It was 11:37 on a Friday morning in first-year James Leblooze's Encounters section with Tom Davis when something happened that changed Leblooze's life forever. Leblooze had been experiencing mild allergy symptoms but had taken a little Allegra and drank some tea and said later that he felt "genuinely good that morning and was definitely not expecting any sort of Vesuvius-like disaster to happen." But, it seems, that Encounters class was much like Pompeii in 79 A.D. and would witness an eruption almost the size of Krakatoa.
It was to the surprise of many normally apathetic Whitman students that President-elect Jack Mercyvail would not be occupying to the ASWC Presidency next fall. In a surprise press conference followed by a solemn brunch on April 21, Mercyvail discussed his reasoning: "I cannot with good conscious ascend to the bejeweled Beerhozian Throne that Tati currently sits upon. Even though I ran unopposed, I did not even get 50 percent of the vote of the Whitman student body. I thought this election would have a better turnout with all these supposedly politicized Whitties, but it seems they don't even care about ASWC or me."
Springtime is recognized around the world as a season of rebirth, fresh beginnings and a renewed sense of nymphomania. This spring, however, greeted many Backpage writers with the bitter taste of failure — similar to the taste of octopus droppings (although some cultures do regard this as a delicacy).
When you fly on a plane, do you prefer the window or aisle seat? Once in my life I totally preferred the aisle. My preference was based on practicality — when you sit in the aisle seat, you don’t have to ask anyone to move when you want to go to the bathroom. Besides, I always feel uncomfortable engaging with strangers. I like to avoid talking to my seatmates as much as possible.
When Michelle Ma sent out an email notifying all Whitman students of an "Emergency Alert," most students dismissed it as another mistakingly sent email. Indeed, mere minutes later, she sent out an email apologizing that she had mistakingly sent out the "Emergency Alert" and that everything was "just fine and certainly no need to investigate."
It was a late night for the Whitman Divestment movement a few weeks ago. 8:47 p.m. Way past everyone's bedtime. They were used to divesting right after they showered in the morning (no conditioner allowed!) so their hair and their lifestyle would be oil-free.
It's that time of year again when the dude who is rumored to be Kriss Kristofferson's long-lost brother sends out an email entitled "Whitman Lifestyle Choices Survey." When one imagines the Whitman lifestyle, a few images come to mind: eating Walla Walla sweet onions on designated Wednesday evenings, playing frisbee with oversized ham slices on Ankeny, and burying dead townie bodies in the wheat fields after a cultish ritual. Just kidding about that last one, gang. The body would be plowed up in a heartbeat next harvest and would probably take a zombie-like revenge on the farmer.
Nothing quite says spring like former presidents lecturing at commencement on their post-presidential passions. Few have forgotten President Jimmy Carter's April 1994 speech at Columbia University regarding Habitat for Humanity, or Ulysses S. Grant's lecture titled "I Won the War Drunk" at Harvard University in 1868.
A typical Whitman Weekend Night consists of the following: hitting up the Taqueria with pals, deciding whether or not to go out for forty minutes, getting ready and drinking cement mixers, staying out from ten to midnight, and then going to bed immediately. The Whitman population spends half of the next day complaining about a hangover they incurred from the 4-5 drinks 35% of us had.
Sophomore Enivronment Studies major Billy Fernandez could barely believe his eyes when he walked into the library for the first time this semester. A self-declared "total dead-head, bro," he immediately...
