First, I have a practical question regarding graduation. You know how at the end of the ceremony, students throw their mortarboards up in the air? Is there someone I should be watching who instigates this, or will I just “know”? Is it supposed to be a natural reflex? And if we are throwing our mortarboards, can we be coordinated about it? Like, can we all try to throw them on the roof of Cupples? I know it’s far away, but I’m sure people in the first two or three rows could nail it.
This summer, Eliot Hall-the South 40’s tower of power-will at long last be smashed to skitter; Liggett Hall (along with Koenig) is the next dorm slated for the wrecking ball in subsequent years. There is nostalgia attached to these two buildings, my homes for half of my college career: the odor of bathrooms that would lead one to believe that Liggett 2 was home to a circus freak who took elephantine dumps; the widespread power outages that occurred each time Andrew used his microwave; hallway rides in a boosted Schnucks shopping cart; the Pre-Frosh who got so drunk on his weekend visit that he mistook a beanbag chair for a urinal; and if I added up all the time I puzzled through the Hexagon City level of Snood and exploded people to bloody bits playing Quake 3 on my computer, those hours would inexplicably be a larger sum than the number of hours I’ve been on this planet since 1981.
Thanks to Ebay, I now own a fiddle. I outbid this guy in one dollar increments. To do that, you literally have to sit in front of your computer as the clock ticks down the final seconds of the online auction; it comes down to whoever gets that final bid before the time is up, and it requires more strategy than bombing Iraq.
I recently watched a show on The Learning Channel called “The Ultimate Driving Test,” a program that quizzed my knowledge about what I should do if my car got caught in the middle of a police shoot-out or dangled from a bridge by one wheel. For example, did you know that if a road raged driver gets out of his car and jumps on the hood of your car, you are NOT supposed to hit the gas pedal and fling him off? The correct answer is to wait patiently until he calms down and leaves.
I saw ‘The Vagina Monologues’ last week as part of Washington University’s V-Day events–I had seen the show before during my freshman year, but I was glad to reacquaint myself with it so I could reflect on how much I had changed over the past three years.
According to my Gargoyles calendar, it is Waitangi Day in New Zealand. What better way to celebrate political strife in the homeland of Anna Paquin than with a smattering of inappropriate poetry. So back by popular demand, here is another skinny-dip into my ice-cold pond of Haiku poetry.
While at home for Thanksgiving break, I had this delusion that I would finish every neglected scrap of homework that had piled up over the semester, and this flurry of productivity would occur just as soon as I finished playing The Sims computer game. But one never finishes playing The Sims, especially if one is a senior looking for answers.
I just have to comment on the hard-hitting, brain-hemorrhaging news reported by the November 8th issue of Student Life: repeatedly heading a soccer ball can cause permanent “deformations” in brain matter. Says Dr. Bayly, a member of this research team, “There’s certainly been some evidence presented that some professional soccer players have some cognitive deficits.
Here is the average college student’s well-rounded diet: microwavable frozen foods, canned foods, pizza, beer, and boilable starches which include but are not exclusive to: spaghetti, Rice-A-Roni, and Ramen Noodles. There are sub-categories which include toastable foods like Eggo Waffles, Pop Tarts, and Bagel Bites.
Halloween is a scary time of year, especially this year out in the greater Washington D.C. area. My older sister lives in Arlington, VA and works in D.C., so we’re a little concerned for her safety. I was talking to my mother on the phone and she was saying how frightening it all was, the prospect of getting shot completely out of the blue.
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