What Really Grinds My Gears
December 1, 2008 - 12:00am
By Yevgeniy Feldman
What follows is in reply to “The Doggy-Style Lover,” a controversial and thought provoking piece which raised the issue of alcoholism and gender equality at Cornell.
Welcome to The For Real Cornell Diaries, where I print the totally accurate, recorded lives of Cornell students. This week only, a new made up diary will be printed. While I maintain nothing about anything, all facts have been verified and all diaries record the true, unedited lives of different Cornell students living in The Real 14853.
November 17, 2008 - 12:00am
By Yevgeniy Feldman
Growing up, the only study abroad program I knew about was called, “apply for a green card.” And it was for life, not for one semester. Given that my country was undergoing political, social, and economic upheaval at the time I left, I think coming to America was a prudent choice. Since then, I have learned to fit in with my American comrades and say the pledge of allegiance. I have even picked up your language. But I have never had, nor understood, the desire to study in Paris.
November 3, 2008 - 12:00am
By Yevgeniy Feldman
They were somewhere into their sixth viewing of the movie this column gets its title from when they stopped the media player. “Hold on man,” I heard someone say. “I’m hungry.” This summer, I took some classes at an unspecified American college. Often, I would walk in on my roommates getting high.
October 19, 2008 - 11:00pm
By Yevgeniy Feldman
For some reason, between Obama doing freestyle battle with his opponent and the real Sarah Palin bobbing her head to a stupid rap on SNL, I am not convinced any of them is fit to lead the nation. It almost makes me wish Ron Paul was on the ticket. Almost.
October 5, 2008 - 11:00pm
By Yevgeniy Feldman
You know what really grinds my gears? People.
September 22, 2008 - 11:00pm
By Yevgeniy Feldman
You know the place. Maybe it has a cool, hip name like Intelligentsia. Maybe it has a cool, hip, ironic name, like anti-Intelligentsia. You know, so that it makes you chuckle as you walk in, kind of like a douchebag. Then you order a bullshit, vaguely Italian sounding coffee, like an espresso, cappuccino, or latte, and you say you want it grande, again, kind of like a douchebag, this time a Hispanic one.