If one of my neighbors were to have looked out their bedroom window last Saturday morning around 7:15, here’s what they would have seen: Me, dressed in sweatpants, a gray fleece and moccasin slippers, sprinting across my lawn and around the block, an empty leash in hand.
I’ve always struggled to articulate my feelings about Jim Carrey. While I’ve enjoyed most of his movies — “Dumb and Dumber,” “The Truman Show,” “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind,” etc. — something about him, as an actor, has always rubbed me the wrong way. The zany, over-the-top antics, the obnoxious lilt in his voice as he bellows yet another “Alllrighty then,” his borderline insufferable disregard for human decency or restraint — call me cynical, but it all seems a bit much.
Maeve Collins isn’t the first. Every time she takes a step on campus, she knows her parents, cousins and uncles have taken the exact same walk as her.
Freshmen Joey Royer and Joseph Ivan have more in common than their first names.
When my brother and I were home for Easter, my mom welcomed us with bowls of Raisin Bran and big mugs of decaffeinated tea, long hugs that started with her telling us how good it was to have us home, even just for 24 hours, and that ended with a kiss on the cheek. She let my brother fall asleep in the recliner and let me take the last granola bar in the pantry. She bent the old rules and put our dishes in the dishwasher for us when we, so used to dining halls and drive-thrus, forgot. But she had one firm request of us before we headed back to Oxford: Stop by the house.
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