The Shrek franchise is a bit like a too-long dinner party plagued with self-denial. When it started, it was lovely. The guests were fascinating, the conversation was charming, and the cuisine was phenomenal. As the night wore on, the steak got cold and the witty banter died. And now, despite the fact that several people have passed out into their filet mignon, it persists, a dreadfully tiresome charade that wants to party all night long despite the fact that it doesn't have much left to celebrate.
She hadn't been feeling well that day. Tired and dizzy, she slept for hours on end. When she started coughing up blood, her parents decided it was time to take her to the hospital.
As she sat alone in her Algebra I class, senior Cindy Solis's cheeks burned with shame. It was a few hours into her first day of junior year, and she was trying to ignore the two other students constantly glancing her way, but she could hear them whispering, making it impossible to concentrate on the math problems on her desk. And then, she heard it: a faint, unmistakable snicker. They were talking about her – she just knew it. As her eyes prickled with tears, Solis felt embarrassed and outraged. She wanted to disappear.
Dear Reader, You have undoubtedly arrived at this page with the intention of reading a review, a word which here means a "warning begging you to tread with caution," of Lemony Snicket's new novel, "The End." If that is the case, I sincerely hope that for the sake of your own well being, you cease your pursuit of such grim information. Your time would be much better spent perusing the charming Humor section of this website, as you will find none here. But, should you choose to remain, I cannot deter you. It is my solemn duty as a journalist to inform, and I shall therefore go about this as best I can and claim no responsibility for the head-smashing which will inevitably accompany your reading of this review.
Nineteen years ago, College and Career Information Coordinator Carla Partlow found applying to college as a Blair student fairly straightforward. She browsed a few of the thick volumes in the Career Center and discussed her college choices with her guidance counselor. She even called some schools and asked to be put on their mailing lists - snail mail, that is.
In 2002, former Blazer Joseph Outlaw, then a senior, remembers feeling intimidated as he was ushered into a conference room with two of his teachers, his father and Principal Phillip Gainous. The adults around him acknowledged some of his positive traits and some of his negative ones, and he was asked to leave the room for a moment. When he came back inside, he was told that, because of his failing grades and numerous absences, it was time for him to reconsider his future - a future that would not include Blair.
It certainly isn't the best movie made this year. Heck, it isn't even the best movie made about planes this year (try upstaging "Snakes on a Plane"). But MGM's latest World War I epic-wannabe "Flyboys" isn't bidding for any Oscars; it just wants to have a good ole patriotic time. And, for the most part, it succeeds in doing just that.
At 54, former surgeon Dr. Dana Beyer is tall and dignified. With a persona that radiates unflappable efficiency, she busily paces about her Chevy Chase home on a Saturday morning an hour before canvassing the neighborhood in preparation for the bid she is making for the District 18 seat in the Maryland House of Delegates. But for Beyer, the upcoming Maryland delegate elections aren't just about securing a seat in the state legislature; they're about creating a world of opportunity. If successful, she will be the first transgender in the United States to be elected into public office.