Everyone born in late August and the first two-thirds of September will assemble at my apartment, remove their clothes and sing “Livin’ La Vida Loca.” Then, we will weep, for what lands are left to conquer?
“Jeremiah was a bullfrog! Was a good friend of mine!” – a genius.
Can I call this a humor column yet? Whenever someone asks me about it (this has happened twice), I want to say, “I write humor, nyah!” but I’m afraid they’ll stab me in the eye with a copy of the New Yorker. Or vomit. Ah well. Living is the worst part about life. Also, genocide, rape and death. Also, socks with holes in ‘em.
First, a joke: University President Mark Schlissel, if by “party culture” you mean sitting alone in your room, listening to a Pete Holmes podcast and thinking about masturbating, then I am definitely devaluing my education.
Spoiler Alert: This ends at 3:30 a.m. with a couch, a movie and my Someone Special. Gush, nay?
I have met the devil. He has a bushy tail. Let me explain.
On a dry February morning freshman year, my friends and I met by the Cube to travel to Pennsylvania or Indiana or somewhere like Indiana and Pennsylvania. Iowa?
I stood with Karibou (his real name is Adam — no explanation necessary). We were talking about something light — lamps or feathers, can’t remember which — when something distracted us: a squirrel, the size of a microwave, scuttling beneath a bare-branched tree. I held out my hand and performed my self-taught squirrel call:
But can “Watchman” tarnish Harper Lee’s legacy? I doubt it. It’s the first pass at the work that would become one of the capital-G Greatest novels in American literature. For that reason alone, “Go Set a Watchman” is worth every page, every word, every moment of your time. It is an artifact, and like any artifact, it should be studied.