[Just to preface things, because I know some of you out there are probably gonna surmise as much, I am indeed 500 pounds, have never had a boyfriend, am missing one eyebrow, and am so intimidated by other people’s attractiveness that I cry myself to sleep every night atop of a pile of melting cookie dough.]

It’s no secret that here at CC, we love Entourage. HBO and Showtime never cease to entertain with shows like Dexter, Weeds, and True Blood, but for some reason, Entourage has always held a special place in our hearts (and no, it’s not just because of this).

Besides the witty and quippy writing, Entourage is almost always hilarious, last night’s episode being no exception (everyone trips on shrooms in the desert and Ari desperately calls Lloyd to get him through his ordeal). The characters are strange yet likeable, and the Hollywood “scene” has never been drawn quite so wackily. So yeah, we love the show. Love it enough to stay up late on a Sunday night or TiVo it to watch immediately after work.

But here’s the thing: there’s pretty much no way to feel good about your body once the credits roll. A show created, produced, directed, and mostly written by men, Entourage is bursting at the seams with “hot” women. I’ve been watching for 5 seasons, and I honestly can’t remember a time when a female character was anything less than absolute runway material.

Everyone has big boobs. Everyone is thin and tall enough to dunk a b. ball like Michael Jordan. It’s like the casting director opened up a Victoria’s Secret catalogue, pointed to every single girl in there, and made sure she got a spot on the show. Read More »

When I think of fraternities, I often think in images; beer pong tables, guys running around without pants, pledges standing out in the rain and screaming renditions of the school’s fight song…you know, the typical, Hollywoodified version of Greek life.

What I never picture is yoga.

No, not toga. Yoga. As in stretching and breathing. As in Fraternity brothers stretching and breathing together at 8 A.M.

Across the nation, Fraternities have been attempting to revamp their image. Suffering from bad press, reports of hazing, and general ill-will from other members of their Universities, certain Greek organizations have decided to replace the drinking and partying with “honorable”, healthy living.

The Sigma Phi Epsilon house at the University of Missouri-Columbia is a shining example of Fraternities Gone Good. Aside from those early morning yoga classes, “trips to the opera, wine tastings and documentary film screenings” are all part of Missouri Sigma Phi Epsilon’s “Balanced Man” initiative. Read More »

So, it’s finals, which means I probably shouldn’t have been out partying all weekend, but nonetheless, here I am today, haggard, slightly bruised and wildly unprepared for my two exams and three papers due this week. However, I once took a course in cultural anthropology, so I consider it my academic duty to go to parties, observe the social interactions of other youths and report them back to the world.

Thus, I present to you my scholarly dissection of the sexual politics of the keg. This past Friday, I went to my friend’s birthday party. Since I knew the host of the party, I considered myself a VIP and budged the keg line, edging out frat boys in pastel-colored shorts and backwards caps to stake my claim. Once I reached the keg, I started to do what I needed to do when Dude #1 called me out. “HEY!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing? Let me do it for you.”

Um. Okay. I know I may look young and weak, but as a scholar I at least know how to pump a keg. I may not be an engineering major like Dude #1, but come on, it’s like buttering bread. Read More »