Pop a Molly
Someone once told me the District of Columbia was “full of government graspers and rent-seekers.” Well, maybe a few. But it’s also full of everyday U.S. citizens just like the rest of us, except for one thing: their voting rights.
D.C. Mayor Muriel E. Bowser’s call on Friday for a capital city-wide referendum to make the District the 51st state in the union adds a new chapter to an old story. The arguments for D.C. statehood are tried (or tired) and true—yet in the past few decades, little has changed.
One day last week, I woke up with a ringing in my left ear.
I pinched my nose and puffed up my cheeks. I moved my jaw from side to side. I went to the gym. I took a shower. Nothing worked, and the ear kept ringing.
Our last day in London was cold and wet. Still, I didn’t want to leave.
It’s not just the tea there (much better), or the number of streets and landmarks referenced in T.S. Eliot poems (much higher). It’s not the way things don’t go wrong in the United Kingdom but instead “go pear-shaped”—and, when they go just right, “Bob’s your uncle!” It’s not even the hats.
This fall, I realized I was happy.
It didn’t come as a shock. Though I’ve had sad times, I’ve never really been a sad person. I’ve even analyzed my own happiness and announced it—to my friends, to my family, and to myself. But there was something cleaner to this realization. I didn’t need to announce it, and more important than that, I didn’t need to explain it. I just felt it.
2016 is the year of the house master. Or rather, it’s the year the house master will die.
MIT is just the latest in a line of colleges—Harvard included—to move toward striking the title, usually assigned to someone who leads a residence hall, in favor of something more palatable to protestors who are uncomfortable with the possible slavery associations the word “master” holds.