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When Sebastian Carlisle’s (C ‘21) tattered pair of Old Skool Vans first peak through the doorway of his English recitation, every person in the classroom immediately felt as if they have been put on notice. Penn students are known for being pretty lame in the grand scheme of things, so it was absolutely shocking to see a certified skater boi show his face on campus. Airpods in ear, Sebastian strode to the open chair in the back row with a confidence that can only be described as “Big Influencer Energy.” Everyone thought this guy was someone with a radio show actually worth listening to.
When you first stepped into your Math 104 recitation and were greeted by Daniel’s awkward half-smile, you didn’t really think much of it: 8 a.m. classes in DRL are a tough look for everyone. Sure, things got a little dicey when he started rambling about how much he hated having to teach Math 240 to a bunch of freshmen, but it’s no secret that Math syllabuses can be pretty tough to follow.
Penn’s board of trustees has been dogged by criticisms for months after eliminating one of the few places where people can still show off their dogs to pick up cuties. Penn’s constituency of dudes and dudettes who love having a chill-ass time has been protesting for weeks on the powerful platform that this construction constitutes “spikeball, frisbee, and hacky sack erasure,” and for once it looks like the University is listening to the concerns of the community.
After 3 years of dwelling in obscurity on the outskirts of Penn society, Sebastian Periwinkle (W ’19) is ready to make his triumphant return to the spotlight. “Not gonna lie, I’m totally gonna go Sicko Mode this semester since my junior year was kind of a dud,” Sebastian told UTB while desperately searching through the Billboard Hot 100 for a song he thought would sound cool to mention. UTB records show that Sebastian’s freshman and sophomore years were also “duds.”
First of all, how dare you. I just don't get how you could say such a rude thing to a guy wearing such cool socks. I'm not saying that by having impeccable style I should be impervious to criticism, but, ya know, respect the fibers on my feet. Also, haven’t you noticed my eccentric short-sleeved button up? C’mon, I’m not on a beach sipping margs, why am I wearing this sweet Hawaiian shirt! That’s a pretty dope personality trait if I do say so myself.
I think it’s high time that we resolve one of the few issues ruining an otherwise idyllic lead-up to Hey Day 2018. Class Board 2019 claims to be trying to unify the junior class under one big family, but their pathetic set of Hey Day hat options is telling a totally different story. I found it wildly inconsiderate that they didn’t even try to accommodate students’ dietary restrictions, but honestly, the lack of a boneless hat choice is the biggest slap in the face. All I want is a medium-rare hat, sans tibia, but it looks like this year I’m all out of luck.
It’s 3:27 a.m., that 24 oz. Wawa coffee I shotgunned last night at 7 is starting to wear off, and I’ve been mindlessly scrolling through my Facebook newsfeed for the last 12 minutes tagging my friends in memes like it’s mid-2017. Right now the only phrase I can string together is “fuck me,” but for this Anthropology assignment I’m supposed to combine 4,000 words into coherent ideas based on readings that I’m pretty sure never actually existed. At this point, the only thing I’ve got to ask myself is whether it’d be all that bad to just not submit anything.
With the rise of internet food culture, it feels like anyone armed with a Yelp account and portrait mode gets to call themselves a food expert. But for one devoted fan of Gordon Ramsay, the act of cooking is an art form. As a self-proclaimed foodie who spends 60% of his time in class watching people dump ungodly amounts of cheese onto every edible substance known to man, you’d sort of hope that Victor Augustine (C ‘19) could do a little bit more in the kitchen than just make popcorn in the microwave. Unfortunately, Victor’s culinary skills are the food equivalent of kindergarten finger paintings.
Despite fewer people being accepted into the University this year, the number of students Penn needs to host Quaker Days attendees seems to be growing exponentially. The admissions department seems mystified as to why undergrads aren't leaping at the chance to spend two days helping 17-year-olds collect mountains of free stuff before accepting their offers at Yale.
It’s the beginning of a new semester and you’re looking to balance a budget after spending more on foods covered in melted cheese than you’d comfortably like to admit. It looks like the easiest way to cut costs is to start making your own food at home. You google a few meal prep recipes, buy your first pyrex set and a couple of mason jars (for the cold brew coffee which will replace Starbucks), and you're on your way.
On another solitary Friday night in a GSR lit only by firelight, Maxwell Norman (W ‘19) practices his craft, blindfolded and with a hand tied behind his back. For most Penn students, Excel is nothing more than resume fodder used to distract recruiters from mediocre GPAs and non-existent extracurriculars, but for Norman, Excel means so much more, and frankly—it’s sort of weirding us out.
In a groundbreaking longitudinal study that spanned four years, two continents and several thousand pounds of mozzarella cheese, today Penn researchers have dealt a decisive blow against anyone who thinks it’s appropriate to defile the one pure thing left in the world in 2018 (pizza) with mushy cubes of yellow fruit.
The good folks at SPEC Concerts have been working tirelessly to revolutionize how people can spend $35 to black out in a poorly-lit field, and once again, it looks like they’re catching lightning in a bottle with a fresh new theme. Between rib-splitting promotional content posted on Penn’s meme page to a focused push to rebrand Fling with all the throwbacks of a Ken’s BYO without the General Tso’s chicken, SPEC is revolutionizing how to market events that people feel mild social pressure to attend.
Penn professor Frederick Watkins was arrested last week after successfully pulling off a string of heists over the past three years. The robberies had baffled even Philadelphia’s most experienced police detectives, who admittedly are a bit out of their element in a situation that requires them to do anything besides grease street poles with Crisco.
With Penn’s tuition costs rising faster than ever, Student Financial Services has a moral obligation to each and every student member of Penn’s Board of Trustees to ensure that the University is maximizing its profits. In order to fulfill that promise, SFS asks students to fill out lengthy forms stuffed with borderline-invasive questions, including but not limited to: questions about the profits students are making from their... private farms.
The time between spring break and summer vacation is an awkward period for all Penn students. We live our lives like characters in a Greek tragedy, buried in a whirlwind of assignments, extracurricular commitments, and internship woes while constantly being reminded that summer's freedom is just barely out of reach, even if that freedom means working at a soul-crushing internship for 12 weeks so you can pay for next year’s PV trip. Even the most committed individuals can suffer lapses in concentration during this period.
There’s generally very little leeway in the tumultuous lives of Penn’s busiest students, so most feel pressured to squeeze the most out of every second they spend on campus. It’s so easy to get caught up trying to optimize study time or strike the perfect work-life balance, but Byron Cooper (C ‘21) is taking efficiency to an entirely different level.
You wouldn't think it, Penn’s food truck scene sort of serves as a metaphor for its hookup culture. Like most intimate relationships on campus, the noon lunch rush is characterized by plummeting standards, avoiding eye contact, and hyping up how good it was to all your friends afterwards. Unfortunately, one food truck owner seems to have caught feelings for a particularly devoted customer, and the consequences look dire.
With spring break right around the corner, Penn students are spending more time than ever absentmindedly scrolling through pages of flight options and daydreaming about sunny Caribbean beaches. Between long distance train travel, cheap bus services and spontaneous road trips, America’s transportation infrastructure offers a veritable cornucopia of convenient ways to get out of Philadelphia. Nevertheless, one zealous junior is looking to break from tradition and do spring break his own way.
After rallying against a burgeoning wave of anti-punctuation sentiment, aficionados of the grammatically correct are celebrating a miraculous win. In the face of ardent protests, the University is buckling to public pressure and ending its experimental "drop period"—a time where students could spit in the face of hundreds of years of English language tradition and submit written assignments period-free with no repercussions. Proponents of the drop period have claimed that punctuation “is a artificial construct forced onto students that inhibits both creativity and communication in its highest form.”