It was just one week before that these same sophomores were sitting in my common room, nervously tugging at their hair and preparing themselves for bickering. Some were discussing which outfits to wear for bicker—in the case of some, this meant strategically picking shoes that could withstand intense moisture, snow, and beer spillage, yet still not appear sloppy. Some girls were flipping through bicker guides prepared for them by upperclassmen friends. I overheard two sophomore boys in Frist struggling to come up with five interests to write down on a pre-bicker survey.
It was my first night drinking since February. I’d decided to take a break from alcohol for all of March—now that I have the freedom to buy my own alcohol legally, I don’t feel as compelled to jump at it when offered. But mostly, I just wanted to see if I could make it for a whole month.
Lately, people have been asking me a lot where I’ve been for the past few days. Well it’s funny they should ask. Let me tell you, it all started when I remembered, on Thursday, that there were no new OC … Read More
FRIDAY 12 p.m. – 1 p.m. Brown Bag Seminar Speaker: Kelly Caylor Location: E-219 Engineering quad In what’s become a kind of staple for the Weekend Page, we once again hit the Brown Bag Seminar. The burning question is: what … Read More
George Nathaniel Curzon, 1st Marquess Curzon of Kedleston, KG, GCSI, GCIE, PC was a man few of us can afford to forget. Besides keeping the bloody Russians out of India, he wore a metal corset to combat a spinal injury … Read More
“It’s been over a month since the night of September 10th, but the effects of the ICC’s decision have lasted far beyond Frosh Week. These effects raise the following question: Did the ICC’s decision to ban frosh from the Street help in the long run?”
Late one night last weekend, waiting in the checkout line at Frist, an individual approached me to say that he was of the notion that I was the author of the anonymous “Ask A Girl” column that had recently debuted in the pages of the Nassau Weekly. It’s a strange feeling, being framed. Because no matter how utterly NOT the author of this article I am, the mere speculation draws from the ether an imaginary ghost-me, with ghost intentions, leaving splotches of invented ectoplasm on laptop keys I never pressed when never sitting smirkily in my dorm room, midnight hour, writing a column that the real me- flesh, bone and conviction- simply does not believe in.
