Whether or not Zuckerberg and whoever that other guy was did it intentionally, Facebook has now become a place where “friends” share their opinions on current issues. One post that really stuck out to me this morning as I laid in my bed, pretending that I didn’t have class, was a rather long one by a local mother complaining about the quality of the clown that performed at her young son’s birthday party.

Desperately needing a filler before the party’s main act, this naïve parent hunted through the depths of Craigslist for a suitable and inexpensive clown. During this women’s online diatribe, she commented that “the clown only had average reviews and wasn’t that well known, but there is a reason he wasn’t the main attraction of the party.” Clearly, she didn’t know what she had gotten herself into.

According to this shocked mom, the children described the clown as “offensively bad,” with tricks that were “unoriginal and not meant for this modern era.” They added that, “he was clearly struggling to come up with material, and was just not expecting the caliber of kids we had at this party.” Instead of taking their complaints to the clown in an effort to change his ways and help out future parties, the kids turned on the mom and blamed her for the clown’s horrific act. She concluded her Facebook post by stating, “I hope that I can better choose acts that are talented and safe for the children. I don’t want to expose these children to anything offensive in the future.”



University concedes: Alumni promised Gmail access until 2029

University alumni will retain access to their Gmail accounts through 2029, the University announced in an email Oct. 30 after receiving criticism from alumni over the decision to terminate access to email accounts.

Eastman should not be on the back burner

While we respect the University’s scientific achievements, we have always seen ourselves as Eastman students first.

What we find when we slow down: A case for modern art

What you see isn’t a tree or a face, it isn’t a story with a beginning and an end. It is a field of seeing where you are invited to dwell. The color is restrained, the form minimal, yet the work becomes existing — a sort of presence in stillness.