The Suburban Mystique
Potluck parties hold us still in peacoat parisian wannabe dreams and our lawns are deep gold, plush 70s shag carpet cool, we know how to vacuum them with one hand.
Potluck parties hold us still in peacoat parisian wannabe dreams and our lawns are deep gold, plush 70s shag carpet cool, we know how to vacuum them with one hand.
Colby students often approach philosophy majors with a deep regret for not having taken any philosophy classes, tending to ask what its like to be a scholar of knowledge, a lover of wisdom.
The saying goes, “don’t shit where you eat,” and that’s exactly what we do every Friday and Saturday night. It’s the reason we can’t have nice things and the reason for the copious amount of dorm damage that we rack up every semester.
At dinner a week or so ago, I argued with some friends who saw fit to defend the College’s decision to move more than half of the library’s books off campus.
There has never been a woman president of Colby College. Colby was founded in 1813. Sixty-two years later, Mary Low was the first woman to graduate from Colby.
My name is Reclaim Colby. I am writing from my deathbed, and before I go I wish to tell you my story.