Voices

Knowing better

Every so often, my father will tell this story from high school: He broke his arm pole-vaulting without a mat. After he had the cast removed, he decided to pole-vault again?without a mat. He broke his other arm. Each time I hear this story, I ask myself several questions: Why did he want to pole-vault? Why did he do it without a mat? Wasn’t there anyone else around who thought pole-vaulting without a mat was unsafe? Why does Dad tell this story when it makes him look dumb? The question that I find most perplexing is this: Why do people repeat actions that have failed in the past? Almost everyone does it.

By the Voice Staff February 28, 2002

Voices

In defense of Philadelphia

I’ve noticed a disturbing trend in the sports section of the Voice. In the past month, two articles have not only criticized the sports fans in my hometown, the most passionate city in the United States, but also have used the conduct of these same fans as an excuse to bash the city where our own Constitution was written in the long, hot summer of 1787.

By the Voice Staff February 28, 2002

Voices

Butter has made us fat

In the end, we lamented that we hadn’t just gone to some boring Georgetown party with a boring keg of Rolling Rock and boring plastic cups, where we would have talked to some boring companions. Instead, we got just what we had wished for. One Wednesday evening, my friend Sean Kulkarni entered the New South restroom to wash his hands before dinner.

By the Voice Staff February 28, 2002

Voices

Letter to the editor

Ian Bourland’s cynical criticism of the Feb. 9th Cherry Tree festival (“Cherry Tree benefits from ringers,” Feb. 14) relies heavily on faults that are, upon further inspection, hardly faults at all. The annual a capella concert is indeed hosted by the Georgetown Chimes, a group that does, admittedly, have a unique style and repertoire.

By the Voice Staff February 21, 2002

Voices

When tradition and justice clash

As a member of both the Catholic and gay communities, the recent decision announced by Vice President of Student Affairs Juan Gonzales rejecting a center for gays, lesbians, bisexual and transgender students has left me perplexed. Learning under the Jesuits since my high school years, I have developed a great admiration for their philosophy and their principles.

By the Voice Staff February 21, 2002

Voices

The law book you’ve always wanted

So I’ve applied to law school. Actually, I’ve already applied to a few?more than two, fewer than 50. All I have to do now is wait.

And wait. And wait. The books say that waiting is the easy part. They’re wrong. Do you see people ever throwing, “I’ve been waiting three months for law school acceptance letters, and, man, this wait just keeps getting better!” parties? If it’s so fun, why don’t we switch places? They can wait; I’ll decide who gets in.

By the Voice Staff February 21, 2002

Voices

Eyewitness to persecution

The Chinese government, under the direction of Jiang Zemin, has been persecuting Falung Gong for over two and a half years. Falun Gong practitioners in China are beaten, tortured, raped and slandered by a massive propaganda campaign for following a spiritual practice.

By the Voice Staff February 21, 2002

Voices

Finding a way forward

I prayed the other night.

I was lying in bed when it occurred to me how incredibly lucky I am to have a family, a group of friends and a campus community who care about and respect me in my entirety?and could care less if I like guys or girls. So I thanked God for that.

By the Voice Staff February 14, 2002

Voices

Te presento mi coochie snorcher

Just off the elevator on the third floor of Leavey, I picked up the audition material for The Vagina Monologues. I took my place amidst a dozen or so girls (women) waiting to be called in and turned my attention to the script. I got to word six. Then I stopped.

By the Voice Staff February 14, 2002

Voices

Sweet as citronella

There was a time in my life when the autumnal shades of melancholia seemed to settle upon my cognizance as if they were the brittle leaves that that sensuous season litters upon the sidewalks and streets of our homes, neighborhoods and parks; and if the degree to which the melancholia weighed upon my mind is at all in proportion to a quantity of those shed leaves, then I would place this cerebral organ in a rich birch forest in the deepest woods of New England (my salutations to the ancestral home of the American fall) in late August, when the winds begin to carry a touch of venom, and the sun grows bashful, subjecting itself to public scrutiny for increasingly shorter and shorter periods of time.

By the Voice Staff February 14, 2002

Voices

Canadian lit. 101

A friend of mine called the other day, just to chat. We talked and gossiped for a while. Then she said, “Well, Jen, the real reason I called is because I was reorganizing my father’s bookshelves this morning, and I realized that when you write a book, I won’t know where to file it.

By the Voice Staff February 14, 2002

Voices

Like a prayer

I prayed the other night.

I was just lying in bed, feeling pretty good, and suddenly I found myself saying the “Hail Mary” in my mind. I’m not sure why. I wasn’t looking for a favor.

Praying might be the kind of thing that some people do all the time, but God and I haven’t been on speaking terms in a few years.

By the Voice Staff February 7, 2002

Voices

Declaring a major

The last time I spoke with Professor Lepgold was about two weeks before Thanksgiving.

It was just around the time that pre-registration was due and I had just gotten an e-mail reminding School of Foreign Service upperclassmen that they needed to have their faculty mentor sign their meeting confirmation slip or they would not be allowed to pre-register.

By the Voice Staff February 7, 2002

Voices

In your life

I have often heard that you should write what you know; a college student would be better to write about matters like classes or drinking beer, than say, a narrative about the Civil War from the perspective of a Union soldier. However, right now, the only thing I feel like I could write from knowledge would be the template of a Matt Foley motivational speaker sketch on Saturday Night Live.

By the Voice Staff February 7, 2002

Voices

Panic reigns as Internet access lost

Panic struck a normally peaceful first-year dorm early Tuesday morning when students awoke to find their Internet service disconnected. Roommates who hadn’t spoken in weeks turned to each other in horror, exchanging tearful embraces and words of consolation.

By the Voice Staff February 7, 2002

Voices

Oh, Dana Dixx

A romantic at heart, I believe in The One. The One is the one for whom you are The only One and vice versa. I had one once. Yep, she was The One. The One who got away: Dana Dixx, the first love of my life.

Dana Dixx. Even now the name gives me pause. It skates across my tongue like a youthful Brian Boitano then passes through my lips, which close after it like a parting kiss while its sweet sound lingers in my ear?which was more or less all she left me with when it was over, just a pretty name and the face to match.

By the Voice Staff January 31, 2002

Voices

Have football, will travel

Saturdays are days of mourning at Georgetown. Instead of happily bounding out of bed, grabbing some Tylenol and heading off to the Tombs to get steeled for the game ahead, the average football fan awakes to the unhappy reality that if he or she is to feed his or her addiction, it will be done cheering on some other college with a good football team.

By the Voice Staff January 31, 2002

Voices

Give me a touchdown

I used to be the nerdy kid in elementary school.

That was the kid whose genuine attachment to the learning process was overshadowed by those who had a genuine place in the cool group.

The “cool group” used to fascinate me. I always wondered what it took to be a Sunset Elementary “cool” member.

By the Voice Staff January 31, 2002

Voices

Until Today

Until today, I took for granted the ability to translate my thoughts into coherent verbal expressions. Then I arrived in Paris. Suddenly I am mute. Words catch in my mouth like overcooked oatmeal. Well-meaning, but perpetually exasperated French people cannot understand that I live at 4 rue Alfred Bruneau.

By the Voice Staff January 31, 2002