Sam Sweeney


Hate crime suspect identified in two line-ups

October 1, 2007—The victim of a September 9 bias-related assault identified Philip Cooney (MSB ‘10) as one of his attackers on two separate instances, Lt. Alberto Jova, the commanding officer of the Gay and Lesbian Liaison Unit for the Metropolitan Police Department said on Monday.


Qatar or bust

Georgetown students can study at the University’s SFS-Qatar campus for the first time as part of a new study abroad program beginning this spring.


Judge Judy day camp

Halfway through my summer job as a camp counselor for kids between ages 7 and 10, I threw fairness out the window and began acting like Judge Judy: assume both parties are lying and rule against both.


The Empire strikes back: Hoya croquet

Two framed pictures of Archie Peck and David Bent hang on the wall of the “Croquet House,” a townhouse on 37th street where five Georgetown University Croquet Society members live.


Bush’s compromised justice

Attorney General Alberto Gonzales just can’t seem to catch a break.


D.C. Through Its Stomach

It’s six o’clock on a Monday at Soviet Safeway and the place is packed. Sandwiched between a pretty residential street and the subdued bustle of 17th street, the undersized Dupont Circle grocery store is crawling with the neighborhood’s young professionals and older long-time residents, all there to pick up that gallon of milk, can of cat food or roll of paper towels that’s been missing from their shelves.


Blue glitter and black Sharpie

I never knew what to write in people’s yearbooks in high school. I wasn’t eloquent enough to state my feelings plainly and I was afraid of the alternatives: overly-sentimental messages that made me cringe or vapid goodbyes that made me question the strength of my friendships. But when my friends always finished their messages in my yearbook and could only wait for so long, I’d scribble something along the lines of “Remember the night we…” or “I could not have asked for a better roommate” and hand the bulky yearbook back, feeling fake.


Heelys: wheely, wheely fast

It had rained the night before and, as my classmate fluidly sailed past me on the slick asphalt path, my reaction was that I had witnessed a miracle. It was my first time seeing a pair of Heelys. The first messiah had walked on water—could the second one glide inexplicably across wet pavement?


Less grey, more anatomy

Desperate times call for desperate measures. Halfway through winter break, with all the current TV shows on a holiday hiatus, I had grown tired of dabbling in The West Wing, Seinfeld and Weeds and without an engaging television drama to amuse me, I took a desperate measure. I turned to a show that I’d promised myself to never watch: the bastard child of the soap opera and the medical show—Grey’s Anatomy.


Barackin’ in the free world

I worked in the Senate with Mercy, a tall, pretty senior from UMass who lived for movie stars. The interns had a game inspired by Kevin Bacon’s six degrees of separation in which we’d name an actor and a movie as dissimilar as possible (try James Dean and National Treasure) and Mercy would have to connect them from memory. After two weeks of the game, it was Mercy: 46, interns: 0.