Junior Josh Quattlebaum spent all of January 2005 high. He woke up each morning, smoked marijuana at the bus stop, left school during second block to smoke, left again to smoke during lunch, came home and smoked yet again before falling asleep.
The car pulled into an open space. The doors swung open and red vomit poured out, pooling on the asphalt. "You're just not supposed to drink that much cough syrup," explains Adam, a senior, in retrospect. But then, he knew that already — that's what happens when he downs an eight-ounce bottle of Robitussin.
Abandoning any pretense of hospitality or even civility, they threw rocks at the visitor. But it was all in the name of democracy.
On their two-week anniversary, they had a spontaneous celebration. That night, they took their relationship to the next level - in the Blair auditorium.
Only white women go missing. Or at least that's what the media seem to think.
The funeral industry is booming in South Africa. In fact, South Africans spend more time going to funerals than getting haircuts or going shopping, according to a 2004 study by the South African Advertising Research Foundation.
Immediately after Sept. 11, 2001, as the nation desperately sought answers for the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon, one news story ran on almost every major television network. Scrolling along the bottom of the screen, right behind headlines about the reactions of President George W. Bush, ran the story, "Madonna urges restraint [in government retaliation]."
The walls tremble, and the floor shakes. Blue lights sweep across the crowd in broad circles. Wide black speakers burst with sound. Though it is still light outside - in fact, it's only noon - Nation, a Washington, D.C., nightclub and music venue, is packed.
The front door of a white house in the middle of the block is slightly ajar. Inside, the house looks empty, except for a lonely Christmas tree in the corner. It is 6:30 p.m. on Dec. 23, and the homeowners have gone on vacation with their teenage son. Little do they know that upstairs in their supposedly empty home, smoke swirls in thick clouds and eight friends of their son are lounging on their furniture, snorting OxyContin off of their CD collection.
Chief Warrant Officer Richard Mallick, a 1991 Blair graduate, has spent the last 10 months as an Aero Medical Evacuation Pilot with the 498th Medical Company in Iraq. In the heart of the battlefields, Mallick flies unarmed to transport sick and wounded soldiers to the nearest medical care centers, dodging bullets on the way. He is three months from completing his second tour of the war-torn country.
In the second story of a brick house in Hyattsville, a man lies stiffly on the white sheets of his wooden bed. Translucent orange bottles of prescription pills rest next to him. In the background, two small dogs yap frantically. The man is dying. A 16-year-old has been sent to save him.