I’ve never really been a birthday person. In the past, the event has been riddled with enough anxiety to make it generally unpleasant.
I’m apt to loathe politics. It all seems to be happening so far away — in some other time, on some other planet.
At this point in my column-writing career, it becomes harder each week to think of a new and interesting topic.
Much like my current favorite fictional heroine Lady Mary Crawley of “Downton Abbey” fame, I am very lucky.
For the first several weeks of my stay in Lyon, Sundays were the dreaded day. In France, everything is closed on Sundays.
My sister’s room is littered with Hemingway quotes, pictures, books. She drinks Bell’s Two-Hearted Ale because it’s named after one of Hemingway’s short stories — and it doesn’t hurt that it also has a pretty high ABV.
In a season full of political ads and fury, I’m going to endorse a different type of political situation.
For the past couple of weeks, I’ve fallen into a routine. I start my week early Monday morning, and I can’t wait for the clock to strike 5 o’clock on Thursday.
It is humanly impossible to gain the freshman 15 — or should I say first-year 15 — and I can prove it with a simple story.
It’s hard to believe that by the time I sit down to write my next column the next president of this great nation will be elected.
As a fourth year, I’ve realized that even though we have what seems like 1700 libraries at the University, there are only so many places students can do work before the pattern starts to repeat itself.
Whoever came up with the idea of the “Things to Do Before We Graduate” list needs to be given a hug. Really, the idea is complete genius.
There is a certain way we choose to deal with memories. Sometimes we cherish them, sometimes we compartmentalize them, and sometimes, when the memories are especially fragile, we must watch them from afar. This semester, I’ve been watching a memory, carefully stepping around the delicate periphery so as not to disturb the inner sanctum.
Because I refuse to give Comcast any more business than it deserves — which is negative 800 billion customers, in case you were wondering — and because “Arrested Development” and “Breaking Bad” are on Netflix, I do not watch television at school.
I will be the first to say it — I am addicted to my phone. When I leave it in another room, I always make sure the audio is up loud so I know if someone wants to talk.
Being abroad — away from my home, friends, family and school — for more than two months has given me some new ideas about the meaning of presence.
I’ll begin with an important announcement. Christmas is only 68 days away. You’re probably thinking, “Doesn’t she mean Halloween is only two weeks away?” Nope!
A couple of weeks ago, a friend told me that several studies had found that nostalgia was the most debilitating emotion that someone can feel.
Last Thursday, while waitressing, I started to feel ill. My manager told me that I looked terrible, which would have been offensive if it weren’t true.
The lecture hall. The universal symbol of collegiate education — a motif almost as prevalent as the red solo cup, the universal symbol of “screw you, Mom.” Yes, midway through the semester I have presumed it time to discuss that pesky, bloodsucking parasite on the backside of the unceasing party that is college: learning. I use the term loosely, of course.
