Word: herded
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...Massachusetts Governor's Race. In a state where politics is sport, it looks like Massachusetts voters are going to be forced to make the pitiful choice between Republican acting-Governor Paul "Right-Place-at-the-Right-Time" Cellucci and one of a faceless herd of uninspiring Democrats now vying for the nomination. If for no other reason than our own amusement during the fall campaign, let's hope that something shakes this pathetically boring race...
...Dean of Students Archie C. Epps III has canned the idea of kegs. The council asked for permission to serve eight kegs throughout the festivities, but Dean Epps only allowed them to serve beer in cans from noon to 3:30 p.m. Worse yet, the administration will forcibly herd drinkers into an area cordoned off from the rest of the event. Unless you have an insatiable craving for all-you-can-eat fried dough, Dartboard suggests you go to Tufts University this Saturday, where L.L. Cool J will headline a number of big name bands...
...Dean of Students Archie C. Epps III has canned the idea of kegs. The council asked for permission to serve eight kegs throughout the festivities, but Dean Epps only allowed them to serve beer in cans from noon to 3:30 p.m. Worse yet, the administration will forcibly herd drinkers into an area cordoned off from the rest of the event. Unless you have an insatiable craving for all-you-can-eat fried dough, Dartboard suggests you go to Tufts University this Saturday, where L.L. Cool J will headline a number of big name bands...
...last time a Harvard organization hosted a Battle of the Bands was two years ago, and the junior-high school event was quite the washout. About 30 people showed up (besides band members) in Paine Hall, the musical groups showcased were a struggling herd of piecemeal talent, and never once did the evening achieve the spark that graced last weekend's Pforzheimer Battle...
...from the Aegean, Christmas letters about their grandkids and their prostates, snapshots of them at their condo overlooking the golf course at Plaid Pants Village, and I'll be standing in the back at Miss Lori's dance-class recital and watching my little girl, a swan in a herd of ducks, interpret the Waltz of the Flowers. My pals will become cranky geezers who can't tolerate loud voices, can't bear to be contradicted and go around snarling about the disappearance of all decent standards and the long grim slide toward Republicanism. But the father of a baby...