CULTURE
Coffee, cupcakes and mortality at the Death Cafe
By Devon Shuman | April 10, 2018The flyer had been irresistible.
The flyer had been irresistible.
The most disappointing aspect of my spring break backpacking trip was not that it got cut short.
A mom, dad and daughter slide into the backseat of Jake Davis's silver Infiniti, parked in the small circular drive in front of MIA Uptown. Their bag of leftovers fills the sedan with the smell of Italian food.
Even at the height of the #MeToo movement this past winter, it was difficult to talk about ambiguously consensual sex -- the kind that's technically consensual, but doesn't totally feel that way.
It's 10 a.m. on a Saturday and I am bear crawling in a circle around an acting studio with my favorite professor, 12 other students and a certified clown.
After about 20 minutes, I felt my fragile sense of calm begin to dissipate, and the world around me started to spin. I fought back a bout of nausea and fumbled to get my phone from my pocket. Dialing, I put the phone to my ear, still scanning the woods and listening for the jingle of her collar.
My Wednesdays are pretty hectic, so I decided to celebrate Valentine's Day on Saturday night.
If one of my neighbors were to have looked out their bedroom window last Saturday morning around 7:15, here's what they would have seen: Me, dressed in sweatpants, a gray fleece and moccasin slippers, sprinting across my lawn and around the block, an empty leash in hand.
I've always struggled to articulate my feelings about Jim Carrey. While I've enjoyed most of his movies -- "Dumb and Dumber," "The Truman Show," "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind," etc. -- something about him, as an actor, has always rubbed me the wrong way. The zany, over-the-top antics, the obnoxious lilt in his voice as he bellows yet another "Alllrighty then," his borderline insufferable disregard for human decency or restraint -- call me cynical, but it all seems a bit much.
Maeve Collins isn't the first. Every time she takes a step on campus, she knows her parents, cousins and uncles have taken the exact same walk as her.
Freshmen Joey Royer and Joseph Ivan have more in common than their first names.
When my brother and I were home for Easter, my mom welcomed us with bowls of Raisin Bran and big mugs of decaffeinated tea, long hugs that started with her telling us how good it was to have us home, even just for 24 hours, and that ended with a kiss on the cheek. She let my brother fall asleep in the recliner and let me take the last granola bar in the pantry. She bent the old rules and put our dishes in the dishwasher for us when we, so used to dining halls and drive-thrus, forgot. But she had one firm request of us before we headed back to Oxford: Stop by the house.
Ian Banks is always surprised when people ask what it is that he chose to have etched into his forearm with permanent ink.
Brandon Fogel darts around Pearson 128, setting up the next improv game by fielding suggestions from the audience. He is boisterous and charismatic, talking to the audience as if they were his old friends. His sharp wit and quick jabs at random spectators only add to this feeling.
Hobbs started off the meeting by walking around the room with another member on staff. Forty college students surrounded them.
Cutouts from fashion magazines scatter the walls. A light board softly brightens a dimly lit bedroom. Dozens of professional quality, hand-drawn illustrations of people and emotions clutter the desk, floor and walls. And the sound of electronic music blares from the speakers on the wall.
For Gaby Fleming, move-in day came a bit later than the rest of the incoming freshmen.
The crowd was on their feet as the timer counted down, forcing the game into the first overtime. Miami was playing St. Cloud State, and the game was close: 2-2.
"I just love being upside-down," Sierra Whittemore said.
Leaning forward in his chair, light blue ball cap settled over his shoulder length brown hair, Garrett places his hand on the brown, wooden, circular table in front of him.