You are so thirsty. You may even be dehydrated. Scorching was the summer that just past, and wet classes and wet friendships are not yet arrived. But relief is near. For if you are reading the Nassau Weekly—and we surmise that you are reading the Nassau Weekly—you are about to become rather damp.
Eminem, for all his lyrical violence—threatened and skillful (i.e. killin’ y’all fools on this lyrical shit)—is not a bully. He is the bullied, the victim. He is the wee scrawny white kid from a predominantly black part of Detroit, rescued … Read More
My stomach is parched from having just peed into the muddled ground. And it hurts from having nothing to eat, no ring pops, no soda, no sunflower seeds. It’s an empty hole, a cosmic hole— it could collapse now into … Read More
I sit and breathe and try to recall my whole life. I now sit serenely in the brush by this shouldering road. It winds tightly through the Peloponnesian town of Megalopolis, where I sit, through the pink stucco homes clinging staccato to the high side of the mountain our bus, heaving, climbed. Rapt speech in the restaurant behind is mere chatter.
The Program in Dance’s Spring Dance Festival: expertly choreographed works performed by accomplished student dancers at the Berlind Theater. There, I sat and stared at the stage. There, danced young men and women, their figures silhouetted against the backdrop, their motion passionate and firm. I sat next to my dear friend, who is herself an accomplished dancer.
At school, I no longer had to wait. I was free to do as I pleased and ceased observing the day altogether. But strangely, immediately, Shabbat presented itself to me in a transfiguring light, the radical antidote to all that displeased me here.