Following the recent defeat of a ban on gay marriage, Senate Republicans are now looking for other ways to bolster their domestic agenda. In today’s press conference at the Capitol, Senators Rick Santorum (R-PA) and Wayne Allard (R-CO) presented their new bill, “The Defense of Pre-Natal Arms Act.”
You know what I mean: it’s that je ne sais quoi that attracts you to someone, the little things you can’t put your finger on when you’re talking about the object of your affection with your friends.
I wrote a thesis. I wrote it and bound it and turned it in. I am proud of my thesis and I think I produced a piece of research that is interesting and substantial.
“I’m NOT!” I bellow. Not going to school, that is. My homework isn’t done, it’s already 9 am (school started at 8), and I’ve yet to shower. But my mother is up and worried, and my father is done yelling, and I’m about to break. Soon, I’ll remove myself from self-isolation and go down to breakfast. I’ll wash my face, talk to my father, and head to fourth period photography.
“At Princeton, joining an eating club is like being a meat-eater: it’s a commonplace practice that has become the norm, but we feel there’s something morally iffy about the whole enterprise.”
To reach “Itinerant Languages of Photography”—one of the Art Museum’s two new temporary exhibits—one has to pass all that is not itinerant about the Museum. The entrance lies to the right of the Museum’s well-worn European mainstays. Each time I entered, I had to pass Washington’s confident gaze, his portrait serving as a reminder of what is permanent and perhaps most validated in the Museum, and what is not.
Humbert Humbert is far from a straightforward man, but he did have the decency to commit a straightforward crime. Lolita was a tender young twelve, her suitor perhaps three times that; whatever physical, metaphysical, sexual, magic or aesthetic power she may have wielded over H.H., she was a child and he was a man of immoral actions.
I am at a lecture. A lot of the people here are old, but I am kind of young. I am eighteen, which is young but not young like people say I am. I have not been twelve for six years, and when I take off my clothes, don’t say I look so young. I will not put out. Anyway. I am going to a lecture and when I reach to pull up my pants in the bathroom stall, I realize I’m not wearing underwear. I’m not wearing underwear, and I’m not wearing a belt, and probably the man who was sitting behind me (who is old) will see my ass when I sit down again. Everyone is dressed nicely except for me and my bare ass. I am only at this lecture because Kevin sometimes looks like a puppy. This is a narrative, kind of. This is a kind of narrative.
Salamishah Tillet told her sister Scheherazade that she was a rape survivor when she graduated from the University of Pennsylvania in the late nineties. At the time, Scheherazade was enrolled in a social documentary class at Rutgers taught by Steve … Read More
