Build Tower in Cinderblock Ghetto

Amanda Baber

If one characteristic distinguishes us from the other four colleges, it is our childish insistence on making the worst of every situation. "I don’t want to commute from the Claremont Inn," we complain. "I woke up this morning and a giant rat was sitting on my chest," we whine. "This overturned vending machine is crushing my ribs." [con't]

Support Committee Defies All Practicality

Ben Glatstein & Eric Weiss

Outside of America the demands of the Worker Support Committee would be considered preposterous. Only in a country where people easily (and willingly) get whipped up into a frenzy over perceived injustice is the case of the Claremont Colleges workers considered palatable.

We realize we risk sounding callous when we say this, especially when the opposition wishes to vilify anyone who is not willing to stand by them. Fliers posted around the school have a harsh, adversarial tone and are clearly not posted to engender feelings of camaraderie between Aramark management and the staff. This leaves anyone who thinks differently feeling, well, alone. [con't]

Childish Pranksters Overrun Campus With Stupidity

David Park

My mom taught me everything I need to know. Always wear clean underwear. Procreation involves birds and bees and storks or something. And there will always be mindless people in this world who will always do unexplainable things.

How does one know if one is mindless, you may ask? Well, let me pick a completely random example. For instance, let’s say someone tried to–oh, I don’t know–burn down doors in Wig or throw snowballs in Frank, which occurred this past weekend. Why would people do this? [con't]

Drugs Aren’t Necessary for Social Life

Jacob Ganz

It’s about that time of the year again. The sun is out more frequently, I hear birds chirping merrily outside my window each morning, love blossoms at every turn, and the sound of people whining about housing for next year fills the air.

Ah, spring. It’s a season full of sponsor and theme group applications, study abroad notices, and some inevitable housing dilemma that rears its ugly head and distracts everyone from the work that our professors are trying to get us to finish before they hand out finals in a month. [con't]

Preserve Field Station for the Uninformed

Jacob Sloane

The Bernard Field Station (hereafter the BFS) is a place of surpassing beauty, filled with rare and wondrous wildlife. If the field station were destroyed by development, it would be a great loss for the community and for the colleges. It serves as an invaluable living laboratory for ecological study.

Or so I have been told. Like most of the people in Claremont, I’ve never actually been there. I know where it is because I’ve walked past the gate a few times, but I’ve never gone in. Still, I’m inclined to believe the people who say that it is really great, and I would be very displeased if it were turned into parking lot before I had the chance to learn from it. Or at least enjoy the experience of its natural beauty. [con't]

Local, Foreign Wars Divide Us Along Racial Lines

Dan Check

New York City’s subways have always been a place where I could be reasonably assured of seeing something new. I’ve seen a man beaten by what appeared to be members of an Asian Mafia; an overdosing man go into seizures that brought him bloody wounds; mothers hit and abuse their children, etc. There is, however, once incident that stands out in my mind as being head and shoulders stranger than the rest.

At the Fulton Street station in downtown Manhattan, the trains that serve Brooklyn’s poorest neighborhoods connect with the lines that take people to midtown. It’s a station filled with secretaries and those who hope to one day become secretaries. By this time on the four line, the subway is almost always full. About half of the people on the platform will fit into the incoming trains, which appear in quick succession. Jockeying for position is an art. Those who can throw elbows gently and box out effectively will get on the first subway. Those who can’t will be late for work. [con't]