Use the fields below to perform an advanced search of The Chronicle's archives. This will return articles, images, and multimedia relevant to your query. You can also try a Basic search
5 items found for your search. If no results were found please broaden your search.
Some time ago, a column ran about grieving for a loved one's death and the subsequent enlightenment: Life is beautifully short, so treasure it. This is a wonderfully optimistic viewpoint, but it's one that I don't share.
Sometimes I consciously fight against the bubble I live in, operating by yesterday’s feel, and seek out the latest newspaper headlines. The other day I skimmed The New York Times’ highlights and came across a briefing that immediately caught my eye: Simpsons’ Silence.
After going to high school in Chapel Hill, I was fortunate enough to escape the sprawling southern claws of its collegiate counterpart. Ten minutes away here at Duke, surprisingly, turned out to be far enough for me. But I find myself returning more than I should. It’s true. Chapel Hill is a fabulous town.
It’s rare when every friend you come across independently tells you to watch the same movie. You’ll love it, they say. You’ll really grasp those uber-profound themes. Relentless wisecracks will make you laugh out of the side of your mouth. The soundtrack will make you feel like a born and bred hipster sporting ringer tees and ripped jeans, jamming to Belle and Sebastian on your iPod. It’s even rarer when they are wrong.
My sister once dragged me to a chick flick because she didn't want to see it alone. We drove all the way to Raleigh Grand Cinemas and walked in on the previews. That was when the storm downed power.
