Rows upon rows of tender skins, resting fragile. Light within hardened crates we sit while watching lines crawl by — streets smothered in hot oiled
The rain splattered all over the open book in his hand in large drops, wrinkling the pages into an almost an unrecognizable shape and causing the ink to blot and twist the solid world into incomprehensible smudges. The book had been pretty awful anyway. Skill-building, they had told him; it would take a while to fully recover from the accident, and it would only set him back farther if he didn’t complete the therapy assignments. He sighed and fingered the large scar barely hiding beneath his dark cropped hair. Having forgotten his hat on the train, he was certain that everyone who passed was staring at the disfigurement.
Just a quick stroll from campus is Porter Square, famous for Lesley University, Bally Total Fitness, the perennially top-rated homeless-hangout-T-station, and some great gustatory gems. It was an arduous and stomach-grumbling feat to walk down Mass Ave and pass all of the Thai, Indian, and Himalayan restaurants; tonight, though, we were not in the mood for Eastern food. Just past Lesley University on Mass Ave is Addis, an Ethiopian restaurant named for the country’s capital city.
For a girl that grew up almost exclusively in the backseat of a car in metropolitan Philadelphia and Los Angeles, it’s rare that I’ll admit a craving for natural beauty and outdoor activities. But, by the third hour of bumper-to-bumper traffic and a McDonalds-induced stomachache, no affinity for belligerent drivers, near-accidents, and urban noise could make me turn back from my weekend trip to New Hampshire.
In almost all religions, there is some form of sacrament—wine, incense, crackers, etc.—which functions as the causal medium for religious experience. Iterations of these holy consumables have been known by the names Kykeon, Ambrosia (Greco-Roman), Manna (Judeo-Christianity), Soma (Vedic texts), Haoma (Zoroastrianism), or Ayahuasca. Tracing the word “sacrament,” we find two points of interest. One is that it may be parsed into literalisms: “sacred” (sacra) and “state of mind” (ment). The other is that, the Latin sacramentum, or “solemn oath,” was used when translating the Greek word musterion or “mystery.” Thus, by contextualizing the term in relation to a broader history, we can comprehend “sacrament” not as a physical imbibition, but as a mysterious and sacred state of mind resultant from an imbibation—how very interesting.
Do you know what goes on at 7:00 a.m. on Wednesday mornings? Have you ever wondered what is happening while you are snug as a bug in a rug, slumbering peacefully inside of your double long twin bed? Suns rise, birds chirp, joggers jog, and WMFO plays tunes. Outside of your window, down the Memorial Steps, inside of Curtis Hall, and in the WMFO studios, Kristen and Sarah are already up and spinning the tunes. I voluntarily decided to wake up at 6:55 a.m. and investigate the quality of those tunes and what was going on at 91.5 FM at this ungodly hour of the morning.
I’m sure you’ve heard all about it: Kids today are growing up faster than ever before. But that’s not to say they’re becoming adults faster; they’re simply quick to embrace teen-hood. In our culture, where an insanely high premium is placed on maintaining youthfulness, indoctrination into adulthood seems increasingly elusive. While children eagerly embrace adolescence, we, the waning adolescents, are content to keep adulthood at arm’s length, wading in a state of extended adolescence for as long as possible. And who could blame us? Adulthood sucks. Or so we’ve been told.
Ever dreamed of finding a land where unicorns dance near smiling suns, orange-bearded shepherds herd lone purple sheep, and bright, brilliant fish swim through the sky? Well firstly, you’re a weirdo. But secondly and more importantly, you need to look no further than the painted murals inside of Tufts’ own Crafts Center, a beacon of bright glowing lights at the bottom of Lewis Hall on weekday evenings—just look for the vibrant construction paper letters pasted on all of the windows. Open for free-form crafting, doodling, and dabbling of all sorts Sunday through Thursday, 7-10 p.m., the center is a wonderful and somewhat unknown resource for creative output on campus.
China’s economy has grown to unbelievable levels. Their output figures, even if they are overestimating the truth, are staggering. It seems all but inevitable that China will take a global role in world politics for years to come.
Diana Baide: After experiencing several disappointing social events as seniors, it’s time to stop whining and do some self-reflecting. Why is Tufts all of a
Bed sheets? Check. Laptop? Check. Textbooks? Check. Kanye album? Check. Thirty rack? No comment. Almost any college kid can fill out the rest of this list, but an essential part is missing: a dog! Nothing fits quite so perfectly into college life as a dog. Everyone knows the saying that dogs are “man’s best friend.” Dogs are the super pet: they make everyone happy, give neverending love, make you more responsible, save you from the freshman 15, act as your ultimate wingman, hang out with you whenever you want, and act as a loyal best friend. Did I mention neverending love? Barring allergies, there’s no excuse not to have some sort of contact with dogs.
Virginia Woolf once wrote, “Vain trifles as they seem, clothes change our view of the world and the world’s view of us.” More than any