When I first started writing this column, a man named Ulysses S. Grant was president, the dominant religion was a form of Christianity that practiced the ritual swallowing of live eels and the primary form of transportation was a bicycle that had one enormous wheel and one triangle-shaped wheel. At times, it can feel like not much has changed.
Michael Langley is a senior English major from New Jersey. He is the editor of the Opinions page and he also writes a weekly column, "Let Me Bring This Down To Your Level."
- Class year: 2013
Friends, if you’re anything like me, you’re a six-time Olympic Candyland champion who can eat 80 hot dogs in 12 minutes. But also, you’re sick and tired of reading the nonsense I write in this newspaper.
Readers, this may surprise you, but I am the sort of person who enjoys a drink at the pub every so often. Now, I don’t care for those beverages with names like “Sassy Peach Farmer” or “Sexy Bishop with Lime” or whatever the hell they call them these days (in fact, the only adjectives I find acceptable with regard to drinks are “aged” and “distilled”).
Coming back from JanPlan break forced me to realize something: I only have one semester left at Colby, and that perhaps now is the time for me to start feeling nostalgic about what has happened here and apprehensive about what is to come. So I did, for about four minutes. Then I grew up.
Should the world fail to end a few weeks from now (not that I consider Earth’s survival a possible outcome), I think we need to start taking a few things a little more seriously.
Friends, I don’t think it’s any secret that I spend most of my Sunday evenings hanging out with nationally celebrated, Pulitzer Prize-winning journalists, and this Sunday was no different.
As an ageless, untiring being who has walked the Earth since the time of the dinosaurs, I often find myself neglecting some of the little things.
Throw out everything you thought you knew about American politics. Throw out everything you knew about its component ideas of “America” and “politics.” And throw out some of the stuff you know about geometry, just for good measure.
Call me old-fashioned, but I remember a time when a man could ride his horse-drawn phaeton down to Jorgenson’s, smoke a bit of opium, write some imitation Blake for his beloved and discuss the latest Van Gogh embarrassment.
Friends, I have never pretended to be a fan of democracy. It’s ugly, inconvenient and the voting booths smell like baby food and urine.
I realized this weekend that Colby, while very good at doing winter and certainly no slouch at autumn, is woefully ill-equipped to handle the spring season.
Aren’t you curious by now? It’s been over a decade since it happened. 9/11. The day America was attacked. By who? For what?
But this past weekend, I finally mustered the courage to leave my homeland and participate in a grueling, total-immersion study abroad experience that had me outside the United States for almost 48 hours.
Try telling someone “go f**k yourself” and then apologizing by saying you chose your words poorly, and that you wouldn’t mind if the person instead chose to fornicate, copulate, consummate or have sex with himself. Hopefully, you will be punched in the face.
I know it seems like just a decade since the current presidential race began, but we are already entering the final stretch.
What are some good date ideas?
There are a few very important things happening in the realm of current events right now.
A series of gut reactions to the Presidential candidates:
This may come as a surprise to you, but I am not the sort of person who derives pleasure from wanton cruelty to animals. In fact, I would go even further and say that I am against wanton cruelty to animals.
As I have repeatedly made clear to friends, professors and random people in bars, I am no supporter of the United Nations.
Last week, reading the opinion section of the Echo, I noticed a challenger to the throne. Mr. Mark Gracyk, in writing his comedic rant against the Civil Discourse, created one of the funniest pieces I’ve read in years.
There’s a lot going on in the world right now.
It was almost twelve on Saturday night and there I was, lying limbs asprawl in my king-size bed, trying to appreciate the soft embrace of my scarlet red satin sheets.
I simply cannot fathom why the American Library Association believes we need to protect books from being banned.
How’s everyone doing? Moved in alright? Sinking your teeth into those new classes?
There I was, out for an innocent April morning Segway ride, when I rode across some rather troubling graffiti.
There is no bigger fan of the British people than myself.
My all-time favorite part of the year is very close. No, not Earth Day!
If I were a journalist of less integrity, I might have some incendiary words for Mr. Rush Limbaugh. I might, for example, point out the fact that perhaps persons in lard houses should not throw cupcakes.
Jeezy uses quite complex rhyme schemes in his music, often rhyming the same word up to three times in rapid succession.
After a nationwide political battle that lasted many months and cost millions of dollars, I have just one thing to say: amateur hour is over.
Like most of you, it takes a lot to make me fall into an emotional fit and cry hysterically into my pillow. Yet this is how I’ve gone to bed every night for the past several weeks.
After an entire year at this fine institution, I am beginning to question our mascot.
I realize that I have a serious responsibility to lucidly explain the day"s issues to the masses.
I do not want to seem sensational, but I am of the opinion that the only way to protect the student body is a complete ban of hard alcohol.
In the state of Maine, the following things are illegal: consuming alcohol under the age of 21 and using an oppositely gendered bathroom.
Nothing can match the therapeutic powers of punching drywall extremely hard or breaking a mirror because quite frankly you were not comfortable with the way that it was looking at you.
I'm afraid I have some startling news for you all. At first I refused to believe it, but after consulting my astrolabe, there seems to be no alternative. That's right, friends: summer is coming.
Coming to Colby as a freshman, one of my biggest worries was my living situation. I have very particular living habits, you see. I must have an east-facing window. I cannot have a room that is too square. I like to practice my sousaphone while the sun comes up.
There are so many articles concerning “congressional deadlock” and “budget reconciliation” that by the time I finish the front page, I am too tired to find out who won the local pie eating contest.