Shadows burned into sidewalks
(11/25/13 10:35am)
This Thanksgiving, I am grateful for my family and friends, the semester I four-pointed, my dog Maddie and the fact that we haven’t yet blown ourselves up.
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This Thanksgiving, I am grateful for my family and friends, the semester I four-pointed, my dog Maddie and the fact that we haven’t yet blown ourselves up.
The state of Colorado can be divided into three geographic regions of roughly equal area. The eastern third is mainly plains and looks like Kansas. The middle third is nothing but tall mountains and looks like Colorado. And the western third is full of high mountain desert plateaus and looks like Utah. Your friends from Colorado probably come from towns on the border of the central mountains and eastern fields, where civilization starts at the edge of the Rockies and spills down into the plains.
The world is making less and less sense to me lately. I guess this is supposed to happen in college, but nonetheless, it’s disorienting. Old fundamental truths appear definitely not fundamental and perhaps not even true.
At age 13, I had an existential crisis.
I woke up today feeling controversial. So, when I sat down a few minutes ago to begin this column, this is what I wrote:
One day early in the first semester of my freshman year, I got off the bus on West Campus for class and saw a tent. It was not one of the enormous, white event tents to which I have since become accustomed. It was a small camping tent—blue, if memory serves.
In 1967, Chief Justice Earl Warren scribed the unanimous opinion for the U.S. Supreme Court case, Loving v. Virginia. In it, he declared that, “Marriage is one of the ‘basic civil rights of man,’ fundamental to our very existence and survival.”
Remember that girl in elementary school who always had her head in a book?
Sometimes I think we’re all Alexander Supertramps.
Israel knows the importance of the high ground.
Last summer, I studied abroad at Oxford. Feeling the urge to be obnoxiously stereotypical, I decided to take a Shakespeare class.
It was LDOC, and I was sitting in my last class of the year, crying.
One of the biggest joys of U.S. elections is the forgetting.
As we all finished our finals and prepared to leave for break, somebody turned on the news in your common room. Maybe you overheard on the way to the bathroom, or maybe you were walking back, exhausted from a finished test, when your friend somberly asked, “Did you hear?”
There’s nothing quite like a mother’s wisdom.