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A FEW MORNINGS ago, I was wolfing down a bowl of cereal when the truth suddenly hit me. It's the millennium and we're all gonna die. No fooling. Needless to say, the realization stopped me in my tracks. I let my spoon clatter to the table as I pictured the Earth spinning off its axis, shooting sparks like some hellish bumper-car in an Orwellian theme park. What if it really happened? What if human civilization - monuments, libraries, supermarkets, all of it - suddenly careened toward the sun, dumping masses of people into the boiling maw of red-hot oblivion? Nervously, I gulped down a bite of sodden cereal and craned my neck out the kitchen window. It was quite sunny outside. Maybe a little too sunny for late November. The cereal stuck in my throat. Man, this was it, the end of the world. And I was a sitting duck.
YOU HAVE to hand it to Jonathan Swift's dauntless Lemuel Gulliver. When he woke up that fine spring morning to discover himself hog-tied by a bunch of tiny island natives, he didn't fight. He just lay back and accepted things, like all good giants do when staring down the barrel of a no-win situation. In light of recent events, there can be no better example for Microsoft Chairman and CEO Bill Gates to follow.
BY THIS point in the semester, undergraduate life has a certain monotonous rhythm. Each morning, we get up and go to class. For several hours, we sit in a classroom, taking pages of mindless notes. Then we go home and prepare to repeat it all again the next day.
AS A NATIVE Baltimorean, I have absolutely no reason to look forward to the World Series each year. In fact, I usually stop paying attention to baseball-related press coverage around the fifth game of the season, when the Orioles' incurable "losing streak" effectively takes Baltimore out of the running.
SYNCHRONIZE your watches, people. In T-minus four days, Halloween festivities will descend upon America's streets, engulfing the nation in a huge, candy-scented mushroom cloud of blissful entertainment. For that single, dizzy, delirious night, our nation's seemingly listless youth will band together in a costumed confederacy of goody-related greed. Man, oh, man - it's gonna be sweet.
UNTIL recently, I thought of my father as your basic pen-and-pencil type of guy. Give him a sheet of paper and some kind of gilded, expensive writing utensil, and he happily will compose pages of fine prose. Although I just am beginning to realize and appreciate this now, I gained early exposure to my father's penchant for handwritten communication.
I BELIEVE it was Shakespeare's Juliet who quipped some delightful balrderdash about names and how they don't matter. If I recall correctly, however, she ended up at the wrong end of a pointy dagger by the time Act V came around. So much for all that radical "a-rose-is-a-rose" talk.
ACADEMICAL village, schmacademical village - who really believes in it anymore? I mean, there are myths and there are myths. And then there are whoppers.
PSSST ... come over here. Yeah, you. I'm gonna tell you a secret, my friend. All those pre-millennium travel plans you're making? You're about one year too early. That's right. The 20th century will, in fact, last a full 100 years, despite global efforts to the contrary.
AS THIS paper goes to print, I am the only black columnist on staff at the Cavalier Daily Opinion Department.
THROUGH me the way to the suffering city, Through me the way to the eternal pain, ...
IT SEEMS, my fellow Wahoos, as if the gauntlet has been thrown. The Cavalier Daily reported Sept. 2 that the College is looking into ways to curb trends of grade inflation.
THE U.S. victory at this summer's Women's World Cup soccer finals added yet another item to America's registry of puritanical no-nos. In the glorious tradition of all interesting scandals, this one involves underwear.
LAST TIME I checked, the Brooklyn Bridge wasn't on the real estate market. Yet every time I turn around, it seems some TV executive is trying to sell it to me. This week, the huckster in question was CBS president Leslie Moonves.