No Place Like Home
Last weekend, some friends from home came to visit me. As I introduced them, with the tag line, "my friends from home," something about that bothered me.
Last weekend, some friends from home came to visit me. As I introduced them, with the tag line, "my friends from home," something about that bothered me.
Off-campus housing is a peculiar residential institution at Dartmouth. It is really the only place where the rights of the individual takes precedence over the rights of the group, whether it be the Dartmouth collective as a whole or smaller organizations with in it.
I'm too young to be a curmudgeon, but lately my life has been consumed by linguistic matters (the penalty for taking literature and language classes in the same term). Over the course of these few weeks I've racked up a list of new linguistic gripes and general observations.
The decision of the College to purchase 15 off-campus under-graduate houses sparked suspicion and fear among students living in those apartments.
"Europe cannot live in true peace and prosperity if one of its parts is shaken by conflict and lawlessness," Bosnia's Muslim President, Alija Izetbegovic said. Within the very city that symbolized the dashed hopes of an entire region, Western leaders have gathered to discuss large-scale projects to rebuild the Balkans and insure its peace and stability.
It's really high time that someone get public credit for the generally outstanding food service that we get here at Dartmouth.
Although the Trustee steering committee has an open-door policy for students to present ideas and opinions, the door remains firmly closed on the disclosure of any of those proceedings.
For those of you who don't pay attention to the news (i.e. for all of you including me), on Friday the Senate passed a 10-year, $792 billion tax cut, the largest in history.
There's a funny hesitation coming over me as I write this column to you to offer advice and share my Dartmouth experience.
So you are a member of the Class of '03, eagerly awaiting your chance to be welcomed into the Emerald City, the Big Green, Dartmouth.
I'm in the uncomfortable position of giving you advice. I'm trying to find vague certainties that can connect with a large amount of people.
I've never been on the rope swing. I hate fraternity basements. I think I played part of a game of pong one time sophomore year.
At this time of the year, people tend to think of huge blockbuster movies when they think of entertainment.
"You say you want a revolution? Well, you know, we all want to change the world." These words blared out of my Walkman at me while I was in the gym the other day.
A long time ago, a very wise person told me that I would soon find a way to turn something I do every day, into an occupation. Actually, it wasn't that long ago; it was last Thursday.
Sometimes a news item (ok, in this case, a cheesy forward) will come along that will make us D newshound columnists sit bolt upright and say, "Damn, I haven't written a column in a long time, and I have absolutely nothing to write about!
By the very nature of its existence, the Dartmouth community is one that is rooted in a belief in the inherent value of education.
As soon as my roommate and I get out of the car and walk towards McDonald's, she begins the inevitable debate about the virtues of Number 1 versus Number 3.
Once upon a time, for a long time, a tree stood on the corner of College and Wentworth streets, just beside Webster Hall.