Smokey, this is not 'Nam
By Eric Vivier | February 18, 2005This is bowling. There are rules.
This is bowling. There are rules.
February 25, 2005—New Durham, North Carolina.
I carry a copy of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby in my car’s glove box.
Those who did not attend Saturday’s performance of the Vagina Monologues missed more than just an overpriced and poorly-acted play.
Yes, that’s what Ludacris and Usher and countless other men have told me and my friends that they want out of a woman.
Three years ago, House Majority Leader Dick Armey; (R-Texas); said on MSNBC’s Hardball that the Palestinians should be expelled from the occupied territories.
Judging from the flyers around campus these days one might think that no kind of love is wrong.
Growing up in the public schools of El Paso, Texas, Aurora Lora experienced first-hand the educational disparities that persist in our country.
If the old adage that a way to a man’s heart is through his stomach holds true, then perhaps the recent changes in the Merchants on Points program will cause a shift in cultural relationships...
Welcome back, Dr. Dean. I’m wincing right now. Don’t screw this up. You inherit a Democratic Party that is grasping at straws.
Last week, the Senate passed a bill that would make it significantly more difficult to file class-action lawsuits against companies.
Once upon a time there was a lamb. This lamb’s name was Mike. Ever since he was an even younger lamb, Mike had wanted to be a turtle.
For most seniors, this Valentine’s Day signals the end of a passionate love affair with the University.
I have nothing to say about romance, so if that was reason you began reading, stop. I do have something to say about raucous parties off East Campus, which have gathered such infamy of late.
Apparently TOMMY SEABASS’s last column was not very popular in certain circles of the Duke community.
A university's memory is permanently impaired. With the exception of the deepest furrows—the UNC bonfire, or James B.
Miss Miho, what’s the area of a trapezoid?” I turned around quickly from passing out pencils to find Charlie, a jolly sixth grader, inquisitively staring at his workbook. Shoot.
Like many other young women, I am trying to define my own feminism. I wear lip-gloss. I think welfare reform declared a war on poor mothers. I like to cook for my boyfriend.
Ever since Sunday’s Super Bowl, many have been calling Philadelphia the most tortured sports city in America. In one word—Please.