Thur June 5, 2003 Online Since 1996 Vol. 77 No. 50

The Appalachian | Opinion

Quick buck available by selling bodily fluids

COMMENTARY

Jessica Hines
Associate Editor

    In the museum of common characterizations, between the starving artist and the old wise man, there is a creature known as the poor college student.
   Known for its never-ending search for a quick buck and its insatiable appetite for junk food and beer, the poor college student has quite a reputation. I know the creature well, mainly because I am one myself. Without a steady job (my apologies to our crestfallen writers who are very aware that our wonderful newspaper hardly sustains a grocery budget, let alone subsistence), and often in a pinch for money, I too have sought the quick buck.
   A friend of mine—from the same species I may remind you—introduced me to that elusive quick buck, and I learned I may even help a neighbor in the process. What is this wonderful innovation in pseudo-salaries?
Friends: support in times of loss and pain

COMMENTARY

James Nix
Editor-In-Chief

   I took a road trip I never expected to take last weekend.
   I got in my car with my friend early Sunday morning and headed down the mountain to a small town called Creedmoor.
   In the center of the town was a large Baptist church, which towered over the other buildings on Main Street.
   Outside the church, I saw many of my fellow Appalachian students with somber faces and teary eyes.
   Creedmoor was the hometown of Patrick G. Cash, and appropriately where his funeral was held.
   Last Thursday, as the news of Pat’s suicide hit, widespread confusion set in amongst those who knew him. We asked ourselves the questions we knew couldn’t be answered.
Alcohol abuse causes more than hangovers

COMMENTARY

Chad Treadway
Graphic Artist

   Imagine for a moment that you drive up to your apartment to see the door standing wide open.
   Automatically you assume that your roommate has propped the door open to air out the apartment a bit, but then you realize they are at work.
   As you step through the doorway you realize that the door has been broken down.
   Your mind immediately starts to race: Is anything taken? Is who did this still here? Could maintenance have needed to get in? Could I be in trouble for downloading too many songs on Kazaa?
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