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The slightest sheets of sunlight wiggled their way in between the drawn window shades, offering our bloodshot eyes the first indication of the rising new day. It was 6:30 a.m. We had been in a smoky, stale room on the third floor of the Social Sciences building for the last six hours, and finally, finally, the real show was to begin.
I originally wrote this reinterpretation of Allen Ginsburg's "America" for class freshman year. I've updated a couple lines, but most of it remains the same.
The three high school girls behind us were howling. So were the 20 Peace College students in the first few rows, and so was this guy to my left who had a lazy eye, three front teeth and more than a little spittle running down the right side of his chin. Of course, I don't know these people personally, but from the mere fact that they were so enamored with the improvisational techniques of the company members at Comedy Worx (yes, they replaced "works" with "worx," and yes, it's tacky), I can say with relative assurance that they are walking representatives of the fall of western civilization.
When computer genius and all-around studmuffin John Bush implemented a new feature for The Chronicle's website that allowed readers to offer their comments to articles online, we thought that our devoted reader(s) would flood the site with insightful glances into the world of arts and entertainment and our coverage of it. Thirteen issues, hundreds of articles, and even a Nick Christie food column bashing the South later, we've received a grand total of eight (8) responses.
David Rees, a Chapel Hill native, is a thirty-nothing office temp who, through his homemade ClipArt strip "Get Your War On," also happens to be one of the sharpest voices of political commentary in the nation. Senior Editor Greg Bloom caught up with him to talk about his strip, which has exploded from office amusement to national inside joke.
The same menu still hangs on the wall saying that a cup of coffee is 10 cents, and the same black countertop still stands on the building's second floor.
Sadly, editors at the nation's most reputable news outlet, USA Today, dropped Larry King from their line of columnists last year. Driven into the throes of depression by the departure of a true American genius, Recess has allowed Mr. King column space on our own hallowed pages:
Just minutes before she relinquished her crown to Tequila Rose, Jezebell, the first winner of the Queen of the Triangle pageant, sat down with Recess to talk about his life in women's clothing.
After Nellie slaps her on the butt and giddily exclaims, "You get 'em, girl!," Tequila Rose gracefully steps over the piles of dresses strewn across the floor, dodges some dirty looks, darts through the two-foot-wide mirrored hallway and seductively glides onto the stage. The multi-colored house lights expose her toned body, and the 400-person crowd��half gay, half straight--explodes with furious delight. Suddenly, the sharp pain of having her waist tightened by 20 feet of duct tape, the discomfort of having her penis jammed between her legs and into her ass cheeks and the agonizing memories of having performed onstage as a boy in high school plays disappear. The moment is Tequila Rose's, and the music blares.
With a gallon jug of cynicism, a wad of cash (psychic readings run about $40 a pop) and a handgun (for protection), I braved the Triangle's mean streets in search of her best psychics. To test each one of these soothsayer's "gift," I envisioned myself asking them obscure questions with very definitive answers, and watching with perverse delight as they tried to squirm to some toss-up of a conclusion.
Since we're attempting to do something new this week--replacing the light-hearted fare that typically lines our pages with a more serious-minded evaluation of how art grapples with, mirrors and occassionally influences some of America's most pressing issues--we feel as if we owe an explanation as to why we chose to take this path.
The Pietasters?Cat?s Cradle: Sept. 13 at 9 p.m. $12
Maybe you had the good fortune to walk by a flyer for the show. Maybe you happened to drive by the show?s venue and saw the band?s name on the marquee. Or just maybe you heard about the show from the kid in your Chem class who heard about it from his ex-girlfriend?s new lesbian life partner.
The final nail has yet to be pushed into the wooded casket, but the demise is eminent: Duke's on-campus social scene is effectively dead. Occasionally, Fraternities can jump through enough administrative hoops to throw a raucous bash or Central Campus parties can attract enough people to make a dent on the university's social compass. Nevertheless, the lion's share of activity, now takes place in Durham and down 15-501 in Chapel Hill.
Ever get flutters at the discount rack in Sak's? Then, Confessions of a Shopaholic by Sophie Kinsella is as much an incisive look into your own purchasing tendencies as it is simply a glimpse into the life of compulsive shopper Rebecca Bloomwood. Many Dukies can associate with Becky's problems, and her brutally honest approach to life makes her an immensely likable, if immensely flawed, 20-something. Reminiscent of Bridget Jones's Diary, Confessions is an entertaining narrative and a must-read for shoppers at heart.
The glamorous world of sportswriting--gone. Pressrooms brimming with yesterday's pork rinds and 300-pound "writers" with entire chicken wings stuck in their unkempt beards recounting tales of how they once (wink-wink) struck up a conversation with a broad--vanished.
The first thing you notice are the moptops. Then, your attention shifts to band members' four matching suits and the high-pitched screams emanating from the first few rows. By the time the opening chords of "I Saw Her Standing There" fill the auditorium, you feel like you're at the taping of the Ed Sullivan Show in '64.
With the wear and tear that nearly 20 years of countless member changes, strategically-placed tube socks and enough drugs to kill a yak causes, the music world might have forgiven the Red Hot Chili Peppers for failing to deliver a worthy follow-up to 1999's hugely successful Californication. But By the Way is exactly what you would expect from one of the most talented alternative acts around: a perfect mix of Kiedis' rapid-fire funk, Flea's energetic slap bass and Frusciante's six-string mastery. More melodic and intelligent than ever before, RHCP adds an inspired new chapter to an already impressive career.
Recess editor Greg Veis caught up with Little Steven (né: Steven Van Zandt) earlier this month, and he talked to one of the busiest men in show business about the future of The Sopranos, Bruce Springsteen & The E Street Band's new album The Rising and his Underground Garage radio gig:
The first thing you notice are the moptops. Then, your attention shifts to band members1 four matching suits and the high-pitched screams emanating from the first few rows. By the time the opening chords of 3I Saw Her Standing There2 fill the auditorium, you feel like you1re at the taping of the Ed Sullivan Show in 164.
