This is the last Mirror under my watchful eye, and what better topic to cover with my last little soapbox than the one I'm most passionate about -- flair (see below). It's been fun, Dartmouth.
The Election of 2008 was an epic one. I'm referring, of course, to its length. Here are the words that have been ruined -- maybe permanently -- by politicians and pundits over the past year: maverick, hope, change, hockey mom, lipstick.
Our generation has been pounded with anti-drug, anti-smoking rhetoric for as long as we can remember.
On the second evening of my Orientation Week, a wise man in Zeta Psi (whoa, I'm dating myself) revealed "The X" to me.
From the minds that brought you "Gardening on Salvia" comes the long-awaited sequel: "Editor's Note on NyQuil." Yep, it's that time of year: leaves are turning, midterms are starting, and immune systems are flying south for the winter.
In honor of Yom Kippur, this week The Mirror turns its eyes on the guilt that plagues us all. When I told my mom about the theme she said, 'What does guilt have to do with Yom Kippur?!" Exactly, Mom.
Professors. You see them in the lecture hall or seminar room. Occasionally, you'll bump into them in the library between classes.
Omigawd hi! How ARE you? How was your summer? Where were you -- wait, New York, right? Or was it DC?
Goodbyes are always hard, something I was reminded of when some this week's writers, namely the seniors on The Mirror staff, kept Blitzing me with their writer's block woes.
If Robinson Hall is an apartment building, The D and the DOC are like neighbors. When they have barbeques, the smell makes our mouths water.
