Mirror, Mirror, on the wall: it’s Gretchen, writing from one of the mysteriously-stained, slightly-too-squishy couches that lives on the second floor of Robinson Hall — the same couch I’ve sat on for the past four years at Mirror story assignment meetings. To be honest, I’ve been dreading this ...
Between “midterm” papers that, for some reason, fall closer to the end of the term than the middle, and the general burnout-induced slump that plagues campus, week eight historically possesses an unforgiving character. There are occasions when we hit the lottery and have perfectly linear schedules ...
Winter Carnival has crept up on us, and we are once again reminded that gone are the days of the Psi Upsilon keg-jumping contest, Winter Carnival Queen and towering snow sculptures. Though these traditions have since passed us by, I know many students who still carry with them an idealized image of ...
Just after sunset last Friday, I found myself alone on a path bordering the Dartmouth Skiway. On one side of the trail, a house down a steep hill glowed from all sides. Formations of ice covered the cliffside that lined the other and a thin frozen layer coated the ground. As I stood still, I could hear ...
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 ...
