A cubic zirconium to activist students participating in a "climate action" rally and promoting the number 350 as the maximum sustainable level of atmospheric carbon dioxide. We love your passion, but we're concerned that you think 350 is also a sustainable number of days per year on which to protest.
A diamond to the state's Department of Elderly Affairs, which created a support system for abused elders. That's a much better idea than that other DEA had (spraying abused elders with pesticide).
Coal to the swine-inspired art exhibit "Contagious," which featured artists' interpretations of the deadly flu. We're still mad you rejected our found-art submission, "Pile of Tissues and Trash Can Full of Vomit."
A diamond to ex-pornographer Sam Benjamin Stern '99, the alum whose post-Brown trajectory truly embodies school spirit. Organic tomato farming, being disillusioned, dabbling in softcore "art," being disillusioned again — bravo, sir.
A pair of diamond-studded earrings and a backless velvet gown to the vice president at all-male Morehouse College for defending a controversial new policy banning "clothing normally associated with women's garb" on campus. Even grouchy administrators deserve to feel fabulous sometimes.
A cubic zirconium to Rhode Island judge and Obama nominee to the federal bench Ojetta Rogeriee Thompson '73, who received lukewarm ratings of "satisfactory" from most members of the American Bar Association's advisory committee. In an S/NC world, your credentials have never been in doubt. The real question is how you pronounce "Rogeriee."
Coal to the malicious, PDF-corrupting demons of the Internet tubes for thrice ruining the Herald's crossword this month. We'll get you yet, you qjcerpa)rwmxbw*=_2
Last but not least, a pumpkin full of diamonds to anyone who resists the temptation to dress as swine flu, Michael Jackson or balloon boy tomorrow. Instead, may we suggest an ecologically friendly (and much more original) alternative that makes for a clever re-use for your favorite campus daily: Cover yourself in old Heralds, splattered with organic ketchup. Bam! You're the demise of print journalism.
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