In a not-so-well traveled corner of Georgetown’s campus, tucked in the maze that are the Village A residences, dance groups find time in between classes to practice. Nearly every night of the week, you can find one group or another rehearsing, perhaps for an upcoming show, or to perform at halftime at a basketball game.
In preparation for its imminent arrival at Georgetown, last year’s incoming freshman class was required to read the novel How to Read the Air for the Marino Family International Writer’s Workshop. Grounded in the author’s Ethiopian heritage, the book is linguistically elegant and uses a melancholy, poetic lyricism to tell the tale of a young man struggling to overcome his family’s troubled past.
It’s the end of the semester, crunch time for every class, and you’ve fallen behind on your schoolwork. The Georgetown culture, in which classes, social life, and extracurriculars fight for every minute of your schedule, is starting to take its toll, and you find yourself scraping to find enough time and energy for every aspect of your busy student life.
It takes a special kind of person to pull of such a balancing act with ease. But 36 milligrams of Concerta later, that balancing act becomes a lot easier.
“When I came here, we had four co-curricular theater groups, [which] were doing anywhere from eight to 10 shows a year—that is an extraordinary amount of activity for a university of our size,” said Ted Parker, a retired theater professor who came to Georgetown in 1999. “A friend of my father’s was a theater professor at [a small college]. They had about 10 people in their faculty. They did four shows a year, and they thought that was about all they could handle.”
The Hoyas enter the second-straight season unranked in all national polls, failing to garner even one vote in the USA Today Coaches’ Poll. Just like last season, they don’t seem to care all too much.
Although the sex lives of Georgetown students have received more national attention than anyone would have liked, the Voice wanted to know more. From Rush Limbaugh calling one of our own a “slut” on national radio to Playboy ranking Georgetown high in sexual satisfaction, onlookers react to Georgetown’s sex culture in highly disparate ways.
“It’s [an] amazing thing to look back on your college career and realize something you were part of in the early days is really still something that is still important to the community today.” Not many people can say that, but Chris Callsen (COL ‘85), a founding member of Georgetown Emergency Response Medical Service, can.
Several groups of men stand scattered around the Home Depot parking lot on a chilly October morning in Brentwood. They are not the usual customers looking to redecorate their homes or buy gardening supplies, but rather day laborers testing their luck trying get a job for the day.
Walking into Penn Social, an E Street bar, on a Sunday night provides a glimpse into your average D.C. watering hole. Helmeted football players sprint across several flat-screens while young urban professionals mingle and cheer on their favorite teams with beer in hand.
Nothing seems to be amiss here, and yet it’s a sore sight for any local comedy fan’s eyes.