Word: fountaining
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...look forward to reading through all of your materials, though mostly just looking at the required theme photos (I believe the suggested themes are “Patriotic Americana” or “Oh no, the drinking fountain is spraying water everywhere”). Good luck in the process and just know that though there likely will be a spike in applicants this year, the Committee on Marital Admissions will give each file the care and attention it deserves...
...doesn't take long for the war to interrupt our reverie. At dusk, gunfire erupts from Al Shifaniyah as a Black Hawk flies low overhead. An hour later, Staff Sgt. Scott Fountain snaps open the company radio. "Rock 6, Rock 6. Two men walking across the bridge, something in their hands." Illuminated rounds are sent up, the two men hit the ground and don't move. After watching them for half an hour on his Bradley's thermal scanner, Captain Melendez orders several bursts of rounds over their heads to scare them off. It works. The men slink off down...
...that Saddam wasn't finished off in 1991. But there is no justification for mandating his end just because he deserves it and we are frustrated by his presence. There must be better, more creative ways short of war. Otherwise, where does this process end? EFREM LIEBER Fountain Hills, Ariz...
...would spurt the taps in irregular jolts. Then small square signs covered the soda label, saying, “Out of Order.” But after a week of searching out Diet Sprite even in the netherworld of Currier House, Dartboard saw no progress made towards fixing the fountains. Instead, a mysterious sign appeared on the Winthrop House soda fountain, declaring that Coca-Cola had discontinued Diet Sprite and that Harvard Dining Services would be looking for other options. Lemonade replaced Diet Sprite in Cabot House. Dartboard was shocked that the Coca Cola company could ever think of discontinuing...
...sport about it. Harry, I want my college life to be like it was 50 years ago, before even you were a student here. I imagine the Adams House Library on a Friday evening, the room smoky and full of young men clutching cloth-bound books and fountain pens poised to scribble notes in the margins. Their mental paths were circuitous and paved with discarded ideas. Or they were sipping brandy out of monogrammed flasks concealed in their blazers and debating whether to go carouse. Not that student life was better, but I suspect it was less two-faced; these...