Growing up as an only child wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be. Although people think being an only child means you get whatever you want, there is a dark side too — … dun dun dun — the feeling that you are always being left out. As a kid, the only things that mattered to me were my Pokémon cards, my friend’s movie birthday parties and group playdates after school.
Supposedly we 20-somethings have trouble saying a particular grouping of three little words. But it occurred to me the other week that there’s another set of two words that seems even harder for people to say, myself included.
Last Tuesday I had dinner at my professor’s house. Earlier in the day I texted my friend who had dined there the night before: “Does he serve wine?” She answered in the negative. Completely sober, I chatted with 11 of my classmates during dinner, dessert and drinks — Sprite and lemonade.
New burger joint Citizen Burger Bar joined the ranks of restaurants on the Downtown Mall when it opened in June across from the Paramount Theater at 212 East Main Street.
It only seems appropriate I take this time to discuss the plague. I’m sure you’re familiar with it.
I hate to disrespect the great Andy Williams, but I have to say that fall is truly the most wonderful time of the year.
In this day and age we value being busy. This is nothing new. We admire the people who barely have time to breathe in between their extracurricular meetings, their 18-credit class schedule, their dedicated workout regimen and their full-to-the-brim social life.
Johnny, Third Year English major University involvement: Third Year Council, Madison House, Intramural Sports Ideal date person: Stunning, duh.
1. Run late to every class. Turn poor planning or that totally necessary extra 10 minutes of sleep into a good thing.
“Peanut butter is tight! Peanut butter is gooood,” said Rob Archer, owner of Arch’s Frozen Yogurt, lauding his favorite flavor at the newly renovated frozen yogurt shop on the Corner. During the summer, Arch’s made the switch from over-the-counter service to the trendier self-serve setup.
Until two weeks ago, I had been a vegetarian for about six years. Beyond that, I had never eaten seafood — not even before I became a vegetarian. If you had asked me last year, I would have told you that I didn’t have any plans of quitting vegetarianism, thank you very much.
“Whelp, just another case of the Mondays,” my sister calls to me, coughing and hacking, plagued by some yet to be diagnosed case of hypochondria.
Anyone can turn on the radio and hear Gotye’s “Somebody That I Used to Know,” but it’s rare to find an a cappella version with cats’ meows replacing the lyrics.
I knew it was going to happen. I spent the summer in New York City hanging out with Commerce School students who were working at banks.
Sorry to about three-fourths of my readership if I am being insensitive, but being 21 really is the best thing ever.
In recent years I’ve solidified my response to the question: “Do you speak French?” I respond: “Sure, I speak conversationally, but I probably couldn’t talk confidently about (insert extremely political or historical fact here),” for example, seventh-century Babylonian advances in astronomy. Although it’s questionable I could even have that particular conversation in English, the point is that my French vocabulary does not exceed that of a fourth-grader.
Dear Edgar, I’m a third year in the Commerce School. It’s everything I hoped it would be except for one big problem.
Early this summer, the beloved restaurant and bar on Elliewood Avenue, The Backyard, closed its doors without an explanation.
I walk into my sister’s room on a Sunday morning. She’s left for work in her Redskins t-shirt and baseball cap, jeans and blue tennis shoes.
In many ways, a 21st birthday is a rite of passage into a new world. You can get a horizontal license, you can show the bouncer your actual I.D.
