It's 3:30 a.m. on Friday night as you stumble into Fresh Grocer to grab some supplies: raspberry fruit spread jam (not jelly); Skippy Peanut butter (smooth, of course); Martin's potato bread; skim milk (not the preferred 2% for fear of the roommate's wrath). Yes, the perfect compilation for a late night feast.
With the temperature beginning to drop like 5th classes in our second week back at Penn, we at Sweeper suggest a change of wardrobe and style.
Fall's fashionable pussy magnet is, ironically, the pussy.
It's a good time to be at the UPenn, where we were once #7 and are now half of #5. At least that seems to be the prevailing notion out on the Walk, where the weather is nice, if humid, and the freshmen are attractive (Thanks Dean Stetson - miss you, call me!), if awaiting the "frosh 15" - namely losing fifteen pounds in a string of Pod lettuce wraps and manic stairmaster sessions.
Oh children, children, welcome back to the playPenn. It's been a long summer devoid of dirt to dig, but now we're back, muckraking your shit for your own enjoyment.
It was quite the scene last Friday at Dzine2Show's fourth annual fashion show, "Du‘l!" Ibby Jaaber was there with a beautiful woman, wearing a suit and tie.
As baseball season gets underway, one man looms larger - much larger - than most: Barry Bonds.
Bonds, of course, is on pace to break Hank Aaron's 755 career home run mark, one of baseball's most hallowed records.
The first time I saw the ballot for Best of Penn '07, the nominations sent me in a tizzy. That Econ professor earns a nod for "allegedly" bludgeoning his wife to death?
Hello friends, acquaintances and people who stalk me on Facebook. It's been a busy week for me, filled with nightly blackouts, and spitting game even Mark Zoller couldn't compete with (besides Texas A&M).
Things aren't what they used to be.
What do 13 Penn students, a Hillel Rabbi and staff member, a Fox Leadership grant and a mythical bird that dies in flames and is reborn from the ashes have in common?
Saturday, 6:00 p.m.: Roll up to a friend of a friend of a friend's house off of St. Charles Street. Eight of us are pounding beers by his pool when I notice his mother spying on us from a second story window.
A little after midnight last Thursday my mom called to tell me my grandpa had died. And over the past week, I've found it hard to know how to grieve for my grandpa, who we called Pater.