Bwog went far and wide this fall break. From Paris to New Jersey to Bear Mountain to Brooklyn... well it was only four days, but Bwog made the most of it.

Five weeks ago, you were taking your first midterm examinations; I was shopping for classes. This Monday and Tuesday, you were taking a break; my peers and I, in London, were enjoying the first half of 'Reading Week,' a much needed break situated smack in the middle of a ten-week term.

One thing to do during Reading Week is to take the Eurostar to Paris. The Eurostar is like the Acela, only fast; when the Eurostar hits a big bump in the track, it wallows like a drunken hippopotamus for at least half a minute, which is soothing and terrifying at the same time. France is all about terror, and classiness, two things that Americans are awed by. For your benefit, I went to Paris and observed a few of the ways French people are classy:

One, nuclear power makes it cheap to heat the wintry outdoors with glow lamps. Parisians like their sidewalk cafes, and these are available despite the season.

Two, the Paris Metro (or subway) closes early, but nights out begin after one in the morning; fortunately it is possible to 'rent' bicycles with something like a Metrocard. Shortly before dawn you can see drunken Frenchmen weaving their separate ways home on borrowed bikes. No word on whether cyclists, like motorists, get 'controlled' by the police.

Three, the issues in Paris currently revolve around Sarkozy being a jerk, and the unfortunate upcoming ban on indoor smoking. These issues are handled by drinking copious amounts of wine until (at least) ten in the evening and smoking lots of cigarettes to imbue every wall and jacket with the glorious memory and smell of smoke.

When enough classiness had been observed, I returned to London to see Vampire Weekend open for the Shins. I am proud to report that, due to incompetence on the part of the Shins' sound engineers, and to the superiority of Columbia University education, Vampire Weekend played a better set than the Shins. You should have been there.

-John Klopfer

While Bwog enjoyed the sunny weather on such a splendid day, several things also caught our attention:

• Bacchanal festivities coincided with today's, er, other special celebrations, including Battle of the Bands, a much-too-limited barbecue, a moonwalk, and a sorority-sponsored "munchies" sale. Columbia's beloved mascot was also spotted roaming about (pictured to the right), giving hugs and shaking hands with the chilled-out student crowd around College Walk. In the meantime, pre-frosh were abundant for SEAS Days on Campus. Talk about hyperbolic advertising.
  

• Bwog reader Alex Port brings us news that the Joseph Urban stage models on the third floor of Butler (which have been there for ages) have been removed. What will the Butler treasure chest reveal to us next? Perhaps Robert Moses models instead?
  
  
• As if the to-be-built Northwest Science Building weren't enough, the J-School plans on doing some construction of its own. The Stabile Student Center is scheduled to open in Fall 2007, complete with café space, outdoor seating, and a glass enclosure. Glass is all the rage in these parts, it seems...

• Since we're on the theme of architecture: SEAS Class Day speaker Santiago Calatrava has designed a 2,000-foot tall Chicago tower that could trump every other building in America. Daaamn. [Insert "ivory tower" joke here.]
  

• Spectator's most recent multimedia project happens to be on the arrest of Robert Williams, although it seems a bit New York Post-ish for the Spec's image. Really, "Perp Walk," guys?
  

- MIP

Bwog coffeeshop reviewer Downing Bray took a break from caffeine this week in the Caribbean, and made it home to tell the tale. Her hazy memories follow.

Jamaica, it seems, was the place to be this spring break. On this sunny island of white beaches and clear blue water, of abundant Red Stripe and weed, many a Columbian could be spotted sunning, perhaps with a beer or joint in hand, showing off their bathing attire and nascent tans . . . or more likely their lack thereof (got neither? No problem mon!). In Negril, on the very western tip of the island, pale New Yorkers mingled with hordes of other college spring breakers (and high schoolers—they only tell you their age after the hook-up). Days disappeared while we sprawled on the beach, sloshing in the ocean while sloshed, or tripping over the sand munching on a special cake. Nights were basically the same, minus the sun and plus much more sloshing and tripping. Adorned with multiple fluorescent wristbands, Columbians jumped from bar to open bar while and experiencing the joys of easily accessible weed (check out the back pocket of the guy in the yellow shirt). Along with pot, throngs of locals sold fruit and souvenirs, lobsters and patties, parasail adventures and booze cruises—other than tourism, all the Jamaican economy has going for it is something called bauxite, so we're walking meal tickets.

Hot spots included Rick's Bar, the site of cliff-jumping and endless drunken pick-up lines; Margaritaville, the pivotal gathering point of trashy spring breakers, equipped with a water trampoline, cheesy decoration and a live stage featuring horrible music; and The Jungle, the nightclub where Grammy-nominee Beenie-Man reggaed the night away. Suffice it to say, midterm stress faded away, whether through enjoying the jerk chicken or taking advantage of . . . other things. Coming from the land where every little thing is gonna be alright to the snow-covered sidewalks of Columbia has been rough—blurry Negril memories, plus sand still stuck in my suitcase, will have to see me through till summer.