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The Golden Globes possesses something unique in comparison to all other awards shows, which is evident in not only the broadcast itself – which is every bit as light and fun as a good Hollywood party should be – but also in the wide breadth of selections that the Hollywood Foreign Press selects as the best in film and television from the previous year. Sure, some say these awards are pretty much pointless and only a precursor for the “real” awards. But I think those people are missing the point of what the show stands for. The awards serve a purpose of highlighting the incredibly diverse landscape of film and television as we march onward into the 21st century.
People always tell me that I have a lot of valid insight about travel, being “out” and life in general. I think they’re right. Like many LGBTQs, I know not to walk down road "A" because the one time I did as a drunk college student I was catcalled – but not the names that would reaffirm you look good in your new skinny jeans. The calls were more like derogatory gay slurs that can make you feel like those great jeans were a waste because the only label people see on you is “gay.”
10 original and not-so-original ways to stay sane during finals
No matter what it is, it is your civic responsibility to develop an informed opinion about the threat of the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria, and what the United States should do about it. As our generation begins to enter the “real world,” the decisions being made about ISIS today will affect us for years to come. I am not telling you what to think about ISIS, I am saying to think about ISIS. If you are ill-informed now, then you will have no right to complain about the outcome in the future. Our generation is one that cannot be silenced, and being informed is the first step.
What does a group of people do when a figure that has been given the sole responsibility to protect them does just the opposite? What happens when an authority figure abuses his/her power, and the trust between the people and those who protect them is broken? Normally, the answer would be for the community to voice their concerns and call for the removal of said authority figure. This should indeed be the case, but throw into this mix a history of mistreatment and racial issues and you have the case in Ferguson, Missouri.
Run down the back staircase of the library. Hide in the gym elevator. Fight back with pots and pans in the dining hall.
Three days ago I found out I was a victim of stolen
No one ever asks for it. Rape is not a gift. It is never invited by virtue of dress, actions, words, relationships, gender, sexuality, beliefs or behavior. Rape is torture. Sexual assault is a form of mental, emotional and physical trauma that can never be healed. Unlike Ebola, or the myriad other epidemics that invade our lives every two or so years, there is no cure for sexual assault. There is no medication, miracle shot or antibiotic that can erase a survivor’s pain. The only comfort that these brave people get is the knowledge that they can prevent rape from happening to others.
If you haven’t seen the “Humans of New York” website or
Facebook page I suggest you take a look. It is an artistic outlet that works to
illustrate the diversity of human life through “daily glimpses into the lives
of strangers,” as described by Brandon Stanton, the website’s creator. Stanton
posts photographic portraits of strangers he encounters and includes quotes and
short stories next to their pictures. Entries range from the lighthearted to
the deeply moving and inspirational. All are eye opening.
“No more by-standing. No more ignorance. No more excuses. No
This week, Taylor Swift made the bold move to remove all her songs from Spotify, a platform that allows users to pay a minimal monthly fee for the advertisement-free streaming music service. Other frustrated artists are looking to follow Swift’s lead. Such a strategy might be problematic.
The U.S. added yet another mark to its list of mass-shootings at the end of October when Jaylen Fryberg opened fire in his high school cafeteria in a small town in Washington state. The freshman killed a fellow classmate and injured four others before taking his own life.
It’s an easy decision to call the police when someone is bleeding out in front of you, or after you witness a car crash. But what about when the couple next door is screaming at each other, or when you see someone completely wasted being dragged up a flight of stairs? At what point do you step in?
Twitter. Facebook. Instagram. Tumblr. Pinterest. These are just a few examples of the social media platforms that exist today.
Germs and diseases are on everybody’s mind these days as the Ebola outbreak has us running for pharmaceutical facemasks.
I have not ordered a pumpkin spice latte in years. Every time fall arrives and Starbucks releases one of its most popular drinks, I make sure to never order it. I don’t avoid pumpkin spice lattes because I think I won’t enjoy the warm drink filled with fall spices, creamy milk and happiness; nor do I even object to the nearly $4 price tag. I have not had a pumpkin spice latte since I learned that the drink was associated with being “basic.”
In their 1990 hit song, “Let’s Talk About Sex,” classic rap duo Salt-N-Pepa implored hip hop fans and others to openly discuss a topic that many people go to great lengths to avoid. And though we live in a country in which the presence of sex is virtually unavoidable, it appears that only now, in 2014, we are finally ready to have "the talk." Unfortunately, as is the case with many important conversations, our nation’s sex talk comes on the heels of tragedy.
Sexual assault has led to a man-hating mission. Society has grown to view men as the perpetrators and women as the victims, which results in a very strict labeling system that does not accurately depict reality and does not help ameliorate this grave societal issue.
This past summer, I volunteered to drive a group of middle-schoolers to a trampoline gym on a church-sponsored outing. Before departing with five seventh-grade girls and one eighth-grade boy, I recalled my own prepubescent crew of comrades. I remembered our incessant shenanigans and relentless jockeying for female attention, and began to question my original motivation to volunteer.
Today as I walked from the business school to grab lunch in the Commons, I overheard an unusual insult. “What are you, a momma’s boy?” one young Richmond man asked another. In my opinion, the only acceptable reply would have been, “You’re goddamn right I’m a momma’s boy.” Unfortunately, the opposing party had a few choice words to say at this affront, and, in an attempt to remain cordial, I will spare you the details.