T ufts recently announced a $32 million operating surplus, marking a more than 700 percent increase from the previous fiscal year. As a non−profit institution that costs well over $50,000 a year to attend and has suspended need−blind admissions, we should be troubled that there is ever a substantial surplus.
T ufts recently announced a $32 million operating surplus, marking a more than 700 percent increase from the previous fiscal year. As a non−profit institution that costs well over $50,000 a year to attend and has suspended need−blind admissions, we should be troubled that there is ever a substantial surplus.
Hello, everyone. Up until now, my scathing written complaints have been directed primarily toward more visually observable topics.
Japanese children's author Taro Gomi once wrote that everybody poops. He should write a sequel informing America's naive and reactionary sports fans that everybody curses.
From Jay McInerney's New York, let's venture into a real depiction of the Big Apple with our first non-fiction book, a memoir by an artist about artists. Here's my breakdown:
As much as I love soccer — and I believe that it's one of the most thrilling sports out there with fans more passionate than any other — I have to admit, it's not perfect. Not that any sport is perfect, but there are some changes to soccer that are so simple to make and that could improve the game so much that it's almost inexplicable why they haven't already been implemented. Of course, other people have proposed all of these ideas before, but I thought I would make a list of the top three changes that would be made to the game in a perfect world:
So your significant other — how's that for PC, Tufts? — is being a dick. He forgot your birthday. She made a joke about you being whipped in front of your bros. What are you going to do about it? Perhaps it's what you're not going to do that is more significant.
This week's topic is "bad tattoos." I'll note that I have two tattoos — one on my shoulder blade and another on my foot. I love tattoos. New ink is expensive, however, and a permanent piece of body art isn't something you want to "cheap out" on. The only thing that a cheap tattoo will get you is a faded blob of ink that looks horrible 20 years down the road. Spend the money and get something that's worth it.
Whenever anything goes wrong in my life, I tend to deflect blame onto something else, preferably an intangible or helpless entity. Step in a puddle? Bad karma. Fail a test? Teacher's fault; too hard. Mother gets mad at me for not flushing the toilet? Blame the dog.
I'm pretty sure I'm in the running for most freshman freshman. In the first few weeks of school, I have: Asked for directions to Carmichael, name−dropped the one senior I know at least once a conversation, asked for directions to Mail Services, done the Saturday night "where's−the−party waltz," only to end up in bed by midnight, asked for directions to Cabot and asked for directions to Hillsides.
If you've grown up in the last ten years or so, it's pretty much a given that you've watched movies like the "American Pie" series and "Road Trip" (2000). Aside from being generally low budget, raunchy and starring Sean William Scott, these movies all have another aspect in common. They all provide the viewer with an image of what college life is like in the United States. And more often than not, the image ingrained in the viewer is that college will feature a lot of out of control frat parties, complete with a fully stocked bar.
Every fall, we are bombarded with the portrait of the incoming freshman class, highlighting their lofty test scores, impressive accomplishments and perhaps with the most pride, their unprecedented diversity.
Hello, readers! I would like to take a moment to introduce myself. This column wasn't originally a column at all; rather, it was a blog that "almost happened" over the summer between my sophomore and junior years here at Tufts.
At an age when most spend their time puttering around retirement homes, expelling glorified tales of yore out the front exit and malodorous flatulence out the back, Larry Merchant inadvertently fired the final shot that saved boxing.
Cooking is about so much more than the assembly of ingredients. It's about building and combining flavors and textures in a way that creates something greater than the sum of its parts. The collective knowledge of both chefs and home cooks has yielded an arsenal of particular ingredients known for their unique properties that, without further alteration, add a very special flourish to a dish. I see them as shortcuts.
1. I've been meaning to do a list column for weeks now, and since this is my last regular column before my super special commencement issue, this is my last chance.
As I slowly arise from my post−Spring Fling coma with what feels like an army of West Virginia coal miners scraping away at the inside of my head, I'm realizing two things: 1) No one should ever put off any requirement until the day after Spring Fling, and 2) Seeing as the Daily finishes its regular publication today, it looks like, love it or hate it, I get the last word. Tough day, everyone else.
The other day I saw Gucci Mane sneering at me from the cover of the latest issue of The Source and was completely helpless, so I bought it without pause: Gucci Mane is too much to resist.
