“Unlike the classic chicken breast, however, the cuy goes from farmhouse to fridge to spit to butcher block to plate in a way that is probably more humane, yet also more graphic, and thus more disturbing. Guinea pigs are cute; cuy, as it turns out, is tasty.”
While Facebook stalking this week instead of writing that Dean’s Date paper, you might come across pictures of Rachel Price ’07 in a wedding dress. These photos won’t be from an impromptu trip to the Salvation Army to giggle with friends about being married some day: these are from that actual wedding day.
The movie opens with a young man sitting alone on a beach singing The Beatles song “Girl” to the viewer. This is the first sign (to anyone who did not know, i.e. me) that Across the Universe is a musical. … Read More
At some point (or at several points) in your college career, you will find yourself half-passed-out on your neighbor’s couch arguing violently with them about movies. You aren’t quite sure how you ended up on your neighbor’s couch or how the bent of your conversation even turned to film in the first place, but it has.
Book of Mormon—the Broadway musical from the creators of South Park—opened to incredible reviews, won nine Tonys, and is so popular these days that its website suggests you should start looking for tickets for February 2012. Scalped tickets for shows … Read More
During a slow weekend this past July in St. Petersburg, Russia, Rob Madole, Tim Nunan, and John Nelson started scheming, started to talk of raising hell.
In the “About Us” section of their website, the creators of theSkimm proclaim: “We see ourselves as a part of a generation where women are out-earning men in paychecks and degrees. We’ve grabbed our seats at the table, now it’s time to Skimm to the head.” I researched the daily newsletter after it was recommended to me as something “super helpful” by my brother’s wealthy, educated girlfriend who works in an art gallery.
I am fulfilling my destiny!” These are the words I heard billowing from a field to my left, as I thumped down a running path in Central Park. Startled, I looked towards the source of the voice; my eyes met a massive, sandstone obelisk, referred to as “Cleopatra’s Needle” by some, and “Central Park’s Dick” by others.
When I was in eighth grade, a girl two grades up from me was writing a novel. I didn’t know much about her aside from her name, the fact that she was my classmate’s older sister, and that she was in the finishing stages of creating a work of fiction, but I wanted to become her, cut my hair short and type importantly on my laptop in my small school’s even smaller library.
