OPINION
Have you lost weight?
By David Kleban | March 1, 2005The other day I had the pleasure of finding out what an insensitive person I am.
The other day I had the pleasure of finding out what an insensitive person I am.
For the past few years, an unspoken sentiment has surfaced on the pages of The Chronicle, at the meetings of student government organizations and in countless conversations across campus.
Amidst the fury of scattered postings on West Campus, an anonymous black-and-white flyer chanced across my view.
I live in the 4D building of Keohane Quad, which means that whenever I am hungry, 24 hours a day, I can walk down two flights of stairs in my slippers and order a waffle. Or, between the hours of 8 a.
This is the worst possible time to be a writer. By “worst possible time,” I mean the whole “this day and age” thing, and not Friday, specifically.
What was your first impression of me?” I asked my closest Duke friends over the past summer.
I should have known better when I first read the headlines claiming that Ward Churchill had compared Sept. 11 victims to Nazis.
Some students still wonder why President Richard Brodhead handled last semester’s Palestine Solidarity Movement controversy the way he did.
“…The mission of Duke University is… to advance the frontiers of knowledge and contribute boldly to the international community of scholarship… to provide wide ranging...
Apparently, stereotypes are bad. I have come to that conclusion after months of exhaustive research, testing mice in a secret, underground laboratory.
Recent events have put Duke’s alcohol policy in the spotlight.
There is a lot of anger about wealth among Duke students. We tend to scorn the practice of admitting students based on legacy and financial donations.
The language of culture obscures its limitations. From time seemingly immemorial, African Americans have fought within culture’s contradiction—to be oneself, and to be black.
TOMMY SEABASS was excited this weekend to acquire a ticket to the Duke Food Service Employees Basketball Tournament, a little-known annual ritual taking place after-hours in the Brodie Gymnasium.
Last August, two of my friends and I road tripped to Canada. We took our time getting up there, meeting weirdos, taking pictures and camping out.
This is bowling. There are rules.
February 25, 2005—New Durham, North Carolina.
I carry a copy of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby in my car’s glove box.
Yes, that’s what Ludacris and Usher and countless other men have told me and my friends that they want out of a woman.
Those who did not attend Saturday’s performance of the Vagina Monologues missed more than just an overpriced and poorly-acted play.