The Big Apple. The Empire City. The City That Never Sleeps. The Bearded Clam. New York by any other name is still the same rat-infested urinary-depository that many a Dartmouth grad comes to call home. I had the privilege of venturing into the depths of this renowned city last summer. It smelled a lot like urine and rats. More »
In about fourth grade I decided that I wanted to be a suffragette. I announced this to my mom. I’m sure she was a little surprised by this choice but maybe a little proud of my early penchant for women’s rights. More »
Things that are to be expected when hearing from friends who go on FSP’s in c: an affinity for shortbread and the Enlightenment, belief in the Loch Ness monster, possible love for cobblestone streets, as well as hackneyed Gaelic punk music. More »
Halloween is near and we all know what that means: girls in slutty costumes and dudes blacking out, so really nothing out of the ordinary around these parts. Which brings me to my next point: What the F is up with all the costumes? Halloween lasts 12 months a year on Webster Ave, where at any given moment you can spot someone sporting their best genuine rabbit-fur pimp hat, lime green unitard, pink tutu, coconut brassiere and other generally revealing or anachronistic attire, and you’ve been here so long that you don’t even think its weird. More »
Asian Girl: “Every Japanese major I know loves anime.” ‘10 Guy: “Recently, I’ve started believing in God.” More »
When asking for input on this article, I received several well-intentioned but patronizing remarks along the lines of “poor little Kentuckian who doesn’t understand that the vastness of the City cannot be contained.” Yes, people. I have at least visited New York, and I realize that my home of 260,512 does not quite compare to Manhattan’s 1,537,195 (not to mention surrounding boroughs, of course). Still, surely one could give a recommendation or two for the Dartmouthian-turned-New Yorker. More »
Hey men, remember when you were young and you would swim at the bottom of your pool with your feet tied together with one of those rings you would dive for? Remember when you would burst from the pool onto the stairs and flip your hair back with passion, jutting your budding breasts out? No? Well every girl you’ve ever known does (and maybe some of you have and just aren’t owning up to it … come on, you tried it once. It felt good. That’s OK, children are meant to experiment). More »
These songs have great personal significance. One of my favorite parts about the human brain is its ability to reinstate long lost emotional states after hearing just one chord from a song. Suddenly current feelings are completely replaced by nostalgic ones from some particularly painful or blissful period of life that was accompanied by a song on repeat. More »
I have been told that there is only one way to get a relationship started here at Dartmouth, where dating is pretty much dead-zo. More »
I could tell something was up a few weeks into the term when I walked into Collis and didn’t get so much as a glance. Why? Because usually I turn a few heads. “Who does this girl think she is?” you’re probably asking. Well let me add that on this day, as is the case at least five out of seven days a week, I was dressed to ride. I am an Equestrian. A member of that varsity team which so effortlessly combines athletics, animal intuition and now, thanks to the fashion tides of fall 2006, high style. If you follow fashion you know that the equestrian “look” is majorly in, and not just in Paris, Milan and New York. It’s officially hit Hanover. That day that I strode into Collis, ready to grab some food before I drove to the barn, I was decked out in my usual uniform during riding season: breeches, half chaps and paddock boots. But I wasn’t alone and the other person sporting the “look” was not on my team. In fact, I realized, the reason I wasn’t getting any stares was because my uniform was played out in a few variations on at least four people in Collis. Some had high leather boots over jeans, others had them over leggings, and I almost choked on my stir fry as I saw what looked like knee patches on the suspiciously breeches-like pants of another. More »
Book: “Complete Stories,” by Dorothy Parker Parker’s short stories will transport you out of Hanover and into Old (capital ‘O’) New York City. Start with “Big Blonde,” a tough and unsentimental look at one woman’s descent into alcoholism. Parker paints a cold, hard picture of the romanticized world of the 1920s, but somehow you’ll still want to superficially hang out at parties and smoke cigarettes after reading. - Sara del Nido More »
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