Zachary Gottlieb


Out of Control

Despite my absence from the daily intercourse of campus controversy, I did chance upon the song "Out of Control," sent out by an anonymous, auto-tuned avatar identified only by the moniker "Expecto Petronus (sic)." The balmy symbolism of Dartmouth fraternity brothers as Dementors was certainly not lost on the audience; yes, they will "steal your soul," and leave you with "no faith in mankind." The song's hyperbole presents a caricature of the universal chop-lickingly lupine Dartmouth "bro." The singer forgets, however, that sexual assault exists in any place or form as a manifestation of the lack of respect by one individual for another.

Senior Class Rift

This is the last time my voice will grace the pages of The Dartmouth. After over 50 columns of wrestling with Wheelock, poking fun at our absurdity, complaining and advocating and at last, growing playful in my nostalgia, you meet me here at my last article. In my valedictory, I wanted to say how proud I am that 99.9 percent of us gave to the Senior Class Gift ("Class of 2010 sets record with 99 percent donating," June 2). That all but one student donated something to represent their time here is truly an incredible feat. I wanted to convince you, holdout '10, that there was something about this place that's worth one symbolic dollar that while you defend your principled crusade against donation, many others may have had the same feeling, but realized it was driven by a baser emotion.

Distilling Memories

Aryeh Drager / The Dartmouth Staff Aryeh Drager / The Dartmouth Staff There's always been quite a buzz about "diversity" at colleges, and ours makes a concerted effort to cultivate a variety of experiences and viewpoints for its students.

Senior Spring

It was a couple of days ago. I, enjoying the beauty of the Upper Valley, playing a round of golf with an alumnus, discussing his wild times at Dartmouth.

Icarus Icons

I hate to bring more attention to you, Johnathan James Recor, MALS '11, "Sun God," traveling muse of eccentricity.

Highway 91 Revisited

So ended my last trip up to Dartmouth. Last Friday afternoon, I rolled down West Wheelock as the inverse prodigal son, returning to Dartmouth's open arms to as Luke 15:13 calls it "waste his substance with riotous living." What follows is my entirely non-sarcastic and wholly serious explanation of my religious feelings about senior Spring, in case you were wondering how much legitimacy to give me as an author (I'm reclaiming my schtick, Josh Kornberg '13). For those who drive up to school, or are the passengers in cars filled to the brim with things students won't need but bring up anyway (hope and condoms), we enjoy the special bond of a shared journey.

Eating My Words

I thought Dartmouth would allow me to feel unashamed by hyperbolic language that I, a handsome and compelling fact-eschewing columnist, could revel in the commedia and tragedia of an opinion article.


I'd like to express the range of feelings I have about Dartmouth Dining Services on a normal day, from the height of cynical fury to my inevitable return to resolved appeasement.

Fouad for Thought

Many of my fellow opinion columnists have decided to tackle national issues with the peculiar self-impression that they are experts.

Blitz War Draft-Dodgers

Dartmouth students, I've suffered the last "Reply-All" plea during a blitz war: "Please remove me from this list.

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