Enough is enough: I’m tired of being called a cynic. I’m fed up with being labeled a misanthrope, a spoilsport and a pessimist. The things I say, the columns I write and my general disposition all seem to give the impression that I hate just about everything. I walk through Evanston during dreary winters such as this one, and homeless men stop to ask me if everything is all right. I tell them I’m fine, but they still seem deeply concerned about my anger toward the world.
And so now I’m starting to wonder if I give off the wrong impression. Maybe instead of constantly talking about all the stupid, disgusting and horrible things that are a part of this world we call Northwestern, I should try something new. It’s time to ask myself one simple question: Where’s the love?
So in what follows I will try to articulate — without clichՀ
