Voices

Carrying on: One man plays with his Wii

Back in middle school there was always one kid on the baseball team with gangly legs too long for his body and ears too big for his head: that athletic disaster that you didn’t want to see come up to bat, even though you knew that everybody gets to play in Little League. Remember how that kid didn’t really want to get up to bat either? I was that kid, and I excelled more in the field of videogames than on a physical field.

By Michael Bruns March 1, 2007

Voices

The woes of Western Sahara

In the vast expanse of the Algerian desert, a hundred thousand refugees from the Western Sahara languish because of Moroccan imperialism. Exiled from their homeland 31 years ago, they wait while the international community averts its eyes from their travesty. As human rights abuses increase inside occupied Western Sahara and a food shortage in the Algerian camps becomes critical, the Western Saharan people need self-determination more than ever before.

By Will Sommer February 22, 2007

Voices

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.

By Sam Sweeney February 22, 2007

Voices

To the North and back again

No one is born looking and acting like a Georgetown student. Regardless of where you come from, you have to lose a bit of your identity in order to assimilate to life here. After a few weeks here you realize that your collar has crept up and you’re talking like your new friends from New Jersey.

By Nicole Bush February 22, 2007

Voices

Carrying on: A glimmer of red-carpet glamor

I love the Oscars. I love the predictions, the ballots and the “May I have the envelope, please?” I love seeing who brought his mother—Clint Eastwood—and who brought his terribly young, terribly attractive date—Ian McKellen. For one night only, I love Joan Rivers. Every year, I am in front of the television when the countdown begins and the only one still excited when the Best Picture is named four hours later.

By Perry Collins February 22, 2007

Voices

You say tomato, I say you’re wrong

“Can I get a glass of water?”

“I’m sorry, a glass of what?”

“Water.”

“No, you said ‘wooder’. In the rest of the country, we pronounce it wa-ter.”

By Marco Cerna February 15, 2007

Voices

From D.C. to a dung hut

If you had predicted freshman year over dinner at Leo’s that I would join the Peace Corps, I would have laughed till ginger ale shot out my nose. Then I would tell you about a trip my family took to Kenya when I was seven. I ate gazelle, chased baboons, and enjoyed myself thoroughly. But, visiting a Masai village, my brother pointed at the walls of the dung huts and told me just what dung was. Shit? I was in the Business School freshman year, and though I didn’t know what I wanted to do after, my plans in no way included a dung hut in Africa.

By Kathryn Brand February 15, 2007

Voices

Carrying on: A desperate woman knocks

My dad and I had just sat down to a spaghetti dinner when the pounding on the door began. It was furious and incessant, as if someone were trying to knock the door down. My dad hurriedly shuffled to the door and opened it a crack. A screaming woman forced her arm through the opening and the rest of her body followed. Someone, she said, was trying to kill her. Running over, I caught a glimpse of the snowy moonlit expanse outside the front door. There, wild, noble-looking and gray, stood a Siberian Husky. The door slammed shut, and my dad twisted the deadbolt into place.

By Austin Richardson February 15, 2007

Voices

Monologues counterproductive

I would like to thank Jessica Bachman (“Censure for a Censor”) for raising important questions about my not funding subsidies for tickets to the Vagina Monologues in my role as Faculty in Residence for the Culture and Performance Living and Learning Community (CPLLC). I would also like to thank her for writing a balanced article, even though the editorial staff of the Voice cut out most of her quotes of my substantive arguments. (I’ve seen the original form of her piece, and it is much better and fairer than what the Voice published.) I would, nonetheless, like to respectfully disagree with Ms. Bachman’s opinion that my conscientious decision not to subsidize tickets to the Vagina Monologues was religious discrimination against the students who wanted to see it. My current policy is to personally match the price of each ticket purchased by a CPLLC member with a donation to My Sister’s Place, the charity that the Monologues support. I feel that this is a reasonable compromise between either subsidizing the tickets or not subsidizing them.

By Alexander Pruss February 15, 2007

Voices

Blackwater in hot water in Iraq

Most people have not heard of Blackwater USA, a “professional military company” located in the countryside of North Carolina, where the landscape is dotted with tanks, helicopters and firing ranges. Today it, along with Haliburton, is one of the largest private contracting firms operating in Iraq. Hired by the U.S. Department of Defense, its employees play a vital role in military operations, fulfilling positions ranging from bodyguards to mechanics. Oversight of these contractors, however, is severely limited. Not part of the military chain of command, and outside governmental disciplinary procedures, their presence in the combat zone can be extremely disruptive.

By Christa Montani February 8, 2007

Voices

Carrying On: the secret of my happiness

Last weekend a friend of mine and I were throwing a pair of cowboy boots across the room at each other and a rogue shot knocked out my front tooth: about the worst possible thing that could happen in that situation. My friend begged my forgiveness with his head cradled in his hands, but I wasn’t concerned. I flashed him a broken grin and laughed, then pulled out the phone book and called a dentist. Problem solved. The lesson I learned from this was not to be more careful with my teeth, but that hockey players really don’t have it as bad as I’d thought.

By Michael Bruns February 8, 2007

Voices

Censure for a censor

Believe it or not, there is a group of Georgetown students who would rather spend their Friday nights baking bread from scratch or watching King Richard III at the Shakespeare Theater than competing in beer-pong tournaments. These students live on the Culture and Performance Living and Learning Community (CPLLC), a unique outlet for creative Hoyas. But when the CPLLC refused to subsidize its members’ tickets to the University-sponsored production of Eve Ensler’s the Vagina Monologues, I was confronted with the sad reality that even Georgetown’s more progressive institutions are unable to escape censorship and discrimination.

By Jessica Bachman February 8, 2007

Voices

Chillin’ with my faux Jew ‘fro

I hate yarmulkes. They mess up my hair. And because they cover up the spot on your head where men typically begin balding, I used to think that they make you go bald.

By Keenan Steiner February 8, 2007

Voices

Our father, who art in Congress

One night last spring, working as a host at a ritzy Washington restaurant, I met a conservative congressman and his wife at the door. Knowing their table was far from ready, I started chatting while hanging up their coats. Discovering my Georgetown affiliation, the congressman’s wife demanded to know my religious and political views. The congressman rolled his eyes, clearly wanting to leave his work at the office, but when his better-half found out I was both a liberal and a Catholic, she demanded to know how I feel about abortion. The air of pleasant small talk dissipated after I said “pro-choice.” She smirked at me. “Not very Catholic, eh?” For the rest of the night, whenever we passed, she would lean over and ask, “Jesus change your mind yet?”

By Tim Fernholz February 1, 2007

Voices

Bonding through brutality

I’m a firm believer in the unifying powers of a good game. You can’t beat that surge of adrenaline and camaraderie that accompanies a rousing round of Pictionary and the toe-curling thrill that every painstakingly organized game of mafia creates. I have a special place in my heart, however, for backyard games.

By Katherine Norton February 1, 2007

Voices

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?

By Sam Sweeney February 1, 2007

Voices

More complicated than carbs

I grew up on a strange blend of Happy Meals and granola, white bread and Flintstones’ vitamins. My physical activity revolved around a hula hoop and relatively infrequent Jane Fonda workout sessions alongside my mother. The monkey bars frightened me, and I still can’t quite turn corners on a bicycle.

By Perry Collins February 1, 2007

Voices

Pop! goes the femur

I knew that the head of this patient’s femur was going to need to go back into his pelvis. They would drill a hole through the bone and fix it in place to the bed frame until surgery could be performed. I had learned to steel myself for the brutal procedure, picturing it in my head before it actually happened in front of me, like I’d done countless times over the previous six months of my internship in Indianapolis’ public hospital. I remember idly wondering if they would need a spade bit.

By Ryan Callahan January 25, 2007

Voices

The first snow of the rest of my life

When it is going to snow, you can smell it in the air. There is a cool bite, but not so cold that a deep breath stings going down. Just before the snow is the best time to walk outdoors, look up into an overcast sky and wait with anticipation.

By Lauren Gaskill January 25, 2007