The virtues of individualism
If I can relay anything in my last column for The Eagle, it’s “think for yourself.”
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If I can relay anything in my last column for The Eagle, it’s “think for yourself.”
At the risk of inciting a stampede, Nick Rangos is single, ladies. Yep, take a number.
Maybe Shawn Streiff is at fault. Maybe the truck that crashed into him tried everything possible to avoid him. Maybe the driver didn’t see him at all. Maybe Streiff was cycling recklessly and is responsible for the accident.
When I was in high school I had a smooth jump shot. I put up points as if I was competing with the U.S. deficit. Packed gyms would chant my nickname, “Ball hog, ball hog!” Hell, I earned it. I passed about as much as a running back.
I didn’t get tickets to President Clinton’s speech a couple weeks ago. A buddy offered an extra, but I told him I had more interesting things to accomplish, like lounging in the hot tub at the pool at Wilson High School in Tenleytown.
About a year ago, I participated in a filmed debate on-campus regarding ROTC. A couple of weeks prior, I wrote a column criticizing ROTC’s role at AU which spawned a slew of negative feedback. I was as popular as “wonk.” Actually, make that less popular.
I was snubbed recently by the neglectful folks at People Magazine who named Bradley Cooper the “Sexiest Man Alive.”
Women are attracted to washboard abs. They just are, practically all of them.
Let’s conduct a thought experiment. Think for a moment about all the ways you protect yourself from sexual assault in your daily life. Go ahead, take your time.
Trembling near the ledge of the eighth story of my dorm, life was looking bleak. I peered out toward the distant ocean and noted how cruel it was to feel like a prisoner in such a spectacular setting.
When you click on AU’s homepage, you’ll notice a variety of intriguing headlines. A recent headline features a study by AU students detailing the impact 9/11 had on American lives, aptly named “Growing up in the Shadow of 9/11.”
Referees and columnists share one thing in common — they’re always pissing someone off. At least referees get paid. In all seriousness, I’d do it for free if I had to. (I have to.) Like any columnist, some content makes me cringe after it’s published — I wish I could revise or rephrase — but there it lies like burnt toast: just have to live with it. And those are the better ones. They say we’re our own worst critics, and trust me, that’s saying something.
Why did you enroll at AU? We each have our individual reasons, but I’m willing to bet many students matriculated here because of the common and accurate perception that AU is a force for social justice. AU students care about the environment and minority groups. We give tragedies like genocide and natural disasters much more than lip service. We’re advocates, we’re in the know and we take action. We don’t have the pompous reputation of Georgetown students nor the cutthroat mentality like George Washington. AU carries a humanitarian connotation that means more to us than ‘Wonk’ ever could.
I’m not a smoker — it’s not for me. When I turned 18, I went through a phase where I kept a cigarette between my lips because I thought it looked cool. I thought it would help enhance my rebel image and attract girls. But it was rarely lit, and when it was, I never inhaled. Nevertheless, I befriended authentic smokers outside buildings on cold days (when my breath was most visible) and cultivated relationships I maintain today.
Pennsylvania, Kansas, Ohio, North Carolina — what do these four states have in common? No, they’re not battleground states in 2012. These states represent the homes of the top four seeds in the 2011 March Madness tournament. They’re the favorites, the powerhouses.
Chris Rock once said, “A man is basically as faithful as his options.” Like many of his jokes, he’s kind of kidding. But he’s kind of serious too. The evidence of men with fidelity issues could overflow magazine racks across the world. In fact, it does.
You’re starving. You walk briskly to grab a sandwich at Subway to satisfy your craving. You’ve got less than 10 minutes to request extra tomatoes, endure the disorganized queue for the toaster and scour the rack below for spicy Doritos. You’re antsy. Unfortunately, the last thing you need is unfolding before your eyes as another customer fumbles clumsily for exact change.
Say you’re riding the Metro. You glance around scanning for a seat, anxious to rest your legs from a long day at work. Your eyes drift down to The Eagle, eager to get your rant fix for the week. Suddenly, the rants zoom up close and personal as a stranger bumps into you, sending the paper violently into your chest. You look up angrily to reprimand the person, only to notice you’re witnessing an altercation that has nothing to do with you.
He came stumbling out of his car and darted toward her. She noticed him immediately as she walked beside a friend near midnight on campus at The University of Arizona. How couldn’t she — he was shirtless, stroking his penis, pants near his ankles. At first, she thought it was a fraternity initiation, a stupid prank. She remembers initially smirking at the spectacle, preparing to be mooned.
Keep it down! Don’t park there! You can’t live here!) It’s a prizefight between university students and local residents. Only they’re fighting in heavyweight, while we’re bloodied up in the corner, bullied featherweights.