Hold onto your Ray Bans, boys, it’s everyone with a blond combover and a dream for a "fiscally conservative but socially liberal" tomorrow’s favorite time of year: IFC rush week.
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In this economy, there are few certainties. Trends come and go, markets boom and bust; there's constant turnover. Only the bravest among us venture to dive in headfirst and risk everything to build the modern world’s most innovative and revolutionary companies.
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The start of the school year marks a time where everyone excitedly moves into their new overpriced homes and swarm the obscenely fresh, shiny and tiny Target built on the corpse of Coliseum.
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College is many things: a fresh start, a learning experience, and the best years of many people’s lives. But it’s also very stressful in ways that many don’t expect. For many, the combination of living on your own for the first time and having to balance big boy classes with every one of your RA’s inane and ridiculous activities can feel overwhelming. T
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Crenshaw Lanes might have made its way to freedom early this summer, but the half-roused skeleton of the Union still stands half sunk in an ungodly amount of rubble that’s only there to remind us of the biggest tragedy to strike this campus since the Squirrelnado of 2010.
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Buckle up kids, it’s that time of year when the Starbucks in Strozier runs out of flat lids and ice cubes at 11 AM and a familiar look of impending doom is plastered on the faces of every barely-sentient being on campus.
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The time has come where broke students pay $60 to put on a shapeless robe and wait two hours to walk 10 feet across a stage. Proud family members are ready to witness this milestone by trying to wave at a single person across an arena of 50,000 and taking photos on their cell phone cameras without a zoom function.
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We’ve all been on the receiving end of the classic dealer faux-paus: running out of small baggies to package up their weed. I get it, bags aren’t exactly the top priority in my grocery list either, it’s wedged somewhere between Honey Bunches of Oats and the expensive cheese I can only buy if I picked up extra shifts at work the previous week.
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Every now and then, I think about my life, why I do the things that I do and also the color cerulean. I think about cerulean a lot because of Meryl Streep’s monologue in “The Devil Wears Prada.”
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The FSU Flying High Circus is wrapping up its spring series this weekend, which is perfect timing for many Tallahassee stoners.
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When the stress of calculating what final exam grade is needed to pass your failing class finally reaches a boiling point, a lack of student apartment benefits should be the last thing on your mind.
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With the semester both gloriously and painfully coming to a close, one would assume students are grudgingly familiar with the procedures and structure of their classes by this point.
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With the idea of grocery shopping being a chore only done out of desperation and random health kicks, refrigerator supplies in the overpriced broom closets that students call homes across Tallahassee simply aren’t holding up.
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There are still, like, 30 weeks left in this goddamn semester and Hell is inches from freezing over. Maybe you also woke up this morning and poured coffee in your dinosaur eggs oatmeal. One group of friends has been gripping each other tightly for support in these last trying weeks.
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With the end of the semester quickly approaching, students are diligently working to survive classes with the least possible amount of effort. Students in CLP4134 -- Somewhat Abnormal Psychology -- have been fishing through their old, ugly pairs of cargo shorts from high school in search of loose, expired Adderall just in time for their final research paper.
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With only four weeks until exams, honors students and honors-adjacent students across campus are seeking comfort from the most drastic sources with the most asinine plans.
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The days of guesstimating the macros of your bi-weekly alcohol consumption are finally over. Thanks to the new update of Under Armour’s frighteningly cult-y “MyFitnessPal” app, users now have the option to log all of their pint-sized shooters with the click of a button.
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A staple in the department of English is the infamous Article and Essay Technique class.
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Despite being seven months into the school year, freshmen are still having a difficult time understanding the difference between discretion and clinking bottles past 9PM every night to let their neighbors know they're having way too much of a good time.
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Fuck a flux-capacitor. If anything on the road is going to play God, it sure isn’t going to be some scientist in a sports car.
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