It’s like an ink spill. A whole bottle of ink spills on some old white sheet and the optimist in you says, ‘wow, look at that new pattern.’ At some point later in the week or month or year, you realize your infatuation with the pattern isn’t a sign of its beauty. You put it in the wash, take it out, and realize that ink has in fact, fucked up the whole sheet.
I’m writing about institutional shifts in culture when Dartmouth became coed in 1972. Specifically, I am interested in Dartmouth’s school song, which changed from “Men of Dartmouth” to “the Alma Mater” in 1988 to reflect the presence of women on campus. I have special permission by the Rauner staff to view original copies of both versions of the song. Two weeks ago, I made a historic discovery
The corral is full of six month-old calves, shades of black and brown. They take turns lifting their tails and relieving themselves on each other, deciding that now, the only time of the day they don’t have access to thousands of acres of pastureland, is the time to defecate. The stench is overwhelming.