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It’s been a wild ride with Dartbeat these past 4 years, watching it evolve slowly but surely. I have forced people to tell me their secrets, and admitted things over the internet that I maybe shouldn’t have. But here we are, week 10, and it’s time for my final article. And, since it’s Dartbeat, it only feels right to write it in list form.
Earlier this week, I was texting my editors about trying to be better about turning in my articles on time. This is how it went:
Four years ago, it is my freshman summer, and I am running down Mt. Moosilauke, alone, in the dark, 90 percent sure that I am about to die. I am kicking myself for staying an extra hour at the campsite up the mountain with my trail crew members, knowing I needed to get down to the Lodge before sunset. My headlamp begins to flicker. I’m probably running from a moose, or a bear or a psycho-killer AT hiker, right? Wrong. I am running from a fictional, immortal mad-scientist called Doc Benton. Many of you may remember the story of Doc Benton from Trips — the scientist from the 1800s who threw the girl off the headwall in the search for immortality? The story wasn’t very scary surrounded by 150 sweaty teens, but alone in the woods, I am straight losing it. Eventually I make it down (only falling once) and run into the Lodge, sweaty and out of breath feeling like I just outran death; everyone else is playing cards and looks at me like I’m crazy. Honestly, I probably am.
Everyone has that one quirk that comes out while drinking. Some people start singing, some people start speaking their truth, some people consistently start disrobing. Me? I start asking people to tell me their deepest, darkest secrets. To be fair, I do this sober all the time. It is, unfortunately, my go-to icebreaker. I guess it’s an ice breaker in the sense that the Titanic was an ice breaker — ya, maybe some ice is broken, but mostly it is a horrible disaster.
My friend Pritika is keeping a list of all the things she still doesn’t know, so that at the end of the year she can say “I’m a college graduate, and I still don’t know what fire is!” She is very concerned about not understanding fire. About every other week, I get a text from her saying “what is neoliberalism?!?” We are both very concerned about not understanding neoliberalism. We’re going to get to the bottom of it.
Breaking: Dartmouth students angry because the making of that thing they didn’t want to participate in is being taken away from them! This past Friday we all opened our blitz to some expected earth-shattering news: The Winter Carnival snow sculpture has been cancelled due to, among other reasons, “declining involvement from the student body at large.” (Ooh, drag me, Winter Carnival committee.) This ultimately resulted in some strongly worded grumbles like “what will we Instagram Week Six?” and “Lest the old traditions fail, etc., etc.”
Dear old Dartmouth, set a watch, lest the old traditions fail. What is a more time-honored tradition than opening up your phone over Homecoming and jamming your fingers into the keyboard for long enough to send out the poetry that is a drunk text message? Another tradition: Dartbeat reminding you that a hangover is temporary, but drunk texts are forever. Here are your best texts from last night from this Homecoming: