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The Duke of my freshman year was not cool enough for the Wayfarer Revolution. But something happened between then and now that has transformed an indiscriminate portion of the student body into exemplars of Ray-Ban's decades-old promise: Wear Wayfarers, be cool.
Matt Ivester apparently blows goats. You probably don't know this, and frankly, you probably shouldn't believe it. But that's what it says. Go see for yourself. It's easy. Jump on JuicyCampus.com and search his name. By the looks of it, Matt Ivester is and isn't a lot of things, if you take the online forum at face value. Whether true or not (again, probably not true), the aggregate conviction seems to suggest that he's not a very popular guy.
Five days after President Richard Brodhead and the Board of Trustees ushered in their sweeping modifications of financial aid-to the tune of $6.7 million in increased student assistance a year-my parents cut their final check to Duke University. Barring any sort of complications (namely the likelihood of re-upping my dismal FLEX account before semester's end), this is the last transfer of funds they will ever make to my Bursar account.
At approximately 10:26 p.m. the party takes a turn. Shirts come off, Zeppelin's ratcheted up. The boys-who happen to be in short supply-start rolling their own cigarettes. The birthday girl magically procures a henna pen. And as though it's a rehearsed, perfectly natural performance, that henna pen starts curling figures into shirtless skin, the smoke swirling, the music dripping thick from the speakers overhead. In an imprecise instant, everyone has begun to draw on one another. But shadows of week-old designs-smiley faces, crafty phrases, geometric nonsense-seem to suggest that all this faux-tattoo artistry is nothing out of the ordinary.
A postgraduate pilgrimage to New York City is composed of the same properties as any magnetic vice: there are guaranteed repercussions (in the form of unspeakable hours for the financiers and excessive rent for just about everyone else), but none strong enough to dissuade you from the allure of the buzz. The intangible intrigue-the lifestyle-rests in the city, where a fresh collection of like-minded savants take up their ambitious careers.
Even for an 89-year-old, Tony Duke's anecdotes make it seem like he's squeezed an extra five or six lifetimes out of the only one he was given. The grandson of University co-founder Benjamin N. Duke, Tony grew up in the privileged circles of New England before embarking on the impressive and entertaining litany of experiences that define his life: boyhood adventures with JFK, youthful European encounters with local royalty, some football at Princeton (not Duke), a few decorations from WW2, eleven kids, four wives, a handful of enterprising businesses, and 70 years at the helm of Boys & Girls Harbor, a summer camp for disadvantaged youths in New York. He has assembled his life stories in his autobiography, Uncharted Course, available through The Bayview Press.
For a particularly talented fashion writer, the grand ascension to haute écriture might begin with a gig in San Francisco. After a few years, there'd likely be a lengthy stopover in New York or L.A. And then maybe, if the idealistic scheme truly ran its course, that writer might find herself in Paris.
Pretend for a second that West Main Street is Santa Monica Boulevard, and that the Liggett and Meyers Tobacco sign soaring over Brightleaf Square is more like a Scarlett-on-Sunset billboard. Turn those pine trees into palms, those red bricks into Spanish tiles, and then for one last movement of the imagination, transform Alivia's Durham Bistro into The Ivy. This is where you'll find the five girls of Brickhouse-the name of their off-East Campus home-sipping coffee and tea on a lazy Wednesday afternoon: physically in downtown Durham, but dreaming of the Los Angeles lifestyle that they're planning to lead after graduation.
Midway through spring semester of his freshman year, Eric Roberts was approached by a close friend at Duke and propositioned to act as witness for a shotgun wedding at the Durham County Courthouse.
Age: Would not say | Hometown: Juaben, Ghana
There are two kinds of Cameron Crazies.
Last year, then-freshman Mike Grella scored a game-winner that secured the ACC Championship for Duke, leading the Blue Devils to a first-round bye in the NCAA Men's College Cup and a nine-day hiatus prior to hosting Creighton University at home.
This is what would happen if M.I.A. moved back to London and spent too much time with the Streets: She'd hang on tight to the dance-driven beats, turn up the thick British accent and develop the dirtiest little mouth in town. She would, in all telling measures, be MC Lady Sovereign.
When the nets aren't strung up, the volleyball court posts that permanently line many of Southern California's beaches look more like toothpicks stuck in the sand. Their mere presence embodies the cultural significance of the game-a phenomenon rarely felt in other parts of the country.
On page 3,283 of the blue plastic notebook in the lobby of Perkins Library, a worthy question is posed: "How often do people really have sex in the stacks?"
The best thing about Jet's debut album Get Born (Elektra, 2003) was that the band managed to sound like everyone else: AC/DC, the Sex Pistols, Oasis, the Rolling Stones and the Beatles.
More than 1,000 fans attended Duke's convincing victory over N.C. State Wednesday night in Raleigh, and the Blue Devils (10-2, 3-0 in the ACC) expect nothing but the same when they travel to play North Carolina Saturday at 6 p.m.
If sophomores Lauren Lee-Houghton and Will Harlan had stumbled into Rick's Diner late Saturday night, they might have strolled across the blue-and-white checkered floor, considered the menu and assumed the staff was somewhere in the back.
Christian Kunkel has a moustache.
