popularized perceptions of college life cast a narrow view of sexuality in which men hit on women at drunken frat parties, leading to one-night stands with no strings attached.
Last winter, I took a biology class with a lab counterpart that was entirely dissection-based. Though the subject matter of the class was extremely fascinating, with every incision and extraction I performed, I realized that I did not have the passion necessary to continue the infamous pre-med track that I, like many of my peers, entered college intending to pursue.
"You write like a boy.” I heard that sentence numerous times throughout elementary school.
Before Dartmouth went coeducational in the 1970s, there weren’t as many college-aged women in the Hanover area.
“Warm-cut through Blobby @now. Bring a fracket.” Unless you’re a student at Dartmouth, you probably have no idea what I just said.
This summer, a soon-to-be Dartmouth freshman texted me asking whether she should buy any articles of clothing in particular in preparation for her transition from our hometown of Lexington, Kentucky to the cold north.
Sprawled across her sofa bed with our computers perched on our stomachs, my friend Sophia and I were tackling the study guide for our biology final.
This summer, I traded my bathing suits and flip flops for business casual blazers and flats.
Any kind of life transition puts your confidence to the test. The transition to Dartmouth, where it seems like every other person has created a business or cured a disease, is especially trying.
Think about the t-shirts you own. How many did you actually buy? It’s almost impossible to resist the allure of free stuff, so swag from clubs, events, internships, Greek life and more is bound to accumulate in one’s closet.
Our campus, though nestled in the white mountains of New Hampshire, hours away from the hustle and bustle of city life, is a thriving and pulsing center.
A month ago, I would have been sorely underqualified to write about silence, the theme of this week’s issue.
Do you ever find yourself using your phone when walking to class to avoid making eye contact with the girl you met to last week, because you don’t know whether she will say ‘hi’ or not?
Ever since I was a young girl, my classmates described me as a “violeta timida” (timid violet). This meant that I was always the quiet one in every social circle, which at that time was composed of my family, school and neighbors.
One of the most emblematic and accurate descriptions of our school can be found in its motto: “Vox Clamantis in Deserto,” or “a voice crying out in the wilderness.” Yet the phrase is rarely given much attention or thought, perhaps dismissed as an archaic Latin idiom that fails to inspire students.