When I read stories like last Sunday’s New York Times piece “Sex in the Ivy League,” basically about how Harvard students are too uptight and take themselves far too seriously, I once again thanked my lucky stars that I go to Dartmouth, the Ivy League of Croos, gratuitous streaking and Animal House. Let’s be honest, we don’t only party harder than the rest of our Ivy bretheren, we laugh harder too. The perks of a 13% acceptance rate — clearly more class clowns or, like, fun people.
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When I call my daily schedule my “d-plan,” people often laugh. Sometimes when I stand up and do the twist in Collis, laughter might follow. I love calling someone’s name in a crowded room and hiding, then watching that person struggle to figure out who called their name.
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Explaining why streaking is funny is like explaining why people visit the leaning tower of Pisa. The answer is obvious and often taken for granted, but when you try to articulate it, there isn’t much to say (“Um, because it’s leaning…?”).
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I want to start off by saying that I am not anti-nudity. I have no problems with naked people at all. In fact, there are many times when nakedness improves situations. How many boring movies have been brightened up by the appearance of a famous actor’s perky body — even if all you’re seeing is a butt double? Nakedness is not only normal, but it can be stimulating.
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Rock ‘n’ roll once had a reputation for being the genre run by the bad boys, the rebels and the outrageous partiers. But those glamorous days of drug overdoses, hotel room antics and front page scandals seem to have vanished. Whatever happened to sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll?
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Holy Shit I’m Awkward!” My ‘08 compatriots may recall this Facebook group among the plethora that cropped up our freshman fall, back when the site was novel and thrilling (OMG, look how e-popular I am already!!!). Shortly thereafter, campus entered into a momentous debate, a quarrel only matched in intensity by the ubiquitous “Greek vs. alternative spaces” and “Keggy vs. Dartmoose” disputes. The central question: How outwardly awkward must group members prove themselves?
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For as long as I can remember, I’ve been completely obsessed with breasts. While the average four-year old will occupy herself with drawing Picasso renditions of lopsided trees, my kindergarten portfolio consisted of disjointed stick figures distinguished only by a massive pair of ta-tas. And while your typical child asks for ponies and shiny pink Barbie jeeps for Christmas, my list always consisted of one item: boobs. When will mine grow? Will it happen overnight? All at once? Will I get big ones or small ones?
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It was quite an amazing experience to get out of our little bubble here in Hanover and visit Boston last Saturday. I appreciated being back in civilization; I heard people speaking in different languages, had to look before crossing the street and used cash more than DA$H. What’s more, I was able to visit stores whose merchandise I’d only seen as thumbnails on the Internet. At the Prudential Center, I stood for a moment, taking in the whimsical feel that emanated from the windows of retailer Free People, before entering.
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Allison Miller ‘10 is a self-described lover of prospies. As a tour guide, Admissions Office intern and co-director of Dimensions weekend, she doesn’t just talk the talk about loving Dartmouth. She was also the victim of April Fool’s pranks involving sun tan lotion and banana costumes.
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‘11 [at the Hop]: Yeah, you can basically get a table at SAE at any time.
Fellow ‘11: Yeah. I think playing at AD would be an experience though, being able to play in front of a crowd and all.
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