Life's a Mitch: Out of touch
I write with slick keys embedded in a slim aluminum-clad machine on a laminated plywood table. What’s missing?
I write with slick keys embedded in a slim aluminum-clad machine on a laminated plywood table. What’s missing?
I saw a cheesed bread-triangle from a pizza chain the other day and thought, “That’s not food.
Hi, my name is Mitch, and I’ll guide you through the second installment of the Rice University Tour of Publically Neglected Outdoor Spaces.. Many outdoor spaces on campus exceed in beauty but sit unused. Let’s see if we can spot them.
Whoever thought up the New Year’s resolution probably intended well by it, but its meaning has eroded to today’s infamous, scare-quoted “resolution.” Failed reform became the norm.
Welcome one and all! Since I took the yoke of Opinions Editor, we have run a few self-ads encouraging readers to write opinions articles. Please note the change in tone of the ad, from a request to a reminder: As the calls of slammed trunk doors die away and towers of boxes and bins dwindle Between brimmed buckets of announcements poured over our bewildered ears and eyes I wish to share with you some hopes. If you want to shout your thoughts from a roof Fondren’s will garner widest audience, but I hope you think the Thresher a good roof. If you have saved some public monologues snuck in the corners of your mind, you will find columnists welcome to the Thresher. Should recent news spark your strong reaction the act of writing allows thorough thought and I hope you think thoroughly through us. If your convictions fall on ears unhearing or everyone seems out of earshot plenty of eyes study newsprint, like yours. You need no invitation to write us but, as any teacher might subtly threat, should no one raise a hand, I shall call you as empty opinion sections are lies.
After lunch I walked to the central quad to work in the fine weather. I found a seat and checked the phone to see what time remained before class at one o'clock. The phone was dead.
Imagine Rice, but compressed to a 10th its size. Replace the green hedges with grey houses. Keep the old, lovely live oaks and Jim Love’s giant red jack. Add more art. Add a lot more art. You see the Menil Campus.
“One of the coolest and wisest hours a man has is just after he awakes in the morning.”
Teleportation is not science fiction. Far from it. It is an ancient, constantly refined sensation of detachment from the landscape traveled during a journey. You can experience this detachment in degrees, three of which I will mark.