Like many good writers, and nearly all the mediocre ones, I prepare for writing assignments by cleaning my apartment.
Whether you’re deciding on a career path or a calorie-burner, it’s surprisingly easy to just do what everyone else is doing or what everyone else seems to call a smart bet. You pore over The Wall Street Journal charts, you calibrate your career options, you network, and you pick a path — more school, more work, more of both — that seems like a pretty solid way to not go broke. And you go running. But maybe there’s something else out there, something new, something for me.
Years before Guardians of the Galaxy unexpectedly charmed its way across the silver screen — before the movie made $774 million, the biggest film of last summer, starring a gun-toting raccoon and a talking tree named Groot — the galaxy’s unlikeliest heroes first entered the imagination of an editor at Marvel Comics named Bill Rosemann.
His friends knew that, even as a boy, James Perri ’94 was destined to do great things. And he has — largely because of those friends and family and his encounter with his own mortality.
Paul Appleby ’05
Sky diving was not first on my list of Memorial Day weekend plans. I wanted to buy a grill.
It’s not really fair to say that Ryan Doherty ’09 surprised the professional beach volleyball world with a breakout rookie season. At just over 7 feet tall, he was pretty noticeable from the moment he showed up on the beach.
Web Extra: Santiago X The Natural, the musical duo featured in our Spring 2013 issue, recently spoke with Notre Dame Magazine about writing music at 3 a.m., their hopes of playing Lollapalooza and drawing musical inspiration from Paula Cole’s “I Don’t Wanna Wait.”
We are driving up the Garden State Parkway into North Jersey, just me and my sheepdog and my ’97 Chevy Suburban named Bessie.
It’s summertime, so the windows are down and Sadie the Sheltie is pointing her nose into the warm summer breeze as the salt marsh air blows her sheepdog hairs into the back seat. We’re old friends by now, Sadie, Bessie and I. We grew up together.
So two guys walk into a bar. The first, Jeffery “The Natural” Stephens ’07, is a black lawyer from Chicago’s South Side. He’s all stylish denim with a black flatbrim and a huge pair of Super flattop sunglasses with gold sides. The second guy through the door is Lawrence Santiago, a Coushatta Native American architect who grew up in Guam and Louisiana.
As 80,000 faithful supporters rose and made their cheer, senior players emerged one by one from the hallowed Stadium tunnel, into loving family embraces and into Notre Dame lore.
At the start of their game against Pittsburgh, Notre Dame seemingly had the Panthers by the tail. But as halftime neared under an ominous November sky, the Panthers found a way to grip the Irish in their claws.
After nearly two hours of warfare under an Olympian cumulus, Notre Dame faced an opponent more familiar and more deadly than the stubbornly tough Cougars from Brigham Young. The Irish fought their darkest doubts.
With Notre Dame’s back against the ropes and the Stanford Cardinal throwing punch after desperate punch, the Fighting Irish looked unsteady enough to drop.
Chicagoans awoke Saturday to a crisp sunny morning. But as Saturday night neared, Chicago’s weathermen gazed nervously at black clouds on the Lake Michigan horizon. A hurricane was upon them.
Kelsey Falter and the hungry, obsessive, speeded-up, success-driven, all-out road to tech stardom. She’s enjoying the ride.
When international pop star Shakira of “Hips Don’t Lie” fame needed a background track for a song on her album Oral Fixation 2, she turned to a classical choral ensemble called Seraphic Fire.
As the red-gold Indiana sun sank into the western horizon, the nightmare named Denard Robinson returned to haunt Notre Dame Stadium.
As Tommy Rees strapped on his burnished gold helmet, he heard two roars crashing through the South Bend bluster. First was the growling chuff of a locomotive. But deeper and more distressing was the dark grumble from the many thousands in the Notre Dame Stadium benches. With the band’s sonorous metal blowing martial sounds, Rees trod through boos that tore the Stadium’s concave.
Like any good rock musician, Don Savoie looks like a mechanic. His graying hair is messy, his flannel shirt is wrinkled and his black jeans are faded. He talks just like he sings, with a gravelly tenor somewhere between a hoarse whisper and a throaty six-cylinder.
Leahy’s Lads — many of whom had seen combat in World War II — saw their gridiron mission as a battle for survival, duty and honor, finding glory as a team for the ages.
Like everything in Asbury Park, the Pony has seen better days. No longer do the leather-jacketed bards of the boardwalk stomp its stage. But once upon a time the likes of Bruce Springsteen and Southside Johnny launched their careers here, and one clear Sunday afternoon five years ago a group of unshaven suburban kids made their debut at this lead-painted cradle of rock. We clearly had no idea what the hell we were doing.
At first glance, Notre Dame in the wintertime isn’t exactly a bastion of fashion. Couture takes a backseat to cozy in the teeth of South Bend’s chilling climate. But take a look past the dull blacks and browns, and ND’s subtle sidewalk style starts to emerge.
On November 15, Indiana Governor Mitch Daniels stayed overnight in Alumni Hall, a men’s dorm and self-proclaimed “Center of the Universe.” He might have learned as much from the men of Alumni as they did from him.