What Would Martha Stewart Do?
"There's a leaf on the floor ... how did it get there? I wonder who left a leaf on my floor!" -- someone's crazed roommate You are a bright-eyed, intelligent young person with the world in your hands.
"There's a leaf on the floor ... how did it get there? I wonder who left a leaf on my floor!" -- someone's crazed roommate You are a bright-eyed, intelligent young person with the world in your hands.
It is with great pride and pleasure and a crystal awareness of the irony involved that I accept the distinction of being the first student who suffers a personal attack from the Dartmouth Review for the 1998-99 academic year.
You have to admire someone who can decry the oversimplification of his views on the one hand, and then write something like, "The conservative requires you to have faith in God, the liberal replaces "God" with "the state" or "society" [The Dartmouth, "A Few Good (Straw) Men: Part II," Oct.
Last winter when a Star of David with the message "Death to You" was scrawled on the door of one of the River apartments, the response was a forum in the Roth Center with a huge panel of students from all walks of Dartmouth life, followed by a break-out session in smaller groups, after which we returned to the larger group to present our ideas about ending hate at Dartmouth.
No offense to the news section of The Dartmouth, but I rarely bother to read it. It's not that I am an apathetic ignoramus whose interests do not venture outside the frat basement.
Lately it seems we have a lot of freshmen punks around here bent on taking over the world. Well, at least that one kid with his rise of capitalism or whatever.
If, for some inexplicable reason, I was held at gunpoint and ordered to name the one person from late 1980s network television that I admired most, I would say Doogie Howser.
On Thursday, October 15, many members of the Dartmouth community participated in a vigil in memory of victims of hate crimes throughout the country, particularly Matthew Shepard and James Byrd, both of whom were killed because someone decided that their lives as a gay and black man, respectively, were not valuable.
Events during the past week or so have reminded me of some of the great strengths of the Dartmouth community, as well as of some painful problems that persist in this and other communities.
It doesn't affect me, so why should I care?" It is appalling on a campus supposedly brewing with our world's future leaders, how many times I've heard that comment and others just like it.
I'd like to ask all my professors to do me a personal favor -- don't ever tell me that grades don't matter. Too many times in my academic career I have had a teacher or professor tell me something to the effect of, "Oh, now, all I want is for you to do your best.
My father used to tell me that he walked 10 miles and had to swim across a river just so that he could go to school.
Not 154 Fold as Reported Yesterday
So I was thinking ... about social space. Maybe you noticed in last Wednesday's D, buried in an article about new iMacs for public terminals, that the Student Assembly passed a resolution to support a document written by two students on the state of our needs for more social spaces on campus ["SA to install 16 iMacs for Blitz use," Oct.
On Monday, October 19, 1998, Mike Tyson won the biggest decision of his professional and personal career.
In my last column, I digested the anti-Objectivist piece by Andrew Boldt. It's dinnertime now, and Hogan's article, "In Defense of Capitalism" [The Dartmouth, Oct.
Bored to the point of illness from sitting in her house on Long Island and staring at the wallpaper (which, don't get me wrong, can be fun if combined with the correct substances) awhile ago my friend Elizabeth and I decided to go see a hockey game.
I was up late last night. I was trying to write a paper on Joyce's "Dubliners" and I needed just the right synonym for "desolation." Unfortunately, I found it. I had Instant Messenger running on my computer at the time and the little computer noise it makes when someone sends you a message drew my attention from my thesaurus (yes, I actually still use a real thesaurus and not the electronic kind). An old high school ex-girlfriend of mine, Siobhan, had sent me a message, "hi Liam, how are you?" Now mind you it was 3 a.m., and I still had about four pages left to write in the essay, so I was leery of getting into a long conversation with this girl with whom I hadn't spoke in a year or two.
I was running, late as usual, trying to make it to the front of Dartmouth Hall before 9 o'clock. I didn't know exactly what I would find there, but I didn't want to burst in late (as usual) and make a scene.
To the Editor: I am writing this letter in response to Rob Valet's column, "A Sense of Perspective" [The Dartmouth, Oct.