I was strolling across the quad on a crisp autumn day last week, when I reached a large group of prospective students. As I passed by, I couldn't help but pick up a bit of the tour guide's polished routine. He was mentioning something about how 635 percent of Tufts students go abroad junior year.
Drunken girls generally enjoy stupid songs, and Far East Movement (FM) — an electro-hop quartet composed of four young Asian American men from Los Angeles — has hit on the ultimate drunken-girl song: "Like a G6." FM's ode to feeling like an airplane, in all of its trashy, terrible, earworm-y glory, currently sits at number two on the Billboard charts.
I'd like to take the opportunity this week to address an issue I've noticed the past three years at Tufts. We have a drinking problem on the Hill, and it's serious. What? No, I don't give a damn about binge drinking. The problem we have is an issue of drink diversity.
You don't have to be a psychologist to diagnose Jed York with delusion.
Many campuses offer a shuttle to help students to get around, and here at Tufts, we have our beloved Joey. With its myriad of drivers and a sometimes unpredictable route, the Joey is a critical part of Tufts travel. With the stroke of a key and the shoot of a text, you can know where the Joey is at any time. There are a few simple rules that will aid in your successfully riding and taking full advantage of the Joey, so listen closely. 1. Be punctual, if not early: The Joey drivers always seem to be in a rush to get either back to campus or to Davis Square, although these are the two main places the shuttle goes, so I'm not sure where the fire is. The Joey is almost always on time into Davis (save in the event of rush−hour traffic).
Until this summer, I could not fathom why my mother hated "Forrest Gump" (1994) so intensely. Despising that film was tantamount to writing off "Full House" (1987−1995), which she also did with ease (though arguably with more reason — Bob Saget is a jerk).
Jay Sean is a wonder of modern commercial music. A British citizen of Indian descent signed to Cash Money Records (the hip−hop label that also claims Lil Wayne, Drake and Nicki Minaj), Jay Sean is globalization personified. He's broken barriers and crossed not only genre lines but also oceans in the process. He's also written the most homoerotically charged song ever. Let's let that one sink in for a second.
A terrible thing just happened. I went for a little drive in the early hours of yesterday morning. Sitting in the driver's seat of my luxurious 2002 Subaru Outback with the dance−tastic beats of David Guetta blasting, I surveyed the Tufts campus. It was a beautiful day. A pleasant ocean breeze danced along the hill. The sun cast soft West Hall−shaped shadows across the quad. Birds chirped; squirrels scurried. All was well in the world. And then I saw something so vile and horrible that it shocked me out of my pleasant contemplation and threw me into a deep depression. As I rounded the turn onto Packard Avenue, I saw the sad first of the season.
Ah, to be a senior and look back on my years here. Remember that year Spring Fling turned into a mass−casualty incident? Remember when Fall Ball was the hottest, grimiest jumblef−−− within a 1,000 mile radius? Or when it was legal to know (in the biblical sense) that guy or girl from your Intro to Philosophy class with your roommate in their bed four feet away? Oh, the memories.
The college fraternity party is an event unlike most others. At Tufts, we don't boast about our Greek life since, relatively speaking, there isn't much to boast about. My friends at Cornell or Syracuse scoff at our "Frat Row" (to us, Pro Row) and are confused that we don't have "DG" and "Kappa" as power players on our sorority girl social scene. But Tufts Greek life is indeed its own breed and has its own rules and etiquette. Don't worry; after only a few blissful evenings under the romantic black lights and the sticky, Natural Ice landscape, everything will be made apparent.
While the Internet is busy changing the face of television and print media is busy dying, commercial hip−hop is becoming something fascinating, bizarre and captivating: A former corrections officer−cum−thespian weaves yarns about drug dealing alongside a college dropout who would be king, a happily married Muslim makes himself sound like a robot while confessing his love for strippers and the most famous rapper in the world nears his mid−life crisis.
As a growing focus on post−grad life and the transition into adulthood sweeps across the nation (see the Daily's own Sept. 13 article "Twenty−somethings show increasing uncertainty about post−college life"), I am bewildered that one main issue is implied in every article or argument but never addressed head−on. Perhaps it is due to the highly motivated, success−oriented environment that defines the upper echelon academic institutions, but here everyone is asking, "What should I do after Tufts?" No one, it seems, is asking the question, "Why do I need to do something?"
Why does America love Hollywood? Why do People magazines fly off the shelves faster than "Harry Potter" books, and why does Perez Hilton's website get more hits than Robot Unicorn Attack? Well, it all boils down to one simple reason — no, not Miley Cyrus. People love Hollywood because Hollywood is sexy. And we're not talking about your average eighth-grade-health-teacher sexy. We're talking about the Megan Fox (oh, she's nasty!), Demi and Ashton (Twitter, lolz) and Johnny Depp (what a rebel!) sexy.
Four years at Tufts University or six minutes in outer space?
Two of my favorite places to grab a sandwich near campus are Tasty Gourmet on Boston Avenue and Deli−icious in Davis Square. Both restaurants remind me of delis back home in Brooklyn, N.Y. — the deli capital of the world — partly because they import fresh Boar's Head cold cuts from New York, but also because they embrace the idea of a sandwich as a meal: They offer a pickle and a side with each order and feature creativity in sandwich invention and attention to detail in sandwich construction.
It takes a lot of guts to get rid of your starting quarterback. It takes even more to do it when he was in the Pro Bowl last season. What, you thought I was going to talk about Marc Bulger?
For some, Passover means reuniting with family; for others, it means eating dry matzah and macaroons in Dewick; for others still it means nothing more than an ordinary week of school, after tanning on the shores of Mexico, Miami, Jamaica or, for the more altruistic Tuftonians, something more like a service trip to New Orleans.
After what feels like a lifetime of buildup and anticipation, "Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution" finally premiered on March 26 at 8 p.m. on ABC. The basic premise of the show is that Oliver, a British celebrity chef best known by his moniker "The Naked Chef," spent time in Huntington, W.Va., last fall to try to get people to eat healthier. According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, almost half of the adult population of the city is obese, and Huntington has been dubbed "the fattest city in America" as a result of these statistics.
Florida coach Billy Donovan likes the idea. Wisconsin's Bo Ryan said it would be "a crime" if it doesn't happen. Even two of the most recognizable coaches in the NCAA, Duke's Mike Krzyzewski and Syracuse's Jim Boeheim, think changes need to be made.
This past weekend, "The Green Zone" was released in theaters. Pitched as an intense and gritty action film, "Zone" marked the reunion of actor Matt Damon and director Paul Greengrass, the dynamic duo behind "The Bourne Supremacy" (2004) and "The Bourne Ultimatum" (2007). The film seemed destined for success, but its opening weekend gross came in at a paltry $14.3 million. The box office receipts may have come as a surprise, but there is one obvious reason the movie failed: It was about the Iraq War.
