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...stage at the Wang Center on Oct. 15 was shrouded in black, hung with a curtain that was jaggedly pierced with holes and lit from behind. From offstage, Amos duskily murmured Eminem’s “’97 Bonnie and Clyde.” After frequently commenting in interviews that the drowned woman was invisible in the original version of the song, Amos’s implication was clear: She herself was nowhere to be found. Tension knotted the audience at each interval as they waited for her to appear, but the song ended without Amos?...
...misogynistic jokes told during a certain final club’s outing displayed “a disconcerting and ironic bifurcation, in which ‘pussy’ hegemonizes discourse as both an object of scorn and an object of lust,” according to Hist & Lit concentrator Joseph F. Brauntuch ‘04. Responded Fox punchmaster Brice I. Wideriver ‘02: “So I was like, ‘what’s that stank smell?’ and it was pussy! I love pussy...
...companies hire new recruits without previous experience—those brandishing resumes, rolodexes and schmooze potential have neither room nor need for a battered copy of Let’s Go USA. The path of least resistance, in this case, is the path more taken, well-trod and lit with signposts—research, recruiting, this way to OCS. And so it is that the Right conquers the True: the right grades, the right classes, the right activities, the right people to know. No need to take Philosophy 3 to learn about means-ends reasoning; peek into Ec10...
...friends have started making lists. Not the usual late-October variety: buy Thanksgiving ticket home, start attending Lit and Arts B section, finally pick up course pack from Gnomon. No, these lists have more of a doomsday quality, a sense that they signify some clock ticking down to a college apocalypse—a clock that is just beginning to become audible. These lists have titles written in red, sometimes underlined twice. And rather than being creased and tucked into the back pocket of one’s blue jeans, they have made their way to the marquis of college...
Descending through the depths of Adams House en route to the Kronauer Space, one feels transported to the world of Jean Genet’s The Maids; audience members, with much the same feeling as the title characters, enter poorly lit rooms attached to a house of luxury. Those audience members are quite fortunate, however, for they have the privilege of a thoroughly engaging environmental production which enthralls for the entirety of its brief running-time...