Disclaimer: Diptesh P. Soni and his fellow travelers did not partake in the use or abuse of any illicit narcotics while in Las Vegas. All mention of drugs and alcohol (or strip clubs) is strictly fictional. I’m super serious, guys.
The first person to greet us in the city was our cab driver Keith, a limping hulk of a man with thick-rimmed glasses and long greasy hair that waded over his bald scalp like tentacles.
Bicoastal living is a dual-faced matter.
Thanks to my extended-familial ties to the Golden State, I like to consider myself a Californian once-removed and, accordingly, favored a spring break under its golden rays over a return home to Minnesota.
You are going to be an idiot. I hate to make generalizations, but for the next week, it is true. OK, maybe not everyone will be, but if you are a college student traveling to your impoverished nation of choice to funnel down every alcohol known to man while pissing off the natives, then yeah, that is a role you cannot avoid.
This final semester my friends and I have finally gotten around to the usual college stereotypes. This weekend we had chili and debate and this semester my two oldest college friends and I are, at last, taking women’s studies courses. I assumed women’s studies courses were a given, like sleeping with a professor and getting at least one misguided piercing. Now that I’m here, at college’s end and in a women’s studies course, I am finding many expectations unmet.
Nosce hostem! Know thine enemy!” This was the battle cry of Iowa Rep. Steve King at the Conservative Political Action Conference.
“Now who are we up against?” he continued. “I want to define that enemy. They are liberals, they are progressives . . . Che Guevarians . . . Castroites . . . socialists . . . Gramsciites, ring anybody’s bell?”