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In
bringing Dr. Gail Dines to campus this past week, Safe Space performed
a great service to the Bowdoin community. Most people did not agree
with everything Dines said, and some people agreed with nothing
she said. However, for the first time in a long time, there was
standing room only in Kresge Auditorium, and not for a concert or
play, but for a lecture addressing the issue of violence against
women.
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It's
a good thing I'm writing this, instead of talking, because you might
be distracted by the robotic click that emits from the cephalic
end of my body every five seconds. That's the sound of my programmed
grey matter that some would call a brain. Lots of people around
here have one. Apparently, I fit into that category with about 99%
of the student body. If you could be so kind, readers, as to wait
one second while I find my head, the following response may be of
some interest to you. I wouldn't have read last week's Letter to
the Community if my roommate hadn't pointed it out to me. Thankfully,
I did. As my eyes moved closer to the bottom of the page, I found
myself growing increasingly angrier. Like giant, pulsing forehead-
vein-angry. One of the first things the author, Dan Farnbach, mentions,
is that for every "pissed-off" student like himself, who "actually
bothers to articulate his or her thoughts," there are probably fifty
or even 500 more who do not. Well, I'm pissed off.
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So,
here I am. Waiting for divine inspiration to strike. I've been waiting
for a while now, and well, I am yet to be struck. I'm not sure if
my hair is supposed to streak white as it does when lightning strikes,
but whatever the consequence, I know that I'm just not writing.
Usually my muse hides in waiting 'til deadlines loom, and then she
reveals herself. But this week, well, I think she's on vacation,
and who wouldn't want to be? So, yeah, this muse thing really isn't,
well, amusing. Patience only lasts so long when impending due dates
are in just a few hours. Maybe she just doesn't know where to look
for me. I've been hiding in the library all week; it's conceivable
she thought I fell into a black hole, a vortex of time and space
that is essentially the definition of a library. In fact, I'm here
right now, in the basement of Hawthorne and Longfellow. What an
interesting place this little computer room is.
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