Well, apparently Spring Fling hasn't been canceled yet, and just this weekend Concert Board announced the line−up. The rumors were true; The Roots are coming to Tufts. Oh greaaaat …
Setting things on fire is fun. In the hands of the particularly foolish, it can be dangerous, yet I maintain that humans will never lose their primal fascination with burning stuff. It's why we love the cozy warmth of the fireplace in winter, why we stare as lit candles melt down into sad little puddles on the kitchen table and why I still remember the prairie-burning field trip I went on in fourth grade. Perhaps that's why I have friends who have set their own pants and arm hairs ablaze. More than once.
To say that the refereeing in this year's March Madness has been awful is as much of an understatement as saying that Rebecca Black's "Friday" just isn't that bad.
When I saw "The Fighter" I was pretty sure Christian Bale actually spent some time as a crackhead. Bale's normal weight is 185 pounds at exactly six feet. Not too shabby, but for "The Fighter" he was hovering around 145 pounds. He has a history of drastically changing his body for a role. If anyone else has seen "The Machinist" (2004), where Mr. Bale was down to a scary 120 pounds, you'll agree.
Since the start of this academic year, my friends have noticed that something has changed about me. My eyes are always wistfully half−open, betraying my daydreaming mind. I walk around listlessly, constantly checking my phone. At any given point in the day, I exhibit an idiotic grin that scares away potential friends. I would be embarrassed, but I'm too giddy to care. I'm sure you understand the feeling: that swooping, gravity−defying lovesickness we all fall victim to at some point in life.
Most people wouldn't call a man whistling at a strange woman on the street romantic. Some would even call it offensive. In New York, where catcalling is as commonplace as potholes, this is an entirely different story. Its cultural significance is perhaps best demonstrated in the show "The King of Queens"(1998−2007) — a phrase I doubt I'll see again — when the protagonist Doug pays a construction worker to holler at his insecure wife.
The Miami Heat have committed the ultimate sin, one far worse than LeBron James' egregious "Decision" or the team's 87−86 loss to the Chicago Bulls on Sunday. I'm talking about something that reveals the Heat's true character, a despicable action that has no place in the manly world of professional sports.
No, this column wasn't written in December. Yesterday was my favorite holiday. It's a very special day in New England that comes but once a year, and this time around, Boston decided to make it a whole holiday weekend. What is this mysterious day of days, you ask? Well, my esteemed colleagues, in case you've been stuck under a rock straight James Franco−style the past couple days, this weekend was warm. Real warm. But, more importantly, it was Spring Hottie Come Out Day.
Cloverfield" (2008) was a terrible movie. Sure, I watched it in theaters for maximum immersion and, thus, maximum awesomeness. I Chris Tucker−screamed a few times here and there, and I may or may not have had some interesting dreams with people's chests blowing up in bloody mists.
In March, there is one true rule of fandom: If your team isn't in it, cheer for Cinderella.
Enter the flashback machine. It's Aug. 27, 2007. I'm sitting on the academic quad listening to a man — whose name is remarkably similar to my favorite breakfast meat — talk about the opportunities I have to look forward to in the coming four years. He talks about the things I'll learn, the curiosity I'm encouraged to bring and the appreciation I will acquire in the process. Now flash forward 3 1/2 years. I've seen a historic presidential election, an economic collapse and, in the past two weeks, about 45 feet of snow. And, oh yeah, I learned a couple things too. I've learned the statistic impossibility of failing an English class, the cost−effectiveness of various alcohols and how to drive in Boston (ignore laws and everyone else's safety).
I LOVE comic books. I LOVE movies. But comic−book movies? Here's the way I look at 'em: They are like scratch tickets. You throw down some money, do a bit of gambling, and you are either slightly surprised or you just feel swindled. "Iron Man" (2008)? AWESOME. "X−Men: The Last Stand" (2006)? I had to take a shower to wipe off the grime.
A couple of weeks ago, I was sitting around with a pair of UNC fans watching the Tar Heels take on Duke. Unsurprisingly, the conversation shifted to Carolina's last title game in 2008−09.
If Flo Rida's 2010 hit from the "Step Up 3D" (2010) soundtrack, "Club Can't Handle Me," is in any way autobiographical, he is, according to the definitions and classifications found in the DSM-IV-TR, the bearer of many, many mental health scars. The lyrics read like the diary of a psych ward inhabitant: delusions, grandiose thoughts, paranoid ramblings — it's all there, each line more incriminating and worrisome than the one before it.
Ah, the Champions League — that glorious, thrilling UEFA competition that awaits every soccer fan coming out of the winter doldrums. It pits the best of each nation against each other, giving great teams from small leagues and the traditional giants alike a chance to showcase their skills on the biggest stage.
The last time I checked the Office of Undergraduate Admissions' statistics regarding literacy at Tufts, it seemed to me that the vast majority of students attending Tufts could read and speak English at a satisfactory level. It occurred to me that literacy happens to be a prerequisite for most institutions of higher education, and that makes sense I guess. Of the people I have met, befriended and loved at Tufts, all have been well−read, well−spoken and knowledgeable in the English language, if only as a result of the hours of reading homework they have each night.
Look, I've been saying it for years, and apparently Hollywood just isn't listening: We need more Chris Tucker in movies. Some of you might be asking, "Who is Chris Tucker?" or "Why do we need to inject him into feature films?" Let me tell you: He is that loud−mouthed, sassy and wildly incompetent sidekick. He's been featured alongside Bruce Willis in "The Fifth Element" (1997), Ice Cube in "Friday" (1995), Charlie Sheen in "Money Talks" (1997) and, most famously, Jackie Chan in the "Rush Hour" trilogy (1998, 2001, 2007).
