When it comes to writing about the sexual state of affairs at Dartmouth, my mind can barely keep pace with the strokes of the keyboard, but ask me to write some little ditty about how my lifelong ambition is to work for peanuts as a yuppy peon, and I can't write my way out of a latex bag. That's not to say I can't write letters in general.
Andrew Hyman '94 is something of a perfectionist. He pauses thoughtfully before answering questions about his upcoming Senior Fellowship project, a film tribute to Norwegian artist Edvard Munch, choosing each phrase deliberately and sometimes stopping for long minutes while he searches for the best word to describe his work.
I never play the stock market. Aside from lacking even a basic understanding of what all those old, bald, white guys are actually doing when they wave those little pieces of paper at each other on the floor, it just scares me too much when companies like IBM lose half their worth in three months.
I swore I wouldn't do this. After last spring's Student Assembly presidential soap opera, in which my character was killed off after three blockbuster seasons, I swore that I would remain dutifully, commitedly, silently dead.