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(04/30/02 6:00am)
Warm months of luxurious laziness form a luminescent beacon on
the horizon, but a vile obstruction eclipses all but a glimmer of
promised freedom. As the sun sets on the semester, the brutality of
final exams establishes a craggy barricade from the fulfillment of
long-deserved summer relaxation.
(04/23/02 6:00am)
Ah, spring. Dreary afternoons huddled around a space heater give
way to sun-soaked Frisbee excursions, and cumbersome North Face
parkas give way to revealing tank tops. The warming weather carries
with it an increase in passion, making spring into a sort of mating
season.
(04/16/02 6:00am)
Sulfurous flames slowly engulf me and the promise of anguish for
my charred soul stretches out into eternity. Although I sometimes
ponder my destiny, the thought of eternal damnation rarely
manifests itself in my vision of the future.
(04/09/02 6:00am)
Madison's location on an isthmus certainly heightens the
character of the city, but it sometimes seems that an island would
be a more fitting locale for this campus. Oftentimes, the student
population appears to be so isolated that it causes me to question
the very existence of those strips of land that connect us to the
rest of the world.
(04/02/02 6:00am)
Intense specks of tan and pink create luxurious diversions from
the incandescent purity of the sand's whiteness. Thousands of
bikini-clad, nubile bodies join together in an orgiastic
celebration of youthful freedom.
(03/19/02 6:00am)
Every Friday, as another week of school comes to a close, masses
of backpacks abruptly smash onto cluttered dorm and apartment
floors, stowed away for the weekend along with all scholarly and
worldly concerns. With the troubles of academia safely disregarded,
students undertake an entirely new affliction'drinking until they
puke.
(03/12/02 6:00am)
Throughout the \Star Wars"" saga, the line between good and evil
is always incredibly unambiguous. Unfortunately, for those of us in
the minority that can actually discern between the imagination of
George Lucas and reality, things are not so simple and well
defined.
(03/05/02 6:00am)
Thousands of tortured souls somberly trudge through the arctic
terrain, adjusting the hoods of their North Face jackets in a
futile attempt to keep the brutal elements at bay.
(02/26/02 6:00am)
Muscular masses of flesh throb and pulsate on my television
screen. An increasingly grotesque parade of contestants lines up,
waiting for the judges to evaluate their disproportionate
physiques. Eventually, a trophy disappears into a set of monstrous
arms.
(02/19/02 6:00am)
With all the sadness and strife that has come to tarnish our
collective consciousness in the past few months, the world is in
dire need of a psychological boost. Nothing revitalizes hope in
humanity like the sight of people comically carrying broom-like
instruments around an ice rink for no perceivable purpose.
(02/12/02 6:00am)
The overbearing nature of my illness makes it impossible to
concentrate on anything besides the incessant throbbing in my head.
The excruciating soreness feels like a dagger puncturing my throat,
and my body roasts like a miserable, self-sufficient sauna.
(02/05/02 6:00am)
Army storm troopers set off into the battle zone, well equipped
for any challenge. Suddenly, they run into an enormous problem: The
enemy is a phantom. Believe it or not, I am not talking about the
war in Afghanistan.
(01/29/02 6:00am)
The distant goal taunts me from its inaccessible position on the
far side of the room. I realize that existence is futile without
its awesome power. As the impending threat of Rosie O'Donnell
reaches drastic levels, I finally undertake the struggle to reach
the remote control.
(12/04/01 6:00am)
The brilliant professor approaches the culmination of her
enlightening lecture. Aside from the educational intensity of the
speaker's voice, the entire room remains steeped in a concentrated
silence. Just then, at an incredibly dramatic moment, an irritating
electronic rendition of Edvard Grieg's \Hall of the Mountain King""
interrupts the atmosphere.
(11/27/01 6:00am)
On farms across the nation, gobbling and clucking sounds have
yielded to an eerie silence. This past weekend, Americans attempted
to escape the nation's recent inundation of violence by
participating in the annual tradition of turkey genocide.
(11/20/01 6:00am)
The mechanical drone of a drill pierces through the serenity of
the morning air. The dismal landscape, rendered lifeless by years
of destructive mistreatment, extends into the distance as far as
the eye can see. Not a single tree protrudes on the horizon, a
charcoal-colored cloud serving as the only obstruction to a view of
eternal bleakness.
(11/13/01 6:00am)
Gone are the days when a malfunctioning remote control
constituted a significant source of fear for the American populous.
Clearly, an epidemic of terror has inundated the nation.
(11/06/01 6:00am)
I keep pushing on, straining myself to the very limit of
physical endurance. The accelerated rhythm of my pulse reverberates
through my entire body like the piercing beat of a bass drum, and
my lungs struggle to satiate the needs of my strained respiratory
system. After twenty minutes of grueling intensity, victory is
mine.
(10/30/01 6:00am)
In an ideal world, we could all prance through the streets every
day wearing pink tights, caking our faces with massive amounts of
face paint and screaming in an irritating fashion. Unfortunately,
not everybody has the good fortune of Richard Simmons, and the rest
of us must cram our fun into a single night each year.
(10/23/01 6:00am)
The wide-open spaces of an American highway, the spot usually
reserved for announcing the distance to the nearest Burger King,
are now adorned with shimmering stars and stripes and a clich??
patriotic slogan. The far-reaching effects of recent events have
truly sent shockwaves throughout the nation, a point that is
hammered home by the first noticeable change to be permitted in
Monroe, Wis., for more than two decades.