This week, like any week that I am tasked with writing the editor’s note, I’ve been looking for meaning in everything. Every third Tuesday is a game of how fast I can imbue an anecdote with importance, all while keeping one eye on a PDF I’m reading for my government seminar, the other on incoming ...
Italian plums, a hole forming in my favorite pair of Levi’s jeans, Bram Stoker’s “Dracula,” Anthropologie candles, emails that begin with “Thank you for your interest” and end in disappointment, contact-safe eye drops, a warm Pacifico on a Thursday, Imogen Heap’s “Headlock” blasting ...
This term, I arrived on campus early, which is probably — potential employers, please stop reading here — one of only a handful of times I’ve ever been early to anything in my life. After a logistical housing nightmare involving unfinished renovations in the apartment my roommates and I ...
Maybe it’s because I’m writing this on three hours of sleep, but I’ve begun to lose track of the all-nighters I’ve pulled this term. God, I can’t tell whether I sound more like an insufferable academic sweat or a middle school boy hyped up on Red Bull. While it probably hasn’t been more ...
No matter how much preparation or thought I put into it, every three weeks I find myself in Sanborn between the hours of 12 and 4 p.m., staring at a blank Word document, trying to start my editor’s note. Most of the time, it’s not even staring at a blank screen — it’s writing several opening ...
Yesterday, I was cleaning my room while listening to “People are People” by Depeche Mode, and I thought of my mother. It may surprise you, reader, that I think of her every time I listen to Depeche Mode — or Talking Heads or Neil Young or Tracy Chapman, for that matter. She not only introduced ...
The Mirror editors look into the unique role of WebDCR on campus.
Happy Week One, Mirror, and happy 24S! Gretchen here. Time at Dartmouth always seems to move at a peculiar speed compared to time anywhere else, but this term I’ve felt the discontinuity even more acutely. This is my third year at Dartmouth, but only my second spring on campus. One year ago, ...
Emerald Fennell offers up a toothless satire that doesn’t know what it’s poking fun at, but at least it looks beautiful doing it.
For most of my college career, Dartmouth and home represented two ends of one spectrum. The summer after graduating high school, it seemed like my childhood home in Nebraska and I had met our expiration date. This probably comes as no surprise, and I don’t intend it to be — any soon-to-be college ...
