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(05/30/07 6:00am)
It was the night before graduation and everyone was giddy. The
streets were full of those people you haven't seen since freshman
year—the girl who locked herself in her room playing songs from
""Rent"" on her trombone, the boy from class who always wore a
fedora, or the girl from high school who you swore dropped out and
started stripping. Everything was wrapping up perfectly.
(05/03/07 6:00am)
The hushed whispers still ring in my ears. The little
""pssttts"" of first graders, when multiplied by 30, can create an
almost deafening roar. And it's even louder when the information is
the hottest piece of gossip to hit the first grade since Billy's
marriage proposal to Suzie was rejected.
(04/26/07 6:00am)
The only thing dirtier than the six couples making out on the
red pleather armchairs at Madison Avenue on Wednesday night was
what was happening on the dance floor.
(04/19/07 6:00am)
Everything bad in life—speeding, fake tans, leather jackets,
NASCAR, Indiana—is closely correlated with coffee. My parents
trained my brother and me well, using my delinquent uncle as a
reason why we should avoid the dark, devilish drink. He was one
big, bad, leather Nascar-jacket wearing speeder with a cigarette in
one hand and a coffee cup in the other. Fathering a child in high
school, a laundry list of divorces and repeated marital infidelity,
his moral regression was closely linked to his caffeine
consumption, my parents said, and as soon as my brother or I took
one sip we, too, would start a downward spiral.
(04/12/07 6:00am)
My 18-year-old brother's closet is littered with the remains of
his musical career. In a dark corner his saxophone is collecting
dust, and various plastic recorders in shades of black, brown and
white are scattered on the floor. Somewhere you can even catch a
glimpse of the sad, decrepit, duct-taped bladder of his bagpipes.
(03/29/07 6:00am)
Here's a word problem: Valerie wants to find her baby's daddy.
She is giving a paternity test to the 33rd man. If Valerie is two
and a half months pregnant, how often was she having sex assuming a
two-day lag between men?
(03/22/07 6:00am)
The beer hall was packed wall-to-wall with people. Large men in
extra-large Packers sweatshirts and women in after-work
professional wear crowded along the long bar, waiting to be seated.
A surly group of middle-aged men in leather jackets—the types who
invaded Madison last weekend in the wake of the high school
basketball tournament—kept toasting one another and looked
dangerously close to falling over. And until the polka band took
the stage, the background music consisted of laughing, screaming
children, the clink of pint glasses and the swishing and swooshing
of wind pants.
(03/15/07 6:00am)
Not much can convince me that a class before 9:55 a.m. is worth
taking. I always had a strict policy against taking early classes,
until I was tempted by the timetable, 14 open spots beckoning
me—Ballet I.
(03/08/07 6:00am)
All it takes to graduate from UW is a mouse click. When you get
to the graduation application page, there is no pull-down menu, no
""On Wisconsin"" playing in the background after clicking
""submit,"" no confetti or flashing graphics. It makes it really
easy to forget graduation will one day happen. I took care of my
clicking late one night, promptly fell asleep and removed all
thought of entering the post-graduate world from my mind. It would
all work out, wouldn't it?
(03/01/07 6:00am)
There was nothing more ravishing on Oscar night than the
smashing onscreen pairing of two men that sent me sprinting out of
the bathroom. Dripping wet and holding my towel, I gazed at the
screen as Leonardo DiCaprio joked awkwardly with Al Gore about
presidential elections and global warming.
(02/22/07 6:00am)
An assigned 25-page research paper my freshman year wasn't
enough to convince me to go to the Writing Center. Neither were
several history research papers, literary analyses and the
inability to write a coherent cover letter. A senior thesis,
however, did the trick. I signed up for a workshop. ?
(02/15/07 6:00am)
Three college students walk into a room at the Waldorf Astoria
in New York. There's one from Harvard, one from Columbia and one
from Williams College. All are nicely dressed in business-casual
twinsets, pearl necklaces and Burberry scarves and have their hair
swept back by velvet headbands. Dignified—the kind with
ruler-straight posture and carefully enunciated syllables. All
right. So they stand at the front of this room and this other lady
says—no—yells to them:
(02/08/07 6:00am)
It only took 13 minutes for my family to call me after the Bears
lost the Super Bowl.
(02/01/07 6:00am)
Internships are hot these days. They're almost required for an
entry-level job, they hardly pay well, are modern-day forms of
slave labor, and now, just when the internship formula of coffee
grabbing, photocopy making and covert facebooking was perfected,
MTV is making internships look unnecessarily cool.
(01/25/07 6:00am)
Last week, NBC announced they would be canceling their
seven-year-old cult hit soap ""Passions"" in favor of adding
another hour to ""Today.""?
(12/11/06 6:00am)
Pulsating sobs were echoing throughout Steenbock Memorial
Library late one Tuesday night and interrupting the very motivated
students who surrounded the circulation desk. It was too early for
an exam breakdown—those were at least five days away—but it
apparently was time for an inter-family fight over a $1,300 credit
card bill.
(12/05/06 6:00am)
Temperatures have plummeted dramatically, snow has started to
fall, the ground has started to harden and cafeteria trays have
slowly started to go missing. It's winter and it's time to go
sledding.
(12/04/06 6:00am)
Big, fuzzy, woolly, yeti boots, the long, black North Face
down-filled jackets, spandex leggings and big ski goggles have
finally come out of the closet and onto campus sidewalks. Sure,
they may keep some kids warm, but somehow the added layers have
turned what was one of the fittest campuses in the country to one
that is home to the slowest movers.
(11/27/06 6:00am)
If car and diamond commercials have taught Americans anything
about the holidays, it's that the best gift comes last. It comes at
that moment, when all the presents have been opened and cookies
eaten, that a well-dressed and attractive husband appears with a
small box. In it is either a) a diamond pendant or b) keys to a new
Lexus. The wife cries, the music plays, everyone else feels a
little inadequate and if it's a diamond commercial, maybe a tear or
two is shed.
(11/20/06 6:00am)
My family's tragic association with Thanksgiving began in 1978.
At that Thanksgiving meal, my great-grandfather left the table and
disappeared. No one knows if it was the canned cranberry sauce, the
turkey, the piles and piles of pie or the fact that he was losing
terribly at poker, but he died in the bathroom. His body had fallen
against the door, and the 65 years of smoking, drinking and
kielbasa had made his body a concrete barrier. So, as the story
goes, armed with an umbrella and a socket wrench, Aunt Toots had to
scale a drain pipe and climb in from the outside. There were some
efforts to revive him, but alas, it was too late.