This is it, folks: the end of a gosh-dang era. While it’s been fun indulging myself writing about movies (almost) every month in ways that probably only I find amusing, I do hope that at least one reader — if there are any — has enjoyed this half as much as I have.
I graduated from UB in December with a degree in media study and a journalism certificate, because I don't want to make any money, I guess. I’m still here because our editor-in-chief asked me to finish out the year as managing editor. I was hesitant, mostly because I was afraid of being just a guy.
Eleven professional wrestlers have come out of Grapplers Anonymous, a wrestling gym in Lackawanna. Local wrestlers go to the gym Sunday, Monday and Tuesday evenings to learn to run the ropes, take bumps and trash talk like WWE Superstars.
The Spectrum’s editorial board elected Hannah Stein as editor in chief for the 2018-19 school year. Stein, the current editor in chief, ran against Maddy Fowler, the editorial editor. The editorial board voted 12-4 in favor of Stein.
Royal Roussel, a retired professor in the media study department, died Saturday, Feb. 24 after a battle with cancer. Roussel came to UB in 1967 as a professor in the English department before switching to media study in 1996.
Andrew Bird did just about everything one can do with a violin on Saturday night. He bowed, strummed and plucked the strings, played it clean and distorted with pedals, and looped his own sound back to build on himself. The genre-bending virtuoso made every note count. Bird took the audience through the evolution of his music career that started when he was just four years old.
February is traditionally known in the film industry as a dump month, the time in which studios take a steamy, hot, collective crap on the proverbial chest of theatergoers around the world. With Oscar season in full swing and winter weather keeping people indoors, studios put out unmemorable dreck and the movies they secretly hope nobody will see with only a handful of exceptions. Lay down the Seran wrap and avert your eyes, because this month is already prairie dogging.
The holidays are a time to stay home and spend time with family and friends. It’s also a time to trek to the nearest movie theater and pay to sit in silence with a bunch of strangers for a few hours. At first glance, December appears to be a light month for releases but a closer look reveals a few gems hidden among whatever dad-movie Steven Spielberg is putting out these days. Oh, and the biggest movie of the year.
My father died from alcoholism in the summer of 2007. I was 12-years old, old enough to remember him kicking a basketball-sized dent into my mom’s Ford Escort when we tried to leave the house one night. Old enough to remember watching him pass out face first into his mashed potatoes.