Anthony Dean-Harris

Seven weeks ago, I rather poetically posed the question “what is a Morehouse Man?” I, in a rather roundabout manner, spoke on how there is no universal standard for the end-product of a Morehouse education. There is not one idea for who we all should be when we grow in this place. I also made a small fight for my hat. I walked into the cafeteria a week ago and saw a new sign near the register with a hooded and hatted silhouette with a cross over him. I didn’t know my trademark Kangol was so deplorable to render the same effigy one would give to a drug free sign or the Ghostbusters. I feel the notion of removing one’s hat when entering a building to be antiquated. This history of hat etiquette is one in which the customs of society were in different situations. Everyone wore hats years ago. A belief structure and code of manners was formed because of it. There were established reasons why these rules were formed. This is not so today. I would research the hist

In the ongoing rampage I have against the lack of value, I once again ask a money question I know many of you have already asked: why did I just pay for my own homecoming? Student fees for this semester (at least for me as a tier two student, I don’t really know what tier one costs) is $746. A significant portion of this money is relegate to the Student Government Association and as I have said to various individuals, I consider the SGA a celebrated homecoming committee. Apparently, I must remove the adjective “celebrated.” I go to no events. I can’t really complain about that. This is a fault on me considering I don’t like many things. Anyone who has read my work knows I complain, so I can’t complain about not going to any events. But when you really think about it, if I had gone to anything, chances are I would have paid for them twice. I’m not really moved to hear J. Holiday or Lil Wayne, but I’m certainly not moved to pay for them again. I had already ma

For the first time in a long time, I’m actually looking forward to Homecoming. I always tell the story of the first time I fell in love with Morehouse. I never knew anything about it when I grew up. My mother told me to apply to at least five Black colleges in my senior year of high school. I, being hardheaded, got lazy and didn’t really enjoy that prospect anyway and just applied to the only one on the common application, which just happened to be Morehouse College . I got my acceptance letter with a tuition scholarship and I came here because it was the best offer. I relished in the ride here from San Antonio and I went through the run around that is the first day of NSO. I could care less about Morehouse. I wasn’t looking to make friends or make that big of a statement here. I wanted my degree in English in my four years and to move on to whatever the Lord had next in my life. Many freshmen always fall in love with the rhetoric they hear at NSO and find most of

Due to extenuating circumstance, I had publish a couple of blogposts that I had originally written on the Myspace blog . Thusly, I have reprinted them here. I've been reading a bunch of Esquire Magazine writer, Chuck Klosterman. I read three of his books in about two weeks. It's sort of ridiculous. Anyway, because of his highly vocal love of Mountain Dew, I picked it up again. I bought two 2-liters of Mountain Dew and 1 2-liter of Vault from Wal-Mart the other day. I finished one bottle today which got me thinking: when did we need all this caffeine? Americans have this idea that we're working more and faster than ever. We're doing all we can to not fall behind. Our work ethic is unparalleled in all the world. We can't be like Mexico where we all take a nap in the middle of the day. We aren't like Italy where we work for six straight months and then take a six month vacation. We're not like Afghanistan where we can all take a break five t

Due to extenuating circumstances, I had to move a couple of blogposts from the Myspace blog to the Opinions page. In the order of posterity, I shall reprint them here as well. In the four car-less years that I've been in college, I have become quite familiar with the MARTA public train system. I have seen it's evolution from tokens and turnstiles to breeze cards and laser beam doors. Technology has changed dramatically over time, but the service has not. I have heard many people complain about rate hikes and confusing machines. I have seen people get more intuitive on skipping fares and seen methods change to stop it. I have smelled more drunkards and urine there than in many walks through the West End . I have touched hands with more panhandlers and crackheads than I have ever cared to encounter. The MARTA has done all could to ensure that it serves the city of Atlanta with the bare minimum: collect money to transport people. While there have been some new convenie