Word: roomming
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With our hopes high and confidence higher, we walked into the foyer. A few guys were playing Beirut in one room while a handful of others were idling by the stairs. The turnout was surprisingly scarce, but we now had a more urgent problem: our friend C. had elusively disappeared into the skimpy pockets of people and become our night’s Waldo...
...began our search in the small room that was serving as a bar. Three girls pirouetted violently on the dance floor while a frazzled frat brother nursed a paper cup. A collection of listless sorority girls loitered in the hallway, coats on as if about to leave. We sauntered past lots of rooms, some with people in them, none with anyone even close to making out. Oddly it reminded us of Revenge of the Nerds...
Last Wednesday evening, Mather’s dining hall was host to lines of Eleganza model hopefuls awaiting their turn to audition for Black C.A.S.T.’s 16th annual show. One by one, the models disappeared behind the closed doors of the private dining room to face the judgement of the show’s producers. FM’s Roving Reporter wove through the crowd of high-heeled beauties and well-dressed men to find out just what brought them all here, apart from a shared love of self-exhibition and Prada...
...call Rubin once I arrive, and we go to his room. Rubin and I are from the part of Brooklyn that isn’t hipster yet, but it’s feeling the urges, and Rubin has on tight jeans and a white v-neck. His room is below ground in one of the sophomore dorms (you could say the basement) but it’s fantastic, a full lounge with couch and an enormous sound system, single bedrooms sprouting off to the side. Rubin’s own room is filled with music equipment; he?...
We’re back in Rubin’s room, we’re beatboxing some more, there are fliers on all the walls: The Roots’ “Phrenology,” Talib Kweli, “Grindhouse,” “No Country for Old Men,” a fake copy of The New York Times with the headline “Iraq War Ends.” There’s a book on the shelf called “Cinema Now.” We eat crackers and hummus while...