E.L. Doctorow ’52 Dies at 84

E.L. Doctorow ’52. Via washingtonpost.com

E.L. Doctorow, a member of the class of 1952 died in Manhattan today as a result of complications from lung cancer. He was 84. Though a philosophy major, Doctorow also studied with the founder of the New Criticism school, John Crowe Ransom, during his time at Kenyon. Continue reading

10 o’clock list: Best Classes to Attend While High

That’s right, everyone, tomorrow is 4/20. Here’s the thing- we’re a pretty studious bunch, so we don’t want to miss our classes. But we’re also pretty cool and hip, so we don’t want to disgrace such an important yearly holiday for our generation. It’s important to choose your spring semester classes keeping this important day in mind. If you messed up and didn’t sign up for any of these classes, it’s ok. There’s always next year. Unless you’re a senior- then you just pick a job that meets the same criteria as these cool and chill/chill and cool pedagogical extravaganzas.

1. PHYS 335: Optics

Just think about it. You’re blitzed, sitting in a dark room, and suddenly, a laser shoots out of nowhere. Your professor comes up from the back of the class and starts talking about waves, electromagnetism, refraction. Your mind does somersaults, your eyes are glistening red with the radiant light of that laser, and everything is pretty chill. Honestly I always kind of want to play with lasers, but doing it after an herbal refreshment sounds heavenly.

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10 o’clock list: Songs with Potentially Philosophical Implications that I May or May Not Have Heard at Old Kenyon Last Night

via wikipedia commons

“School of Athens” courtesy of Raphael (via Wikipedia Commons)

After a rather civilized indie band performance at the Farm, my friends and I (who are, for the record, not first years, even though we were out at 9:45. No really. We aren’t. Just ask) rolled up to Ye Olde Kenyone expecting a night of careless debauchery. After a kind sister doodled lines between my fingers in a vain attempt at Xs, we descended into Dante’s Inferno. The scene was a feast for the senses. The air smelled of sweat, beer and horny first years; the temperature was rising. Anonymous bodies, clothed in white and splattered with neon phallic hieroglyphs, packed onto the dance floor, fueled by a quintessentially collegiate soundtrack. For a moment, I lost myself, thinking I had walked into a state-school party (or what I imagine one would be like). Continue reading