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College Cats and Dorm Dogs

Senior Meg Dowley is sitting near two dogs on Memorial Glade, watching Snaps, a large, spotted terrier mutt out of the corner of her eye. Snaps wrestles another dog a third his size. The smaller dog has his eyes open in alarm, a deer-in-headlights look plastered on his face, but
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The mystery of the man bun

They come in all varieties: curly, straight, half-up, half-down. They’re at the gym, outside Dwinelle, in cafes on Northside. The concept is simple: a hair tie, a steady grasp and a simple flourish of the hand. But the result is so much more. The man bun — i.e. bun worn by a man — has arrived at UC Berkeley.
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Rooms of Berkeley

Throughout our time in Berkeley, we will more than likely inhabit three different rooms. The transient space is ours and for just a short time, however, becomes our home. The old homecoming photos and posters can serve as the only place of consistency and familiarity in the whirl of new faces and experiences.
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Sex on display

Now, sexual education has forced itself into the heart of UC Berkeley at Doe Library’s newest exhibit: “Birds Do It, Bees Do It: A History of Sex (Mis)Education in the United States.”
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LIL B

Based god heard my prayers: finding hope in the Lil B app

You know the routine: wake up, wipe the sleep out of your eyes and … grab your phone. Check your notifications. Two texts — both from your mom. Ignore those for now. An email — ah, it’s from Travelocity. Never mind. Three Snapchats from your high-school buddy! These should be
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Stacey's grandfather, age 50, at a zoo in Saigon

How I became a Nhà Viết Văn

When I was a little girl, about 8 or 9, I stumbled across a yellowed, pocketbook version of L.M. Montgomery’s “Anne of Green Gables,” a story about a spirited, redheaded orphan. I fell in love with Anne Shirley, whose good intentions and misadventures charmed me. Her romantic and poetic voice
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This is privilege

I stood in the fresh-bread section at Berkeley Bowl, fighting an impending mental breakdown. I stood there for four minutes — maybe less, maybe more, I didn’t count. What I was counting were the types of loaves in front of me: Sweet Batard, Sourdough, French, Italian, olive. I counted 16
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Kayaking in La Jolla

The Kayak Chronicles

The kayak shop ran like a makeshift haven for surfers, dropouts and convicted felons. Our boss, Jimmy, was of the dropout faction since he left some Arizona college in the ’80s to move back home and marry his high-school sweetheart. Or so it went, according to the girls who worked
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Paris Isn’t Dead

Each time I go, I feel more and more desperately the need to defend Paris. Friends’ fathers unimpressed by the throng of Italian students being let in by the second to Orsay, ticket lines comparable to Disneyland’s at Versailles … “Completely impossible to navigate, let alone breathe, in the hall
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Life appreciated neat or on the rocks

The way I compare alcohol is the same way we compare food and restaurants. We can either go and eat to fill ourselves, or we can sit down and really get into the complexities of a dish and tease out the minute details and ingredients. That’s the difference between Crossroads
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