Boots and Rallies
“Sarah!” I’d cry, “Bradford! How would you like to join me out on the fire escape? We can smoke clove cigarettes and read Camus to one another!”
“Sarah!” I’d cry, “Bradford! How would you like to join me out on the fire escape? We can smoke clove cigarettes and read Camus to one another!”
This article has been revised to reflect the following correction: Correction appended (Oct.
What's in and what's out (the freshmen after dark — egad) this week.
This fall has been one of the most confusing and tumultuous terms of my time at Dartmouth.
Student athletes must selectively choose how to spend their limited amounts of free time, and a number of these athletes choose faith and religion. So why don’t we hear more about it?
We must find something or someone meaningful enough to help shepherd us through our descent into an environment more conducive to all sorts of life. For me, Beverly Daigle, an 81-year-old blind woman from Lebanon, New Hampshire, was that someone.
’18: “Why do I keep getting these blitzes about Casual Thursday on Wednesday?” ’18: “He had the audacity to complain about the art in McLaughlin — that’s like a Dartmouth first-world problem.” ’17: “I do have standards.
Did you ever play the ’90s computer game “Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?” I really loved it. As we speak, the world — myself included — is dying to know the whereabouts of North Korean dictator Kim Jong Un.
My rental bike was stolen last week from the knoll between Fahey-McLane and frat row. Let me say, if you’re the mongrel who stole it and you’re reading this, I wish you no bodily harm. I would rather you grow up to perfectly resemble a parent you despise, or a person whose presence will remain addicting to you for the rest of your life breaks your heart, or you realize on an early deathbed that you never had a proud moment that came from within.
During the first weeks of this term, my social relevance somehow increased. With fraternity rush impending, I, alongside many other men in my class, was starting to be taken seriously as a potential new member by fraternities. This was a strange reversal from our invisibility to the frat brothers when we hung around in their basements as freshmen — it was almost a throwback to orientation. “What are you taking this term?” and “Where are you from?” were questions I heard far too frequently.
What's cool (and we mean frigid) this week.
As the air gets colder and the sky starts to merge darker shades of blue and purple, I often find myself, whether suffocating in the stacks on Sunday night, hanging in my room or lounging on the Green, absentmindedly wondering why the bells of Baker Library haven’t yet tolled the “Alma Mater.” It is not long after I pause my work and mull over this thought that the bells unfailingly begin, and it is then that I resume my work with a habitual nod of satisfaction.
As I enter my senior year, I’m reminded of our collective dream to lead happy and successful lives. It’s difficult to avoid the contagious excitement that pervades our campus — we’re all here to figure out how to build and live a great life, while frequently having a bit too much college-rated fun.
This week, The Mirror is getting personal. I’m not really sure how it happened, but all of our writers this week added a little tinge of personal history to their stories.
When this article is published, the Class of 2018 will have been on campus for 25 days. To put that in broader historical perspective, if Dartmouth College’s span of existence was one day, the ’18s have been here not much more than 20 minutes.
As I come upon my fifth term at Dartmouth, I have reached the status of what one would call a SWUG — “Sophomore Washed-Up Gender-nonconformer.” Despite the growing exhaustion, I have undergone an incredibly comprehensive process of self-discovery.
The Mirror wondered what Dartmouth's missed connections postings would look like.
’15: “I just wear my clothes until the wrinkles go away.” ’16: “I kept looking at my notes to give him a hint.
Three years ago I left home, hiking pack on my back and stiff boots on my feet, for my first-year trip. After our first day of hiking, my trip and I arrived at our campsite where we encountered a thru-hiker. His trail name was Lazarus.
The topic of anniversaries — our centerfold this week — got me thinking about the importance of getting a little perspective, which is hard to do while burrowed in the stacks or, in my case, lurking in my off-campus apartment. There are so many people I could have met, clubs I could have joined, apples I could have picked. It’s a good thing I still have a little bit of that precious time left.