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On this page, you shall learn what about the Dan can be taught. In the grand scheme of things, this is not very much.
But good luck.
My name is Daniel Joseph Moynihan I. I am a student. A college student. I just recommenced my career at Dartmouth College. I had to take last year off because my grades sucked big ass. No, it wasn't the typical "Well, professor, I couldn't
come to class because I was hung over" case of freshmanitis. Or the other (more common at Dartmouth) "Well, professor, I couldn't
come to class because I was still retardedly drunk from last night" case of freshmanitis. Alas, it wasn't nearly that simple.
But I won't go into details, they're too long and boring.
But I'm back now. In full effect. For the summer. Here: I'll explain. Dartmouth works on a quarter system, and we have this thing called Sophomore Summer, which means that everyone has to be here the summer between sophomore
and junior year [see the above link]. It should be pretty cool. For one, pretty much only a quarter of the student body is
here. Secondly, that quarter of the student body is my class, the lovely '06 Mafia. And thirdly, it's actually warm. Like,
warm, warm. You have no idea how foreign an idea that is to someone who's only seen the other three quarters of the year.
It's perpetually freeze-your-nuts-off-if-you-have-nuts cold up here from mid-September through like April. Kids graduate
with snow still on the ground. Matt Griggs once called it "the frozen bumhole of the world." But I like Hanover alright. It's really
a pretty sweet little town. And hopefully now it's warm enough to sleep with windows open and not die.
I attended Woodberry Forest School for Boys for what were supposed to be the best four years of my life. The administration, composed of pitifully self-absorbed little
men struggling to arrest loss of hair and control over their own lives, ruined what could have been. No period in a man's life is as romanticized as his high school years. Thanks to Woodberry, I'll never know why. Don't send your sons there. Keep them as far from that plaster paradise as possible.
I ran cross-country for Woodberry. I also ran winter track. And spring track. All for 2 years apiece, except XC, which
I did for all four years. I ran a lot. I ran myself to exhaustion. I don't really run much anymore.
However, I do climb. A lot.
I also play guitar. I have a few guitars, two of which I couldn't bring myself to leave at home, and have
with me up here. I worked at Guitar Center for the first 5 months of this year, and took full advantage of the incredible
employee discount... and I showcase the result, my black, hot-rodded-the-shit-out-of Les Paul Standard, the love of my life,
on the pictures page. I also have an Ovation Celebrity steel-string acoustic, also black. Hey, I have a thing for black guitars,
wahat can I say.
As for what types of music I listen to, and, on a related note, what music I play, don't even ask. Disturbed, Metallica, Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, Rage against the Machine, and Iron Maiden all fit both categories. So do Jack Johnson, Dispatch, Dire Straits, Arlo Guthrie, Johnny Cash, Eric Clapton, Live, Chili Peppers, U2, Bond, and Tom Petty. It doesn't stop there. Punk, jazz, blues, swing (arranged Zoot Suit Riot for guitar: slide necessary), and classical are
all fair game. Eclectic? Very. Easy to please. However, I can't take new country, or boy bands. And I'd rather take a kick
to the nuts than listen to Marc Anthony.
There's a shitload you can learn about me from my résumé on Woodberry's FirstClass e-mail system. They deleted everything
when I graduated, so I copied and pasted the entire thing and made it a page on this site. It's also preserved for eternity in the lower half of John McAfee's résumé, which for some reason still exists, even though he graduated in May 2003.
[Note to reader: this space used to be occupied by what I flatteringly referred to as an "invective tangent." (Read:
"Before, I gratuitously railed on Woodberry here.") I've removed that part. Woodberry doesn't deserve all that aggression.
...Okay, yeah it does. But all that aggression isn't good for my soul.]
I have a camera. It's a nice camera. It takes purdy pictures. Interestingly enough, there aren't more than a handful of photos on the site that came from that camera. Most
of them came from the internet, or from my parents' digital camera, which I recently jacked. ( They didn't know how to use it anyway.) But more pictures arrive often. I know they haven't in the past, but they do now.
Explore on. There's a lot here. Don't forget the guestbook. ...Cause you know, it's cool when people take the time to leave something. And like, if you had one, I'd sign it.
This thing below here is apparently called a callout. It's a plug for the site-creation engine. I think they
were just desperately trying to come up with an alternative to shoutout.
They won't let me delete it, either.
But here it is:
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So what to write on this half of the page?
I'm sure I'll think of something.
Or maybe not.
Hey, that was something.
Maybe another something will come along soon.
Then again, maybe not.
You never know.
I could keep wishing you merry Christmas and happy Chanukkah and adjective holidays, but that joke i'm sure has worn
out by now. I'll think of something to write here soon enough. Probably.
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| Me, with crazy hair and crazier clothes, on the wackiest day of the Forest Lake Camp summer. |
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