Tony Evans was a young shepherd from the Mediterranean island of Mypos, who showed up unexpectedly at the Chicago apartment of his distant cousin, Bachelor Larry. Tony’s wide-eyed, fun-loving manner and bizarre customs promised considerable disruption to Larry’s organized life, but Larry took him in.
There was only one problem — the building’s landlord, Mr. Stanley Rope, who lives in the apartment below with his wife. In order for him to stay, Tony would have to pretend to be gay.
Every week Tony unveils a new scheme to get rich quick in the Windy City. Whether he’s digging for pirate treasure, shingling the neighbor’s roof or cage fighting with the homeless, you can always count on Tony to shout out one of his infectious catch phrases:
That’s one spicy tamale! Uh oh SpaghettiOs! Rectum? Damn near killed ’em!
Next week on Tony’s column: Check This!
Larry takes Tony to the bank to open a bank account, but Tony doesn’t seem to understand everything about banking when he overspends with his checks and buys Larry new furniture. Things go from bad to hilarious when Tony complains about life at Northwestern, shares inane personal details and makes uninformed generalizations!
Make sure to check out the column that critics are calling “witty,” “insightful” and “a derivative sitcom from the 80s.”
After nearly four years in the service of The Daily, the muzzle comes off. Not that I ever was afraid to give my opinion to my friends and colleagues. But now I’m free to explore Northwestern and Evanston with new eyes and weigh in on everything from politics to academics to pop culture.
As a Medill senior, I’ve received training on how to find and tell compelling stories. I promise to go beyond the usual suspects and the trite opinions that often burden the Forum page. Each column should tell a story, preferably not my own. That’s what this bio is for, right?
Born and raised in the beautiful Pacific Northwest, I came to NU for the chance to be a little fish in a big pond. I have two younger brothers, which means I grew up playing with Legos and toy trucks instead of dolls.
Most of my life I’ve been one of the guys, including my stint as The Daily’s first female editor in chief since the mid 90s. My Daily friends and fellow rugby players would tell you I’m a fighter and, like my mother, I’m a card-carrying member of the Uppity Women’s Club. I won’t pull punches.
Rina Martin is a Communication sophomore with interests in writing, theater and the general proliferation of peace. She hails from New York City by way of New England and is attempting to wrap her brain around what is lovingly known as the Midwest. She feels that writing in the third person is a bit creepy, and will proceed to change her tense.
I consider myself a liberal, unrestrained, sarcastic Mother Jones of sorts and my main goal is to incite conversation. Incite, because the conversations should be about those veiled, quiet things we’ve agreed to pretend don’t exist. I think about immediate life — sex, religion, class issues, race — all the things a gentleman should not say in mixed company yet reside in the back of his mind all the time.
Black womanhood is not a banner, but an anecdote for me and I have been disliked by both women and black people at some point or another. I’m ready to speak my mind. Actually, I’m a bit curious to see what I have to say.
An old friend of mine, Chris Freeman, wrote in his last column Winter Quarter 2002 a piece of advice: Apply to be a Daily columnist. It took me three years and now that I have plenty of time it’s finally here.
I have no more classes, I am no longer involved in Associated Student Government (thank God), homecoming is complete and Dance Marathon was a success. Now I am ready to subject Northwestern to my ridicule and often unpopular views. As I age past worrying if my ID is going to work at a downtown bar, I become increasingly more cynical of Northwestern students and its organizations.