When I go home for the Thanksgiving holiday, I’ll be on poultry duty. My family has charged me with turning a big frozen bird carcass into a deliciously delectable entree by Thursday. Am I prepared? Overly.
Do you remember your first crush?I had a late-night talk with a friend of mine earlier this week on how to deal with her unwanted suitor. It was the usual story of a boy’s mindless love taps and the girl’s flat-out rejection.I used the opportunity to tell her and a few of her friends about my theories on infatuations and why men and women act the way they do.
In the overwhelming response to my last column, I was asked by several of my fellow students: “Why don’t you go off on the frat guys?”I said I would, but I lied. They wanted blood after a few bad experiences and some trumped up stereotypes, and I told them that they couldn’t lump people together based on groups.I’ve been to frat parties. I’ve been kicked out of frat parties.In fact, I believe that the number of times I’ve been kicked out of frat parties is equal to the number of times I’ve attended them.
New York Fashion Week has arrived. I’m using this time in the year to foster reflection on what we put in our closets and on our backs. As you read this and think about what your own personal style means for you, fashion week will come and go. It will showcase what we’ll be wearing come spring, before we even get into our winter coats. But, at any time during the year, I want you to dress it up.
A few protesters in Raleigh have a strange definition of rape. And through them, we can all learn about decorum in disagreements, how to listen and why we learn before we speak.I went there a few weeks ago to see the premiere of “I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell,” a movie based on a collection of stories of the same name written and lived by Tucker Max. He is the quintessential bar-party boy, famous for his sweet talking and subsequent sexual conquests. His genre is a guy’s version of chick lit, and his audience is the college crowd.
