Last weekend was pretty much the quintessential Dartmouth weekend. A cocaine scandal erupted in the pages of The D on Friday, with felony charges raining upon our friends, acquaintances.
With the exception of the time my friend Sally and I accidentally drove a four-wheeler off a cliff in Lake City, Colorado we managed to throw ourselves off and remain mostly unharmed, but the ATV ended up at the bottom of the mountain, crushed like a beer can I have never been more afraid for my life than during the story I am about to tell you. The van was white, a Sprinter van, with the windows blacked by cardboard and duck tape.
"Questions of Interpretation of Abstract Art" was pretty much the wackest class I have ever taken at Dartmouth.
When I am alone on a long run in the rain in May, heading out through Norwich, up past Maple Hill and down past Bradley Hill; when the pavement ends, and I pass those sad cows at Goodrich Four Corners (not people, cows); when, after miles of trying to visualize my legs (not legs, life) like a train on the tracks, I catch sight of Baker Tower between a crease in the hills, away across the river: This is happiness, for me. When I am running far and long and hard, I am happy.
Nothing means summer is coming more clearly than the voice of Joe Castiglione, the announcer for the Boston Red Sox.
I had previously decided to write this week's column about the 10 things I love most about Dartmouth College, and I returned home this afternoon to do just that. But it was a windy day, an incredibly windy day, and when I got back to my room the breeze had ripped through my open window and torn down the lobster-print sheets I have tacked up as a makeshift curtain.
Since the theme of the Mirror this week is "Censor yourself!" I would like to tell you about the day I decided to stop doing exactly that. The day I fell out of love with Dartmouth College was a beautiful day.
"Your drawing," said the woman with a shaved head, after several minutes of silent contemplation, and paused again.
Every four years the Winter Olympics roll around, to remind us all of something we try to pretend does not exist: figure skating.
St. Billy was the son of an important political family from Ohio. He was everything a prince should be: handsome, polite, bright and blond.
Massey's feats inclue a handmade issue of the Stonefence Review.
Ben True '08 out-kicked last year's 5000 meter champ at Heptagonals.