The story begins like most of mine do. It was a balmy Friday night, I had taken a bubble bath while listening to Frank Ocean and sipping whiskey, and I was going to a party.
I’m dreading tomorrow. It’s my 21st birthday.What’s that? An American college male dreads his legal induction into adulthood’s alcohol hall of fame?
Once upon a 2007, Kanye West and 50 Cent had beef.
Love is like the stock market: fickle in the short term and gainful in the long term.
February is winter’s worst phase: just when we’ve survived January’s bitterness, along comes a colder month with no holidays to cheer us up. Indeed, February’s salient holiday, Valentine’s Day, tends to inspire more aggregate self-pitying than kisses.
Last Friday, I suspended my postclass routine of heading to the Student Recreation Center, which I attend weekly with one purpose: to lift heavy objects and grunt.
Next week, pupils will head home to celebrate the greatest of all-American holidays: Thanksgiving. On normal holidays, we rest. Not so on Turkey Day: We compete for thanks.
Few earthly commodities bring greater glee to a college male than free condoms.
Around this time last year, I attended a holiday on Franklin Street known as “Halloween.” The holiday was not like the Halloween I’d known as a lad: While all my peers were indeed wearing costumes, they were not soliciting candy from suburban houses. Instead, they were running wild on Franklin Street, yelling profanities and being Publicly Drunk While Under 21.
Are you in Carolina’s 90 percent? Karl Marx, an eminent economist and starving communist, once wrote in his Communist Manifesto that “the history of all hitherto existing society is the history of class struggles.”
