History of Hinman
The other night as I waited in the Lone Pine Tavern for my dinner, I happened to glance around the room looking at the different artifacts from Dartmouth's history.
The other night as I waited in the Lone Pine Tavern for my dinner, I happened to glance around the room looking at the different artifacts from Dartmouth's history.
To the Editor: Funny how the Administration wouldn't allow the Pow-Wow to be held on the green last spring because the dancers' mocassin-clad feet would damage the tender grass, yet it seems to have no problems allowing a bus to be driven onto the green and puppeteers to dance about on stilts behind a small barricade of banners driven into the precious green by wooden stakes, while hundreds, possibly a thousand more spectators than the pow-wow draws, stood in rapt attention...
I was sitting in my room last night, a half-smoked Camel Filter casually dangling from my lips, wrapping up the evening's reading of "Richard III" for the next morning's Shakespeare class, listening to some Smashing Pumpkins album "Mellon Collie and the Infinite Pretentiousness," I think feeling rather Edgar Allan Poe-esque, when I heard a knock on the door. "Come in," I bellowed, but it was a happy bellow, a come-on-in-and-suck-on-my-aura bellow. Two pointy figures poked in their young heads, one male, one female.
Over the summer, the Co- College invested over $1 million in renovating Topliff. I happened to get a single in the "new Topliff" and it became obvious that nobody had bothered to get any student input on the renovation process. How do I know this?
After three years in Hanover, my awed, appreciative, freshman-year impression of Dartmouth has since developed into the cynical perspective of one who envisions the campus only in the framework of hum-drum everyday life.
Food. We eat it every day. Some people are pickier than others. Some students will inhale anything, while others are overly particular about what they will allow to come in contact with their palettes.
I was confounded by the column "A Picture's Worth a Thousand Words" [September 26], in which Jennifer Parkinson claimed that the columnists who do not want their photographs to appear in The Dartmouth are unprepared to "stand behind their opinions." Ms. Parkinson suggested that if the no-photograph position were taken to its logical end, the class or even first name of columnists should also not appear in the newspaper because any such information might induce the reader to presume unjustifiably about the opinions of the columnist.
You've heard it all before. About how Dartmouth students are lacking in individualism. About how they all dress alike and speak alike.
As Jen Parkinson wrote yesterday, "If some one is going to bother reading 750 or more words of my opinions, perhaps they deserve to know who I am." So, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Lea Kelley, I'm from Washington state, I'm a double major in English and History and I'm a Tri-Delt.
Few Dartmouth and college traditions are introduced to freshmen as quickly as the unavoidable ritual of pressing the flesh.
To the Editor: What a disappointment it was to walk into Collis Wednesday, the first day of classes, and discover how inept Dining Services has proven itself to be once again. It was heartening to hear that I was not the only student perturbed by the changes to Collis, which was once the choicest eating establishment during the lunch hours.
You know what?" I asked Cheryl, "This stinks." We were both sitting on my bed in my tiny single, poring over our ORCs in an attempt to get our lives in order. "Ok, if I do a thesis, then I have to take only English classes for the rest of my life.
In the last few weeks before returning to Dartmouth, I had the misfortune of attending a local Republican rally with my father who is running for local office.
Today, I'd like to kick off the year by risking offending a group of people whom it could be dangerous to offend. I'd like to write this column about columnists. It's perhaps a bit bizarre, or at the very least, self serving, to write about writers, but hey, we're a bizarre, self-serving bunch. Monday night, I went to a columnist meeting at the brand-new offices of The Dartmouth.
To the Editor: I am not quite sure why so many students who manage to be the best students of their country fail to use their superior intelligence when it comes to motorcycle and automobile safety.
Welcome back to school, to Hanover, to Dartmouth. Yes, it's time for Fall term again. Fall term is really the most unique term at Dartmouth.
Advertised this summer as "a convenient, flexible and easier-to-use alternative to cash" the new Dash card has turned out to be a big headache. The flyer sent home to students in August tried to sell the so-called "exciting new program" rather than inform students about how the dramatic change in billing would affect their daily lives.
To the Editor: I am disappointed once again that Dartmouth's incoming class will be labeled "the best ever," a claim supported by ever-stretched data and near interpolations.
Everyone loves Dartmouth. From the moment we step onto this campus as 'shmen, birds begin singing, the sun shines perpetually, and cars stop for us even when we're not at an intersection.
This summer I learned a lot about heat. Before driving south to spend a term in the Lower Rio Grande Valley of Texas, I never fully appreciated how HOT 106 degrees Fahrenheit really is.