When the Twin Towers fell, George Bush and his folks wasted very little time (give or take seven minutes reading a children’s book) in deciding that this act of seemingly unimaginable violence needed resolve and force, and that showing strength … Read More
Having done my part to help re-elect my class president, I noticed that one of the ongoing projects for 2007’s USG officers was “Working on plans for a new Dillon Gym.” When I saw this, I was extremely excited. There’s nothing I’d like more than to see certain facets of Dillon ameliorated. I couldn’t care less about the basketball court, or the multi-purpose room, or the squash court, or the pool, or the dance studio, or the locker rooms. All that needs to be fixed, in my mind, is the Stephens Fitness Center.
I didn’t plan on writing this article. When the weekend started, I was really annoyed that I had a ten-page paper hanging over my head, and I had to spend most of my time all the way down at West Windsor fields for the Ivy League Rugby Tournament.
Taqueek Runyan was an angry black youth in a town full of them. He was raised in a very religious household by “working class” parents, who—like most of the adults in the northern New Jersey area—were unemployed.
Junior year, I was losing fights with acne, schoolwork, and my love life. But then I started working out and following my dermatologist’s orders. One day during a heat wave, I wore a wife-beater (and my newly clear skin) to school, and the ugly duckling became a swan.