Crimson staff writer
The view of Montreal from Mount Royal was supposed to be spectacular, so like good American tourists we dutifully climbed the mountain. We were broke, and climbing was free. The snow was beginning to melt, trickling down paths it had carved through the dirt. It soaked through my cheap boots and chilled my toes. We walked alongside old people with canes, small children in wool sweaters, pink-nosed joggers, dogs. When we got to the top, we took some pictures of the mist-covered city, searched in vain for the veiled landmarks, and then we climbed back down.
The word reeks of the French. It smells like chain smokers who lurk around underground art galleries and whose primary function is to look vaguely jaded in front of tourists. If “Misère” were a person, he would write screenplays where the main characters are afflicted with white people problems like incurable ennui or a liberal arts education. He would read Foucault. That is to say, “Misère” would be a total dick.
The Day of Silence, a national event where LGBT students and their supporters take a vow of silence to protest the suppression of youth voices, took place on Friday. The event began in 1996 at the University of Virginia. Since then, the project has spread to middle schools, high schools, and universities all over the nation.