Every friend I have on Facebook was talking about Christmas this weekend. Roughly 18 percent were inundated with the holiday spirit, presumably catalyzed by a tryptophan−induced food coma, and wrote about how excited they were to move from Thanksgiving to our glorious Christian nation's next major holiday.
Let us have a moment of silence for the 2011 NBA Lockout. After 149 days, countless failed negotiation meetings and overhypedstreetball tournaments, fans will finally be rewarded with basketball. The proposed 66−game season — 16 games shorter than normal — will begin on Christmas Day with a showdown between the Boston Celtics and the New York Knicks. Fans couldn't be happier.
It's time for a column that I have been putting off for a year now. Some will scoff, others will laugh, but all the pieces are in place, so it's time to come out and say it: Quidditch is a real sport.
My pops is old school. Each week, he sends me movie articles cut out from The New York Times or The Wall Street Journal. While the rest of the world depends on iPads and Twitter, my father still gets the tips of his fingers dirty from newspaper print. His colleagues are developing bionic thumb muscles due to overactive BlackBerry scrolling, and he is single−handedly keeping snail mail in business. Sure, it would be easier for him to send me a link in an email, but there is something refreshing about opening up an envelope and reading a clipped news article.
Last semester, I took some time away from the Hill and spent five months abroad in Seville, Spain. Immediately, I found the people of Seville to be partitioned into two factions: supporters of Sevilla FC and "los béticos," supporters or Real BetisBalompié. The rivalry between the two Sevillian soccer clubs resembles the mutual antagonism between the Yankees and the Mets or the Lakers and the Clippers, since one team is perennially top-notch and the other team is laughably bad.
In her Nov. 8 op−ed "Confronting integration with education, empathy," Sarah Tralins, yet another student who has claimed to empathize with the minority populace, has said, "I am a student who has actively advocated for racial equality and assimilation at Tufts." Her flawed, somewhat ignorant ignorance of racial inequalities is perhaps her greatest downfall in her attempts to advocate on the behalf of individuals she does not understand. Closer reading and analysis of my Nov. 1 op−ed entitled "What happens when assimilation and integration fails?" would have revealed my message that minorities at Tufts are tired of being told to assimilate. By minorities, I am referring to non−white Tufts students on campus: This includes countless Asian and Asian−American students, students of African descent, students of Hispanic descent, Native American students and all other ethnically identifying groups. Instead of being told to assimilate, we would like to be accepted and embraced for who we are as human beings, despite our cultural and socioeconomic differences.
Like many of you, I felt as though my childhood finally ended on Friday. No, I didn't lose my virginity, learn how to ride a bike or drink my first Jägerbomb. The last vestige of my youth took the form of "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2" (2011). Forking over 15 bucks for that eighth DVD was like shoving a basilisk fang right into the final Horcrux of my childhood. Bummer. Now all I have to look forward to is adulthood — 401Ks, jury duty and colonoscopies.
In the Western world, the concept of getting married is rather simple. There's a boy and a girl (or a boy and a boy or a girl and a girl, but you get what I mean). They love each other. They get married. There may be some issues here and there with parents not being totally accepting, but the situation is far from that in India. To quote novelist ChetanBhagat in his novel "2 States: The Story of My Marriage" (2009): "[T]here are a few more steps: Boy loves Girl. Girl loves Boy. Girl's family has to love boy. Boy's family has to love girl. Girl's Family has to love Boy's Family. Boy's family has to love Girl's family." If after all of this, the girl and the boy still happen to love each other, then they can get married.
Disclaimer: This column is not about Joe Paterno and Penn State. For more information on that topic, check out any other sports columnist on any other website.
There is this obscure faction called "mumblecore" floating around somewhere under the realm of independent film. Mumblecore films are extremely naturalistic and often focus on young, white intellectuals — two cinematic characteristics that should make the genre accessible and appealing to an English major like myself.
Former U.S. President Bill Clinton's visit to Tufts felt like a reunion of a friend you hadn't realized how much you'd missed. But if the sudden personal resonance of the word "intern" hadn't already led you to wincingly calculate the age of the former president, his playful references to his recent geriatric developments forced you to face the fact. Bill Clinton, symbol of swagger and vitality, is getting old.
Another Friday night. It's approximately 6:25 p.m. and, surprise surprise, I don't know what I'm going to do.
With the arrival of November, most of the major professional soccer leagues in the world are heading into the second quarter of the season, with about 10 games played in the Premier League, La Liga and Serie A. Accordingly, it's the perfect time for teams to look at the table to see where they stand, and what their expectations could be for the rest of the year. And in the Spanish league, one team will take that glance and be pleased beyond its wildest dreams: I'm talking, of course, about Levante of La Liga.
As I'm sure even the sun−kissed Californians were able to glean from last Saturday's storm, New England has boarded a one−way direct flight to winter and believe you me, we're going to be here till mid−April "weather" you like it or not.
It's the scariest time of year. There's an ominous chill in the air and the trees are growing barer by the day. This past weekend was particularly frightening. Students could be seen crossing Pro Row with extra caution, casting wary glances at their backs lest they fall prey to the soul−sucking beings that for three days walked among us:
If you follow soccer at all (or even sports in general), then you already know that last weekend's Manchester Derby was one of the most important matches of the season. Not only did it make the ESPN.com homepage, but the game was also seen as a changing of the guard in Manchester and in England. As Manchester City made its way home with an emphatic 6−1 victory, the pronouncements had already begun: the Blues were the new favorites for the Premier League title.
