He actually got a grant to hang out on the beaches of Jamaica and participate in the local culture.
Pass the doobage, man.
One of my Hist and Lit comrades is heading to Puerto Rico to do T-research for the last few weeks of the summer.
I didn't know they had books in casinos.
Luckily, my roommate Meredith has no idea what she's going to do about her T-thing. So when I need sympathy, I know who to call.
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But on those days when I am delirious with T-Angst, and Meredith isn't around, I call home. What else are parents for?
"What do you know a lot about? What did you study last year?" my mother asks, as I stress over my T-less state.
Sorry, mom, I don't think they'll accept a T-thing on the Harvard hockey team.
Or would they?