Published 29 May 2009

The Masthead

Editor-in-Chief: James Wang
Publisher: Amanda McNally
Managing Editor: Robert C. Meyers

Read this issue’s articles!

Smiles and Empathy

Molly Bode

The simplest piece of advice I could give on how to live a happy life at Dartmouth would be to try to live off-campus for at least one term, if not all of senior year. Secondly, realize the importance of your friendships and interactions with others. Living off campus has all sorts of obvious perks: kitchens, nooks & crannies, basements, big beds, microwaves, living rooms, and the opportunity to live and socialize with friends. More importantly, off-campus living gives you enough distance to let you put your on-campus experience as well as your entire four (or so) years here into perspective. This distance, physical and otherwise, engenders a certain peace of mind. It lets you step back and appreciate the beauty of this place—the simple dancing of maple leaves takes precedence over the trivial nuances that can make people question their self-worth and ability to survive at Dartmouth.

I employ the term “survive” because I believe most students find that the beauty of the place belies a natural struggle. This struggle is a collective experience we all encounter at Dartmouth at some point, but nonetheless we let fear or skittishness keep us from sharing our inner turmoil. We certainly know how to put up a confident facade. The influences of others and the fast pace of Dartmouth life can make these personal struggles harder to face. It is important that we take the time to step back into our own personal spaces. My room this past year has become my sanctuary. Though sometimes (most times) you can hardly see the floor of my room, it is always a place where I can reflect on things that are happening in my life. It helps me foster my friendships and relationships with people and realize what is truly important in my life. So try to live off-campus, or at least find your own haven, so that you can appreciate Dartmouth more and feel more personally centered. That haven can be your room, a place of reflection, an activity, or anything that just lets you put the bigger picture together and improves your personal happiness.

Living off-campus has also allowed me to grow close to seven incredible friends, and has helped me improve all of my interactions with others. These seven guys and gals I’ve lived with have transformed my experience, and while we may not all have been the best of friends to start, living together brings a closeness that I do not think can be imitated. It is something that I will miss dearly when I leave—I will not forget the late night conversations on the porch and the roof, or even the fun we have constantly battling with our clogged drains and messy house. At Dartmouth, I have found that there are different levels of friendships, ranging from the friends that you know you will grow old with (and unclog drains with) and will always be close with, to the acquaintances that you greet walking across the green.

Living off-campus and being a senior has reinvigorated my love and respect for the people here, and I feel more enthusiastic when I walk onto campus and see everyone. My piece of advice to you is that, regardless of how close you are with your friends or with people that you have just met, it is incredibly important to acknowledge all of these people in your life—even if it is just to say “hey” or give a smile and nod. And if you do have the time (it doesn’t take much), get to know as many of them as you can. This past year, I’ve sat down and had meals with the most incredible people, often just by chance. In the end, it is the relationships with people, and a certain social aptitude, that you will bring away with you from college. I would advise you to make room for the unexpected interactions, like a walk up Balch Hill, and to plan time with the people that you care about. It can be a hard task to juggle, but if you can find this balance, then I believe you will improve your happiness. While the article from The Atlantic I was pondering about on the roof does not discuss this balance, it does point out that relationships with other people and warm connections lead to happiness and to a good life as we age. I think that it is these connections that lead to happiness at Dartmouth, and I hope that you can find them.

My last piece of advice is to have empathy. I have always tried to be conscious and understanding of others’ circumstances, but living in close quarters with people makes the importance of having empathy even more apparent. You never know what is really going on in someone else’s life, and just realizing that can make a world of difference. If Dartmouth had just a bit more empathy then there would hardly be any issues of respect on our campus. Simply sit down and talk to one another. I believe this is where respect comes from, and if you have empathy in your everyday interactions and communications with people then life is better on both ends.

That’s all I really have to say—it is fitting that as I finish this piece I am running off to have a sit-down dinner with my 9P ladies.

A Love/Hate Relationship

May-Lieng Karageorge

My freshman year, a friend told me that one of his goals at Dartmouth was to explore as many cultural spaces as possible. While that sounds like a pretty clichèd endeavor, it’s still something many of us fail to do—getting out of our comfort zones and choosing to deal with people who aren’t like us, ones who challenge our views, expand our horizons, or just plain get on our damn nerves with their inanity. The following are two experiences that have shaped my time at Dartmouth: one gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling inside, and the other involves a love/hate relationship that gives me fuzzy feelings, too, but also makes me want to stab myself in the eye.

Sorority Gal

Let’s start with the space that caused me to cross the love-hate line so many times. In the name of exploring various cultural spaces, I accepted an open bid to my sorority during sophomore spring to see what mainstream Dartmouth was raving about. Some of my closest friends were already in the house, so I figured this was a good way to spend time with them. What I didn’t realize about joining a house was that while, yes, I would get an opportunity to spend time with my amazing friends and meet more amazing girls (both of which I’ve done and am grateful for), I would also be stuck as a “sister” to some crazy psychos, drama queens, and annoying whiners.

Let me first make a disclaimer. The aforementioned groups of people, plus tools, d-bags, etc., exist everywhere at Dartmouth. The difference between finding them at say, Novack, and finding them in your sorority, though, is that in the former situation, you can get the hell out of there real quick. But alas, in the latter, you’re bound to have to deal with them again and again. During meetings, for example, you have to endure some annoying sister’s TMI and graphic account of her sexual encounters. During sisterhood trips, you can barely avoid being part of some other sister’s self-induced boy drama. At formal or an open party, inevitably someone will—in all her drunken glory—break the fuck down and wail about how much life sucks for her and can someone please give her a hug. Projectile vomit. Sigh. You can’t even escape them in cyberspace. Stupid, time-wasting house blitzes galore. While other people are better about laughing all these people off, and better at selectively checking house blitzes that won’t waste one’s time, I guess I am not so gifted.

The second reason that I’m not well-suited for a sorority has to do with the structure of the Greek system. Because of the gendered dichotomy of the system, the space becomes sexualized, and its participants are socialized to look at the opposite gender as a limited resource we must fight over. This is sad on two fronts. Firstly, the idea that there are a limited number of eligible guys on campus often makes girls settle, instead of really looking for guys who are not only f-me hot, but know how to respect and make sweet love to a girl. Secondly, not only do they settle, but they’ll cut other females (figuratively speaking, not in a literal shank-fest way—although it has often come close to that) for these losers. I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to stab myself in the eye when I heard girls, not so much in my sorority but within the system at large, fight over this douchebag or that woman-beater. Because of the sexualized nature of the Greek system, it’s also hard to establish platonic friendships with guys because every time you start hanging out with a guy a little too often, people immediately assume you’re hooking up, making shit awkward for everyone. Thanks a lot.

The last reason sororities and I are not a good match is simply because I’m too poor for it. I hope I don’t have to explain at length why the Greek system is classist by default (summary of main reason: high cost of dues/slush funds + doing house hours to afford dues = a huge time suck). Even as a member of the house with the cheapest dues and the most comprehensive financial aid system, I still do not find being in a house affordable. I often times end up spending so much time doing house hours to afford dues that I barely have extra time to spend at the house. Even if you’re set on the dues front, there are still so many extra expenses: buying shirts for this big weekend and that big event, that overpriced Jockwear gear, formal attire, hosting Wine & Cheese, paying extra for a sisterhood trip to Montreal, etc. Yes, I realize these things are optional, but they’re an option everyone else has the privilege of partaking in without an extra thought, creating the false illusion that paying dues will give you the complete “Greek Life package,” when in reality there are tons of hidden expenses not all of us can afford. Looking back, I don’t think the financial sacrifices I had to make to be in a house were worth it.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure sororities can be absolutely heavenly for other girls, and mine has been a source of a lot of great memories as well. It’s been a huge internal struggle deciding whether to depledge, or stick around. I chose to stick around because of the tremendous respect and love I have for the majority of my sisters. I just wish I could have met and gotten to know them without taking part in such a challenging and flawed system. Catering Wench

At the end of every spring, I stay on campus to work for Commencement and Reunions (C&R). It’s good money, and a good excuse to partake in Senior Week debauchery. Money, booze, and boys aside, working C&R has been one of my favorite experiences at Dartmouth because of the co-workers I met and befriended.

There are several C&R jobs, each with its own perks and disadvantages. I work Catering, which is probably the most labor-intensive of all the C&R jobs; depending on your schedule, you can end up working 17-hour days. I’d go home sore as fuck, my feet aching and smelly, big sweat stains on my armpits. Love it.

You see, there’s something about working a shitty job that makes for great bonds and a sense of camaraderie, despite the fact that the C&R staff is an eclectic assortment. My co-workers aren’t just poor kids who need to work to pay for tuition and books. There are athletes looking for a productive way to spend interim periods, shopaholics desperate to pay off their credit card bills, and work-addicts that just can’t stay idle at home, even though they already have a baller internship lined up for the summer.

Despite the diverse composition of the staff, we get along so well because we bond mainly through sharing and respecting one another’s backgrounds and views: one girl’s pride in being a West Virginian and her love of muscle cars; a co-worker’s worries about getting into medical school and living up to his family’s pristine achievements; a white Southerner’s struggles with having minority friends who assume that he’s privileged, despite the fact that he’s a first-generation student who comes from a low socioeconomic class.

We exchange stories of the good ass-whoopings we got as little kids, dysfunctional families, and other hilarious growing up tales. One co-worker described how his education was a product of a lucky accident. He was originally the family shepherd, but one day, when he was eight, he fell asleep while shepherding and lost all of his family’s sheep. Useless as a source of labor, his parents enrolled him in school. Now he’s thriving at Dartmouth. Another co-worker explained the common practice of having multiple wives in Afghanistan, and then jokingly expressed his wish of having 27 wives. That led to many politically-incorrect jokes about cows and wives (you had to be there). I felt at home sharing my stories of growing up in Indonesia, and my views as a multiracial, first-generation student at Dartmouth. Of course, there were negative e
ncounters. Like the time I overheard a student manager saying that the reason he had an Asian girlfriend was because “Asian girls are submissive.” Or another time when a co-worker mistook a friend’s comment as racist and tried to start a fight.

Yet, through the mini-tiffs and disagreements, we—save for a few bona fide jerks—are mostly a tight group who work together, rage together, and have awesome discussions together. I would not have met most of these people through my normal interactions, and that’s why I love being a Catering wench. We’ve learned so much from one another, and that at least makes us a little less ignorant than before.

Case Hathaway-Zepeda

By my junior year, our volunteer base had expanded to include about seven students. That fall, we ran a business class at the prison and sold crocheted headbands during the winter in a few local stores. The women reflected their deep concern for children and families when they voted unanimously to have the proceeds donated to the Upper Valley Haven. Prison Project began to expand: we formed poetry groups, dance classes, and crochet workshops; played volleyball, and filmed over 50 women reading bedtime stories to their children. In the spring of 2008, Prison Project, representing Dartmouth, was nominated for and won a state service award. These past three terms we have had a record number of volunteers, to the point that we can’t even accommodate all of them during our weekly visits.

Prison Project has really shaped my Dartmouth experience, informing the way I interact with people, create my art, and choose to live. Initially, as a Studio Art major, I thought that the work I was doing was solely about the women in prison. These past two terms, however, I’ve come to realize that I make “art” to communicate feelings. My pieces are an expression of how I relate to the women in the prison, and how I have slowly come to acknowledge my depression. In each piece, nonetheless, there is hope despite the darkness, which is open for the viewer to interpret.

After my four years at Dartmouth, I finally realized that you should just do what you want. If you have a passion, follow it vehemently; immerse yourself in it. If you’re not sure what you’re passionate about or what makes you happy, try everything with all of your heart and explore. The opportunities at Dartmouth are boundless. The College can sometimes be restrictive, but see these moments as catalysts for creative action. Be here, experience Dartmouth, question it, love it, hate it, but ABOVE ALL, leave it in a better state than when you first set foot on campus. Speak up and do what you want, and what you think is right—it probably is, and eventually people will hear you. I can’t imagine my life without Dartmouth and everything it has given me. I hope that every student feels this way upon graduation and then goes above and beyond their greatest dreams with confident determination.

Sharing Stories

Scott Limbard

And then we’re gone, off to do a great many different things. At that point, we’ll all probably have a romanticized memory of this spring, coupled with the idea that the end came too quickly. I’m guessing that we’ll all feel a kind of regret that we couldn’t extend our last term indefinitely. In any event, hopefully this summer there’ll be better things to do than sitting around thinking about Dartmouth. (It’ll just feel like an off-term anyways.)

I’d like to suggest a new summer pastime that doesn’t involve dreaming about the glory days. I call it the story game. (Yes, the title needs work.) I promise this game will change your life if you participate in good spirit—going at it sarcastically will only make it seem petty and superficial (which, if that happens, it might actually be). Anyway, by continuing to read this article, you are hereby obligated to play this game at least once in the next two days. Consider it a challenge.

Like the title, the game itself is quite simple. You need at least two people. Person A asks Person B: “Tell me a story about [insert topic here].” Person B then tells a story about that topic. Simple, right? A couple clarifications: the topic can be an object (a fire hydrant, a food, etc.), a time (winter, last year, etc.), or pretty much anything. It just needs to be general. The story doesn’t have to be funny. It doesn’t have to be exciting or inspiring. It just needs to be true. (Of course, there’s never anything wrong with hearing a funny, exciting, inspiring story. That’s just a pretty high bar to set for this game, which would quickly make it difficult to participate.)

At this point, I imagine this game sounds really boring. (Ah, ye of little faith.) Truthfully though, that thought isn’t totally off-base: playing the story game isn’t as consistently exciting as some other things (think: base jumping, chipotle tabasco sauce, Sheba, etc.) However, the point of the story game isn’t to get the adrenaline pumping. The point is to fill an otherwise unscheduled moment in your life with a bit of fun. (Incidentally, it’s also a great way to get to know other people better. Plus one point!)

I taught the story game to three friends of mine at the beginning of this term. One of them, Person A, asked me to tell her a story about a bike helmet. (Random? Yes, but those are the rules.) As it turns out, I have very bland stories about bike helmets. Once, the purple plastic shell covering my helmet’s protective foam part separated while I was riding. It floated away in the wind, twirling around as I kept speeding down the road, I had a good deal of trouble finding it. That’s pretty much my whole story. Not that great, yeah? True, BUT, my telling that short story prompted my friend to remember a GREAT bike helmet story from his early elementary school years! (After biking halfway to school, my friend learned from a crossing guard that he had forgotten his helmet. Realizing his mistake, he broke down and started to cry because he had ridden all that way without his helmet [scary], and then because he was going to be late for school [because he obviously had to go back home to get the helmet]. After walking his bike back home, his mom gave him a ride to school so he wouldn’t be late. Fantastic story—very endearing.

So, you see, the story game can bring you to unexpected destinations. Now, remember: you’re obligated. Do it. Two days. Think back to the last time you met someone and within two hours had asked him/her to tell you a random story about his/her life. If you have already done this, congratulations. If you haven’t, give it a shot!

Now, to those non-graduating members of the Dartmouth student body: you get to use this fantastic pastime in the company of people you already know. (In fact, try asking your best friend first: that’s the easiest way to start playing the game.) For those of you heading in completely new directions, you can use the story game to get to know totally new people! I wish you the best of luck, and I predict this game will serve you well.

Though my specific advice is to play this game, the real message I’d like to convey concerns the bigger idea of making the most of Dartmouth. Think for a moment about the opportunities available to you here. Realize that you may never again be surrounded by such a high concentration of amazingly fantastic people as you are now. Take advantage of this good fortune, however you see fit! Today is the time to reach out, try something new, and savor the results. Friendships made here can last a lifetime.

Experiences on the Crew Team

Sharon Dauson

There are 38,000 undergraduate students at Penn State. The school fields 27 varsity teams. (I choose Penn State as the example only because I am from Pittsburgh and most of my high school friends are Nittany Lions.) Dartmouth, by contrast, has a student body of roughly 4,000, and supports 31 varsity teams. In 2007, Penn State set a record by selling out the entire student section of the football stadium (22,000 tickets) within 59 minutes of tickets becoming available. The Nittany Lions average over 100,000 fans per home game. I don’t have statistics on Dartmouth football attendance, but I am fairly certain student tickets are free and that there are more people on Collis porch than at Memorial Stadium on any given Saturday. My point is not to argue that Dartmouth students are awful fans or to complain about the football team. Rather, I think this illustrates that the purpose of athletics at Dartmouth, and in the Ivy League in general, is drastically different than that of other Division I schools across the nation.

Star high school football players are recruited to Penn State, where they receive huge scholarships and fame in exchange for entertaining the masses. Penn State football players are athletes and they aspire to play professionally. By contrast, football players are recruited to Dartmouth to receive an exceptional education alongside the opportunity to play a sport they love. They entertain no one. Dartmouth football players are students who aspire to be doctors, lawyers, consultants, and (until recently) bankers.

Athletics are important to the Dartmouth community because they are considered a component of the well-rounded Dartmouth Man (or Woman). The final line of the first verse of Dartmouth’s Alma Mater captures the ideal of physical strength and athletic achievement as a dimension of the ideal Dartmouth student: “With the granite of New Hampshire in their muscles and their brains.”

Richard Hovey, who was in the Dartmouth class of‘85 and wrote the Alma Mater in‘94, placed physical achievement (granite in their muscles) on the same level of scholarly achievement (granite in their brains). The Dartmouth Athletic Department operates under the assumption that playing football will make Dartmouth men better doctors, lawyers, consultants and bankers.

One in four Dartmouth students are varsity athletes. Unlike athletes at big Division I schools, Dartmouth’s student athletes receive no athletic scholarships, and Dartmouth is seldom a stepping-stone to professional sports. Once recruited, there is nothing that compels our athletes to continue to play their sports. At some point during all Dartmouth athletes’ four years, they must ask themselves why they do it.

As a member of Dartmouth’s women’s crew team, I have asked myself this question multiple times since arriving here, and have been asked by my few non-rowing friends many more times. I am going to attempt to outline the pros and cons of being a Division I varsity athlete, especially when money and fame aren’t in the cards.

The number one reason I row is for love of the sport. Many people have the chance to fall in love with a sport growing up. Few have the skill required to continue in high school, and it is the fortunate few who get the opportunity to play the sport they love at the collegiate level. It is easy to forget it, in the midst of intense training and stressful competition, but sports are fun. As a Dartmouth rower I have the unique opportunity to train on a Division I team and race against the fastest rowers in the country.

I also row for my teammates. My best friends in the world are the women I met on the team. Through shared experiences and suffering that no one else could comprehend, I have formed bonds that will last forever. I have shared the feeling of absolute jubilation, utter exhaustion, total despair, and uncontrollable exhilaration with my teammates. I have seen them, and they have seen me, at my absolute highs and lows. The bonds formed through sports can rarely be duplicated. The down side to this, of course, is that you cannot choose your teammates. Being on a sports team forces you to spend exhaustive amounts of time with some people you would not otherwise choose to hang out with.

Even from the first day of pre-season practice my freshman year, I felt like part of a community. Freshman fall, there were twenty upperclassmen who said, “Hello” to me in Collis. When I didn’t know where my Hinman Box was, there were people I felt comfortable asking. When I didn’t know what classes to take, when I did not understand what the difference between a 10 and 10a was, I had a network of Dartmouth women who cared and wanted to help. United by the love of a common sport, I entered Dartmouth already a part of a small, tight-knit community. When sophomore fall came around, I felt no need to join a sorority. I understand the appeal of Greek houses, and I am sure if I was not on a team, I would have rushed. But as it was, I was already part of a “sisterhood.” In addition to being part of a community on campus, rowing for Dartmouth has made me part of a larger Dartmouth athletic tradition—the experience of rowing for Dartmouth is one shared by a select number of Dartmouth alumnae that span the world and transcend generations.

Having at least two hours of practice a day, every day, forces me to be on top of everything. I simply don’t have the time to drink heavily or get behind on work. Unfortunately, there are many hours a day spent at practice that could be better spent studying. In general, I would say that if I wasn’t rowing I would probably spend these extra hours doing something frivolous, but there are days when those extra two hours could have left me feeling better prepared for an exam.

Unfortunately, in choosing to row, I have also chosen not to do a plethora of other things. I have sacrificed Green Key Weekends, DOC trips, FSPs, LSAs, crazy internships, spring break trips to the Bahamas, Friday night dance parties, leisurely meals with friends, skiing phys-ed, and sun bathing on the Green. Most of the time, a love of the sport makes this sacrifice easy, but occasionally I wonder as to the other directions my Dartmouth experience could have followed.

Today I rowed on the Connecticut River for what is likely to be my last time as a Dartmouth undergraduate. As I rowed past the land marks that I have passed a thousand times, it occurred to me that when I recall my years at Dartmouth fifty years from now, I am not going to remember where my classes were (or for that matter what classes I took). I won’t remember who sat behind me or in front of me in my freshman seminar (in fact I already forget). I am certain, however, that I will still know how long it takes to row from the Organic Farm to the Ledyard Bridge. I will recall what the sunrise on the Connecticut looks like in the spring. I will still remember the women who sat behind and in front of me in the boat. For better or worse, being a varsity athlete has defined my Dartmouth experience.

Sam Kohn

I’ve spent a great deal of time thinking about what would be the best way to open a piece such as this, and the only truly acceptable way to do so would be to share that Dartmouth has taught me to approach writing with caution. The process itself is the purest expression, an epitome if you will, of the Western concept of “legitimate” thinking. That is, written materials are granted an importance that is not extended to the spoken word. In our day and age, everything must be written down to be remembered. But the emphasis on the printed word abstracts the spoken relationship that exists between people.

With that in mind, I have only a short reflection of my time at Dartmouth. I challenge everyone reading this article to stop, even for thirty seconds, to reconsider their Dartmouth experience. Perhaps each of us could learn and take away from our own experiences that yes, we have learned a tremendous amount during our years at Dartmouth. More importantly, each of our educational experiences here has shown us how much more we have to learn. We have gotten ahead because of the opportunities Dartmouth has offered us but also because of the sacrifices others have made on our behalf. More importantly, we need to remember that when we get ahead, somebody else gets left behind. Yes, the friends and acquaintances we’ve made at Dartmouth will remain important parts of our lives. Many will go on to assume powerful and influential positions. More importantly, we need to realize that the future leaders who will graduate from Dartmouth are the same in almost every aspect as the poor and neglected in the United States and worldwide—but we have the ability to lift one another up, no matter what the circumstances. And we’ll all make choices in our lives that challenge us beyond any struggle we thought possible. Accept these challenges, and stand strong—remember to not fear those we might classify as “mistakes.” There are none.

In closing, even though our Dartmouth education will teach each of us more than we could have ever hoped to learn about the world, we must never turn down an opportunity to learn. All knowledge is worth having, and we all have knowledge to share. Paramount to everything Dartmouth has taught us is the fact that we have so much to learn from others and to offer to others. As we move into an ever-increasing impersonal era, always remember the value of sharing knowledge with another. At a baseline, it’s the best we can offer one another. In fact, it’s all we can offer one another.

Of Music and Milkshakes

Diana Jih

So what if your pun-intentional specially flavored milkshake arrives 30 minutes after you order it? At least it’s still as rich as ever, thanks to the ice cream’s New English provenance—specifically, to the Jersey cows from Vermont whose resemblance to big buttery scoops of caramel-flavored ice cream helps produce the best artery-clogging shakes on either side of the river. Location: one Lone Pine Tavern but two straws.

Actually, it’s hard to focus on the person sitting across from you, sharing your oh-so-delicious milkshake, because you can’t decide whether you have a bigger crush on Ryan Dieringer or Tica Douglas. Together, they form the campus band The Making of San Bernadino. Though I’ve witnessed Kevin Barnes of Of Montreal professing love and proposing marriage in a wedding dress on stage, for me, Lone Pine will always be for Platonic lovers.

My first (and only half-heard) conversation during Dimensions competed with Queer Karaoke blarings, and consisted of asking where many of the b-side board games came from (who’s ever heard of Fact or Crap?) while foolishly searching for the pieces of many incomplete sets of Truth or Dare Jenga (Dare: Suck a cherry out of another person’s belly-button?). Tonight I’ve resigned myself to the Fact not Crap that those pieces will remain lost forever, along with my order of cheesy fries. Who can forget those easily abandoned games of Monopoly (I recall one epic game that ended with my successful purchase of every railroad and subsequent nationalization of the transportation system in a valiant effort to combat the Capitalist Man and his Parker Brothers), the first triumphant post-21 taste of Guinness served in plastic mugs and purchased on DA$H, or the sound of half-learned lyrics sung non-Karaoke style to my friends’ songs? Hopefully these memories will outlast rivaling reminiscences of the very specific sounds (or rather smells) of frat basements, the slightly defeating first pre-21 taste of Keystone, and the repetition of lyrics and lines detailing how little sleep, how much work, and how hard you raged last night.

Side-liner notes: The making of The Making of San Bernadino

Upon meeting Ryan Dieringer freshman year, he asked me where I was from and then if I knew how to play fiddle. His band, The Powder Kegs, has since required less fiddle—transitioning from bluegrass to a more instrumental/experimental sound—but demands more of his attention. I first heard his band’s stylings at Lone Pine freshmen year. A couple more Powder Kegs shows followed, but, alas, the payments in Bagel Basement gift certificates for Ryan and the band failed to keep them on campus and playing at Lone Pine. His sophomore year away almost extended permanently when he took time off to tour and record an album. After ploughing through the year without the Powder Kegs, and then embarking on my own six-month desertion of Dartmouth in South Africa and Lesotho, I heard rumblings of Ryan’s potential return. I wondered if I’d ever hear his warbling baritone sing a cover to my favorite Jolie Holland song “Old Fashion Morphine” again.

Upon returning to Dartmouth, I learned that had the Powder Kegs’ van not broken down in Hanover that winter, Ryan would never have met Tica Douglas, a ’10 who was living at Panarchy with Ryan’s best friend. It was these perfectly serendipitous circumstances within which The Making of San Bernadino was made.

Tica’s tale followed a similar wanderlust trajectory. Her foreign study extended into Scottish pop stardom and almost kept her and her acoustic guitar from returning promptly to this side of the pond—and to the right side of Ryan’s keyboard. Once again, The Making of San Bernadino almost failed to launch—but it did in the end. I can without a doubt say that when I returned from Africa decidedly terrified of a very familiar place and old faces, the two most comforting aspects of my Dartmouth return were hearing the Powder Kegs’ new sound on my friend’s laptop, and meeting new housemates at Panarchy like Tica. The new sounds and new friends awaiting my return showed me that getting to learn the finally-launched The Making of San Bernadino songs, within the comfort zone of the very familiar Lone Pine Tavern, made my sojourn that much more complete (unlike every box of Truth or Dare Jenga). Finding the unfamiliar within the familiar reminds me on every listen that sometimes the best parts of trips are notes from home.

These past four years, I’ve frequently taken trips with friends into Mink Brook and Pine Park just off campus. The distance is always far enough to serve as a mini journey, which makes me appreciate and desire a return. The trees on fire in the fall, brittle and candy-coated in the winter, and more verdant in the spring than I can stand without sepia shades, provide me with a constant unfamiliar frontier to explore—my backyard for four years.

When people ask me what I did in college, I’ll tell them I went into the woods with my friends and told jokes. If they ask me, Were they funny? I’ll tell them, I laughed. Lone Pine served a side of woods with jokes on campus with kick-ass musical stylings…although, I’m still waiting on those cheesy fries.

Final Frustrations and Thank Yous

Alessandra Necamp

On the top of a hill, behind the white buildings and Green that define Dartmouth so well, are an old tree stump and a statue of Robert Frost. Dartmouth students know the tradition and meaning of these relics well. These days, we take pictures in front of them as part of scavenger hunts and sorority pledge missions. Robert Frost, whose statue I’ve spent time studying by on sunny afternoons, once famously wrote that “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I, / I took the one less traveled by, / And that has made all the difference.” Ok, but Led Zeppelin also famously sang, “Yes there are two paths you can go by / But in the long run / There’s still time to change the road you’re on.” Forgive me Mr. Frost, but Led Zeppelin has provided me with the mantra these days that I repeat frequently when gazing into the unknown and the terrifying future.

I lived the words of Led Zeppelin three years ago when I transferred to Dartmouth. I made my decision in the middle of the summer of 2006 after touring Baker Tower and seeing mountains roll on forever —it felt like home. These days, I think transferring was both the dumbest and the smartest thing I have ever done. I missed out on freshman year here, and because of that, I was not on campus-wide e-mail lists, I never got an academic advisor, and I didn’t learn what an NRO was until after it would have been helpful. I feel that another year here would have given me time to actually effect change on campus. I also know that if I hadn’t transferred, I would have missed out on an experience that challenged me in ways I did not think were possible. I would not have met the people I now call my best friends. I would not have found out how exhilarating it was to run 109 laps around a bonfire.

So right now, I’m caught looking down two roads. Either I use this space to rightfully rip Dartmouth to shreds for its failures, or I write something mature and wise and dispense some advice to those coming back to campus in the fall. I hope that other senior writers choose to point out some of Dartmouth’s greatest flaws. Permit me, though, an abbreviated critique: Dear Old Dartmouth, you are resting far too heavily on your laurels. If I could alter this place in one way, I would take away its Ivy League status and prestigious name so as to make the institution rise up out of its complacency, and do more to actually make this one of the best schools in the world. Yes, there are indeed great things about this school, but Dartmouth largely remains stuck in a lackluster funk whereby students wrestle with a bureaucratic administration that makes change impossible. Change: it’s the phrase of the day, yet almost impossible at Dartmouth. I know this because I have tried for three years now to change the way Dartmouth thinks about, accommodates, and educates students with disabilities. And still, Dartmouth remains inaccessible as ever.

What? I’ll make this short. I said…I’ll make this short. Can you hear me? I’ve had to repeat this story so many times that my activism and rage have given way to exhaustion. Or perhaps to bigger and better things. What I’m saying is this: I suffer from hearing loss, and my Dartmouth experience has been so negatively impacted by it that I have often thought of transferring. I’m sorry, I still can’t hear you $mdash; can you speak up? I said, Dartmouth, that you have made me feel victimized by my hearing loss. You made me feel powerless when you said you would listen but didn’t. Dartmouth, you have made me do more work to guarantee my day-to-day accommodations than any student should ever have to. Wait, did I hear you right? Yes… remember the time I told you about a professor who said she would “think about” providing me with essential accommodations and later refused? And of course I told you about the time a professor asked me to leave his class because my needs were taking too much time away from other students. Wait, did you say something about the law? Let me clarify: gross incompetency, ignorance, and blatant discrimination have often made me feel like my only option was a lawsuit. But let’s get beyond the law, because its adherence should be the bare minimum. As an institution that claims to be among the “best of the best,” Dartmouth should strive for universal design —that is, it should ensure accommodation for all, including those with disabilities.

What, are you stupid or something? That’s what she, a fellow student, said to me when I asked the same question she had 5 minutes ago. I guess I didn’t hear it the first time.

Humiliation, anger, frustration, and shock. Thank you, Dear Old Dartmouth, for these challenges. I mean it. They gave me the opportunity to push back at you and challenge your foundations. When Dartmouth could not rise to the occasion, I did. It’s funny: Dartmouth’s failures became my greatest learning opportunities. I would not call them successes (remember, I did not change anything), but still I am thankful for the opportunities provided in the places I never thought I’d find them.

Which brings me back to Led Zeppelin. I would like to change this road that I’m on right now. Anger and frustration, I have given you the voices you deserve. But something bigger deserves this space, too.

Dartmouth is not without its shortcomings, but there are those who love it. I love it. I love the way the air smells like wood-smoke on fall evenings and I love it when the snow is light and makes everything sparkle. I love the town, I love the mountains and most of all, I love the people here. So here is my advice for you ’10s, ’11s, and ’12s: give thanks. For all the fun we have, for all the complaints we register, and for all the abuses of the fraternities and the late nights in the library, we forget how good we really have it. And forgetting the good makes me the bitter old senior I swore I would never become. So here’s the best part of this piece, and the most important:

To St. Lawrence University, where I spent my freshman year: thank you for propelling me to Dartmouth.

Thank you to the Moosilauke Ravine Lodge, the place where I found home and community. Thank you to the Baker-Berry Library, both a prison and a sanctuary. Thank you to the Dartmouth Skiway for powder, ice, rain and snow, for fast runs and rolling groomers. To EBA’s, for gooey goodness and an appreciation of 2:10 am: thank you.

Thank you to the performance groups—singers, dancers, musicians, actors, comedians and to the sports teams and artists— you continually amaze me and have been great entertainment.

To the Government department and its international relations professors: you helped me find my passion and challenged my thinking. Thank you. To the Tucker Foundation: you have given me so much opportunity, fulfillment and purpose. Thank you. To Ray, Nancy, Eleanor and all my favorites at DDS: you made having food allergies more bearable and my mornings brighter. Thank you. To the alums who made it possible for me to go here and to the financial aid office for all of your help, thank you.

To Deans Crady, Burke, Gomez, Liscinsky and Krusi: you’ve been great listeners and have provided good advice. Thank you. To Kenya, Kibera, Stacia and Daniel: you inspire me and give me hope. Asante-sana.

To EKT: you have been a space where I have been able to express myself freely. To my sisters: you are always my safety net. Thank you. To Palaeopitus: you helped me appreciate and understand Dartmouth. Thank you. To those I call my friends: there are too many of you to name, but you changed the way I see the world, you challenged me, and you kept me sane. I have enjoyed being here with you. Thank you. To my friends who are pre-med: thank you for slaving away with me these last few years. I have learned empathy and pity and am now guaranteed a good facelift for my 50
th birthday. Thank you.

And to the illustrious Greek scene, and to the fraternities in particular: thanks for all the free beer!

To flair and snow sculptures, to Michael Jackson and the Salty Dog, to the River, the ledges, the formals, the streaking, the first snows and mud season, the Green, tennis balls and bonfires, blitz, Occom and Eleazor, Lou’s and Fort Lou’s, block parties and room parties, the Tower Room and the Stacks: you have given me something to call uniquely my own: Dartmouth. Thank you.

I am not done here, but space and time are running out. I think, now that it is time to embark on a new adventure, James Wright would say, “We have work to do, you and I.” Thank you, Dartmouth, for helping me find courage and conviction, thank you for bringing together the most inspiring, funniest people in the world, and thank you for being my home for the last three years. There are many roads to go by, but in the long run there’s still time to change the road you’re on; just don’t forget to say thanks.

Thank You.

Dartmouth’s Most Important Lessons

Lydia Chammas

Today, I handed in my thesis—a monstrous, blood-sucking 150-page short story collection that consumed my life for five months—and now, in the wee hours of the morning after a margarita and a beer, I’m sitting down to write 1,500 words about my “Dartmouth experience.”

For some reason, my thesis seems like nothing compared to this. I pretty much made everything up in my thesis. Something tells me I can’t do that here.

The thing about writing an article is that you have to know what you’re doing. You have to have a definite point of view, a clear direction, and a carefully planned argument and conclusion before presenting it in a structured format. You taking notes, class?

That is not at all what Dartmouth has been like for me, and most definitely not what I have come to expect from life. I have a solid 2-page Word document open right now with all my ramblings (“What do you care, anyway?” “Friends are a blessing!”), but I can’t piece it together to form a coherent narrative titled “My Dartmouth Experience.” There is no overarching theme or a clever, discreet or beautiful metaphor that accurately describes my four years at Dartmouth.

But there might be a take-away message, or two. I asked a few people about what I should say here, and I’m going to somehow tie together all the thoughts that sprang up from those conversations, with astonishing wit and prowess. You might want to sit down somewhere and put on your comfy pants.

Let’s start with a birds-eye view of Dartmouth, according to me—not some topographical study of our campus, but rather a highly superficial glance at the typical student profile…based on, well, me. Just go with it.

If you were at all like I was in high school, you wore a retainer, had really big hair, and cherished a certain fondness for ugly clothing. I mean really big hair, like Diana Ross style. The kind that doesn’t listen to you, but rather to a higher power commonly known as Genetics. Or maybe yours was greasy and limp; either way, it just wasn’t working for you. If you had really nice hair, and still do, stop reading and know that I hate you. Especially if you had really good skin, too.

Maybe you were also a decent student. Okay, don’t be shy, you were probably a nerd, whether you let it show or not. I honestly wasn’t a Genuinely Smart Nerd—like that kid who just knew everything about World War II at age nine. Did you have one of those? Were you that kid? Mine was unreal, he spoke fluent Chinese even though he was Jewish…but I digress.

Maybe you were like me: a Hardworking Dork, at least those last two years of high school. I was taught that I needed to go to a really good university, because that’s what smart, successful people do. My life would be set after that. Doors would spring open, red carpets would roll… you know what I mean. So I did what I had to do and Dartmouth said that was cool. By the way, if you’re a ’13 (ahhhh) reading this, congrats on getting into Dartmouth because if I reapplied now, there is no way in hell I would get in.

So here we all are—genuinely smart people, hard workers, what have you—in this tiny little place. What’s changed for you?

I, for one, can say I still have gravity-defying hair, the retainer, and the occasional blemish. My skin doesn’t understand how to tan anymore. I also gained about twenty pounds. Eh, what can you do.

I don’t work as hard (thesis aside) or read anything for class. My GPA reached its peak Sophomore Summer, just before I became irreparably lazy and less interested in academia’s world of theory and obscure references. I wrote better papers in Writing 5 than I do now.

I’m unemployed. There are no doors opening, no red carpets. This, I should have known—no one at my school knew what Dartmouth was growing up, and I still have a lot of friends who’ve never heard of it. We are in the midst of the greatest economic crisis since the Great Depression though, so I guess I can’t really beat myself up about it.

Despite all of this, I can say two things for certain: I’m a better student now and a happier person than I have ever been in my entire life.

How am I better student, you ask? Didn’t I just say my GPA has taken a few hits, that I work less, etc.? Yes, I did, but my time in the classroom only accounts for a small part of what I consider to be my education.

The best education I have received in life is from the people I have met, known, loved, fought with, reconciled with, lost touch with, cried over and laughed with; things I will always remember. The reasons why I’m in my happy place these days.

Let’s be real: I don’t know most of you. I’m really sorry about that. Sometimes, this place seems pretty small, but there are all sorts of corners yet to explore, and I’m sad I haven’t managed to sit in your bit of shade. I hope you don’t hold that against me.

Some of you might even strongly dislike me, be it because of your own personal preferences or because of any not-so-good run-ins we might’ve had in the past. Feel free to hold that against me.

Then there are those of you I have loved, and always will. Coming back to Dartmouth senior year has meant the world to me because, for once, you are all readily at my fingertips, be it via blitz or a hug. It’s no mystery, then, why this has been my best year at Dartmouth by far—even though that thesis took away some (most) of our hangout time. That wench.

All of you—even you strangers—have informed me what I believe is the most important lesson I can add to and call upon for the rest of my life: humanity.

On this subject, I have been a diligent student, with the help of you, my teachers (and there’s the corny “thank you”; I guess we’re on the right track!). Sometimes the lessons have been tough, unwelcome, unwanted, unexpected, overwhelming, humbling, empowering—always, they have been valuable. And for that, I say thank you.

Occasionally, though, I wish I’d been able to learn them a different way. I wish I could’ve learned more about respect and different points of view without having to deal with a racist or sexist blitz, joke, article, flyer, etc. It didn’t happen a lot here (this is a lie), but it did happen.

And that’s something I really want you all to work on, if you’re still sitting there listening to me ramble.

It’s all about humanity. You have to be able to relate to one another like people—not like sorority girls or frat guys, not like SA kids or DOC people, not like men or women, not like NADs or pre-meds—but people. It’s been my greatest pleasure to get to know as many cross sections of campus as possible, and call you all friends, not affiliate communities or some junk like that (i.e., cross sections).

And if it helps—because it can be intimidating to look at someone so different from you and think about talking to them—remember where you came from, where we all came from, and don’t be ashamed of it. We’re all that Genuinely Smart Nerd, or the Hardworking Dork, or just that person who wanted very badly to go to a school that had its own Skiway, a giant Green, and the best two alumni of all time: Robert Frost and Dr. Seuss. I bet they had bad skin at one point, too.

So, now, my last bit of advice. The latter of those two great writers once said, “Today you are you, That is truer than true. There is no one alive who is you-er than you!”

Just try to remember that sometimes. It helps when you feel like I do right now—pretty directionless and a bit scared, a bit sad. Yes you’ve grown and matured, but you’ll always be you. And people will always be people—even that kid who ate their boogers in first grade. Or the one who would lick Elmer
’s glue off their palms. Did you have one of those kids? I sure did.

Thanks for sticking with me this far. It means a lot. I’m sure you have better things to do. Now, put this down—it’s a beautiful day (or not, just go with it)—and “your mountain is waiting. So…get on your way!”i

i If you don’t know where this is from, look it up, and have a good cry.