Her page, arrested in those golden years before anybody cared how many likes your profile picture had, was the picture of adolescence: I smiled when I saw the wall posts about biology homework, the album titled “January!!” In 2008, she had attended Homecoming and a Quidditch Club Meeting.
Spoiler alert: Harry doesn’t die. He probably should, but he doesn’t, and there’s not really much we can do about it. The day the seventh book came out, my friend and I sat in the bathroom of our bunk at camp and read the entire thing.
It’s difficult for me to avoid skepticism when commercials are overly sentimental about their own brands. “It’s time to become better versions of ourselves,” narrates a deep, persuasive and compelling voice which overlays the empty airport powering to life.
This is the man who melted the Cold War. This is the man who led the Soviet Union from 1985 to 1991. This is the man who signed two broad disarmament pacts and ended communist rule in Eastern Europe. This is also the man who did a Pizza Hut commercial in 1997.
But what was he doing in the Trenton, New Jersey on Monday afternoon?
I hate vaginas. I always have and always will. They’re dank and cavernous and horrible, and I feel bad for every man or woman who has to venture down there without a bulwark between him and that juicy, pungent vag-spunk. … Read More
Now that it’s October and this year’s parade of “Oscar hopefuls” is in motion, the time has come to ask the question: What were this summer’s movies—collectively—all about?
For a class called “Women’s Bodies, Women’s Lives,” that I took last semester, we were tasked with many activities meant to make us aware of what it meant to be a woman, and a woman in a body, and a woman in a body in a society alternatingly fascinated and disgusted with that body.
Cocksure I stand that this lesbian play has become the first theatrical hit to reach Princeton this school year.
How fine it is to go to the theater and find yourself in a proper Boston living room, replete with pomp and circumstance. But take this turn of the 20th century propriety and subvert it with the sexual lewdness of nowadays; mix in marital deceit and seduction of a young lass by a voluptuous lesbian, and you’ll get the formula for David Mamet’s Boston Marriage, the first play of the Theatre Intime season.
I don’t quite understand why the advertising team behind Mitchell Lichtenstein’s Teeth decided to market it as “the most alarming cautionary tale for men … since Fatal Attraction.” The storyline of Teeth stems from the vagina dentate myth, which has … Read More
