Last week, I talked about the culture of forgiveness within sports and how it seems to take so little to accept an athlete who has cheated or committed a crime back into our good graces. There are, of course, a couple of conditions: The athlete needs to show remorse that we can accept as genuine, and he needs to continue to perform well on the field upon return.
Nowadays, virtually all films are based on a prior story — whether it's a book, graphic novel, Broadway show or an "amazingly true" tale. Movie executives are desperate for ideas and, in their search to find original concepts, they have turned to the video game industry.
I've received mixed reviews about my last article not because it addressed a delicate subject but because I mentioned my large nipples. My friends have approached me in the past week and tried to reassure me that they're totally normal. And even though I still see budding breasts on my chest, I appreciate the support. But it got me thinking about another aspect of self-image that guys never have to deal with: boobs.
It took hours of political wrangling and arm-twisting, but at 11:07 p.m. on Saturday night, House Majority Leader Nancy Pelosi rapped her gavel and the Obama administration's sweeping health care bill — HR 3962, the Affordable Health Care for America Act — was passed in the House of Representatives by a slim 220-215 margin: 219 Democrats and 1 Republican for, 176 Republicans and 39 Democrats against. The House Democrats had less than 12 hours to recover before the obligatory rounds of Sunday talk shows, but this pales in comparison to the political storm awaiting Senate Democrats in the coming days and weeks.
I guess I'm glad I was in LA instead of Boston for the MLB playoffs this year. I got to hear mutterings of a Dodgers-Angels "freeway series" (yeah, dream on, but sorry, this ain't New York). And that the Angels-Yankees series was kind of a squeaker, huh? Dodgers fans are almost like Red Sox fans and that is saying something. (You decide what.)
The Obama administration foresaw two potential outcomes of last month's nullification of a purported election victory for the incumbent President of Afghanistan Hamid Karzai. President Obama and top foreign policy brass hoped for a runoff election or some form of power-sharing agreement between Karzai and his opponent, former Afghanistan Foreign Minister Abdullah Abdullah. The United States ultimately wanted an Afghan leadership that was not only popularly elected, but also seen as legitimate in the eyes of the people, as this would best combat the Afghan insurgency. Abdullah and Karzai both agreed to a runoff on Nov. 7 and all seemed well. But the United States never foresaw what lurked behind door number three.
There are some acts that simply should not be done by certain people. Lactose-intolerant individuals should avoid ice cream sundaes. Alex Rodriguez should pass on those tic-tacs. Are you Albus Dumbledore? Stay away from Snape. But all of these examples pale in comparison to what Orlando Magic sharpshooter J.J. Redick announced on Thursday.
This has been an extremely emotional week for me, but I think that I have gathered enough strength due to the kindness and support of family and friends to retell my story with composure.
Whether it's a first date or a typical Friday evening with your significant other, it's often hard to think of original plans for a night (or day) out.
This weekend I found myself celebrating the last Halloween of my college career and I don't know what was scarier: swine flu or the prospect of (not) finding a job. I receive e-mails nearly every day concerning both of them: from Tufts, from my mom, from my friends — all admonishing me to wash my hands, buy a suit, avoid sharing drinks and network. My everyday conversations are suddenly peppered with news of which fortunate souls have been recruited, and which unfortunate ones have come down with the infamous H1N1, as well as who took the LSATs out of sheer desperation and who has the vague and mysterious "ILI." It seems no one is safe. Why? Unemployment might not be as contagious as the dreaded swine, but sensationalism definitely is, and I see it infecting Tufts.
I remember an argument that I had with a somewhat thickheaded friend from high school: He tried to argue that women were inherently unable to rock as hard as their male counterparts. While it is true that notable female figures have been conspicuously absent from the history of rock n' roll, I don't think this is the result of women having an inherent predisposition not to rock, but rather the result of the culture that surrounds the music industry. In order to change my friend's mind, I directed him to check out one Miss Brody Dalle, then of the punk band The Distillers.
Exactly a year ago, the U.S. presidential election cycle was in its final days. Emotions ran high in both the Barack Obama and John McCain camps. McCain unleashed a final, furious wave of allegations against Obama — chief among them was the notion that Obama, if elected, would act on his purportedly steadfast commitment to the redistribution of wealth in American society and cause a dramatic, socialist political shift.
The purpose of this column, ostensibly, is for me to vent through the lens of pop culture about my problems and neuroses. But my issues don't hold a candle to those of Larry Gopnik, the protagonist of "A Serious Man" (2009), the hilarious, moving, odd and deeply puzzling new film from Joel and Ethan Coen.
Everyone has his or her own specific way of attempting to predict the future. The Mayans have their calendar, Tom Hanks had the Zoltar Machine and Nostradamus had his patented Magic 8 Ball.
Admit it or not, most of us stress over and debate about relationship issues, whether it be through whispering during TDC rehearsals, getting advice from roommates or "doing work" in Tisch.
The leader of Afghanistan since his appointment as chairman of the transitional administration in December 2001, Hamid Karzai is the face of the American democracy-building experiment in the middle eastern nation. Over the course of the past eight years, he has served as the constant presence American policymakers have needed to ensure some sort of stability for rebuilding and security efforts.
Following a knock at my door the other night, one of my housemates promptly crashed in my chair to agonize about her current guy situation.
It had been almost two months, and I still had faith that I was going to get the hang of Pilates ... and then came the giant bouncy balls. Like Goldilocks, I went through three sizes of these inflatable spheres of humiliation, but never found that just-right ball. Instead, I spent most of class sunk into a partially deflated globe, knees to my chest and rolling off every five to seven minutes.
Every fall is a little different. We get older, Halloween costumes get a little more slutty, and the Washington Redskins find a way to suck a little bit more. But for me at least, one thing has always remained constant during the autumn months: fantasy football.
In the words of Jack Donaghy on last week's episode of "30 Rock," "I'm a big ol' liar." To my three or four loyal readers: Don't have a conniption. I've been completely honest with you in my previous columns. I did sob at a Grizzly Bear concert, I do think that Kanye West and Serena Williams were in the right, and I am, in fact, absolutely nothing like Jason Schwartzman. When I say "lies," I'm not talking about outright, Balloon Boy-style fabrications.
