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(02/12/24 7:14pm)
What’s more abundant in an ENGL 1000 level course than literature and Owala bottles? I’ll tell you. Serial NYT Mini doers. If you ever enroll in an English class where laptops are allowed–a rarity these days–be sure to do the Mini and any other daily mind games lest you want to carry the intellectual embarrassment that your 3 turn Wordle was aided by Emily-who-sits-in-front-of-you’s discovery that “I” was the middle letter. Be diligent, there’s nothing stopping Ems from cycling through the Mini, Wordle, and Connections, and then moving on to the Washington Post Crossword and the impossible 6+ letter Wordles that she just seems to ace. Pretty intimidating, right?
(02/04/24 9:33pm)
I always look forward to returning to my off-campus apartment. It has every comfort of home from 4-legged friends to floor boards on which these 4-legged friends sound like elephants. It’s just so pleasant. The thought of my home sinking into the ground will always provide me with some sardonic pleasure. Maybe then, I can file to break my lease?
(01/30/24 6:42pm)
I leave the house and I think to myself, “Did I get everything?” Underwear? Check. Laptop? Backpack heavy, so check. Emotional baggage? Check. Notebook so that I seem respectful in my humanities classes? Check. Keys? *jingle* check. iPhone? I don’t know. Airpods? I don’t know. Uh oh. Oh wait, Steve Inskeep just made a political joke that made me feel sophisticated for understanding in my ear. I must have both somewhere on my person. Check, Wallet? Check. All of the cognitive labor I must undergo before leaving my home for good is complete. And now you may wonder, “Where to?” Well, a cafe, of course. I have limitless amounts of reading to do and what better way to complete it than to spend half an hour walking to the cafe, spend $4 on a cortado, and eavesdrop on other people’s conversations. I can’t think of any other way!
(01/28/24 3:58pm)
I rely on Acme to satiate my ethnic needs and wants. While I will lecture you about the virtues of Trader Joe’s (it’s from California, the snacks are tik-tokable, and the frozen food is just healthier), I concede that Trader Ming just doesn’t cut it. To the “Steamed Pork & Ginger Soup Dumplings,” I say “xiao long bao,” “I’m kosher,” and a polite “no thank you.” To the cashier, I say, “debit,” “I brought my own bags,” “I sure am lucky to have bought a pack of the ever scarce hashbrowns,” and “yeah, I go between shrimp, salmon, and tofu for dinner.” I make sure to smile at the cashier who has been hired on the basis of how well their appearance aligns with the Trader Joe’s milieu. But what this cargo pant-sporting, air fryer-using, average Joe doesn’t know is that I’ve already reserved a spot in the Acme self-checkout line with my old friend Lee Kum Kee Sauce Chili Garlic - 8 Oz and if I’m feeling spicy white, I mean wasian (I’m wasian), maybe even S&B Chili Oil with Crunchy Garlic, 3.9 Ounce.
(12/04/23 3:23pm)
It’s junior year and I haven’t passed the line yet. You may ask, “What is ‘the line'?” Great question, my compadre. This is a euphemism for my lamentable condition as a student on academic probation. I reached this sorry state or rather, I haven’t come out of this state, because I’ve never passed a class before. Now you understand, I’m basically an academic failure. “Resubmit,” “rethink,” “come in for office hours,” “do me a special favor” are all commonplace in my inbox and submission comments. I’ve started to call Canvas grade notifications UPENN QUARTER LIFE CRISIS ALERTS. I’m numb to being at the end of the whisker on the box-and-whisker plot. They’re all 10s to me. If the wealthy donors think Magill is a failure, they should meet me. I’ve been looking into alternative paths. Perhaps Oxford is my calling. I was just about ready to apply for an accelerated BA/PhD program when I received a most inspiring message from my RELS 0100: Descent into Hell professor.
(11/13/23 7:49pm)
Healthcare in America is broken. I bet you’ve never heard that one before as an able-bodied person with Anthem Blue Cross and Aetna (dental) insurance. But it is. You do not want to see HUP on a Saturday night after backlot or late night or Penn Dems BYO.
(10/31/23 7:18pm)
Everyone has something that gets them going. Some self-infatuated stars have themselves as their wallpapers. Others Depop underwear. I know a fair share of accepting, worldly individuals who love to hear their partner speak their native tongue (for the most part, it’s a language from a distant land across the pond). I, on the other hand, ADORE, J’ADORE, anyone. I mean it, anyone. Who. Slurs. A. Word. When. They. Don’t. Know. How. To. Pronounce. It.
(10/26/23 9:27pm)
When I graduated from Dear Old Penn, women stayed out in the boondocks of Bryn Mawr.
(10/16/23 2:44pm)
I tend to assume the worst in women and I tend to be right. She’s “depressed?” Yeah, that’s code word for disinterested. She has other friends. Yeah, more like men. She’s 'gay'? Yeah, more happy without you.
(10/10/23 5:07pm)
It’s safe to say that sororities and fraternities aren’t beacons of acceptance. It goes beyond not taking everyone who applies and extends to discrimination. I cried a river when I found out. But it’s a problem that the social justice warriors of the University of Pennsylvania Intercultural Greek Council take seriously. Thank god.
(10/09/23 6:26pm)
Girls will freak out and say, “Oh no! I forgot to take my Wellbutrin.” Similarly, “Fuckkkkk, my Prozac.” Others may say, “Did somebody sell my Ozempic?” But what you never hear these medicated girls say is, “It’s time to eat a little Something Something!”
(10/09/23 6:08pm)
To my devoted LinkedIn connections, fans, and elementary school teachers,
(09/15/23 7:19pm)
If you didn’t know that Penn offers study abroad opportunities in the likes of England, France, Tel Aviv, Hong Kong, and Queensland, fear not. Even if you narrowly avoided being automatically enrolled in the Penn Global listserv, as long as you don’t live under a rock, you are likely to be informed by your peng you in Shanghai (who has a VPN), amigo in in Barthelona, or amica in Florence that they are eating better than you, taking easier classes, drinking more legally, and becoming more well-traveled by the second. In fact, you are likely to receive study abroad announcements from your entire social network, whether you care or not, by way of Instagram stories, BeReals (do they have that in a third world place like London?), and of course, I would be remiss to exclude the study abroad (public) diaries that my compadres have created as homage to their voyäges. Whenever I see medieval architecture, manicured gardens, foreign McDonald’s (trust me guys, it is SO good everywhere BUT America. You HAVE to try it. I LITERALLY go here everyday) on one of my “follower’s” stories, I make sure to swipe up and say, “Love the soft launch girl hope you are having sooooo much fun in Europe. Send me lots of pics!!!”
(09/16/23 8:03pm)
As a history student with a dual concentration in intellectual history and economic history and a forthcoming magnum opus on the history of female Marxists, I thought it would only be prudent to take a marketing class in Wharton. As Amy Wax will tell you, writing off your enemies lowers you down to their phenotype. We couldn’t have that!
(09/08/23 10:32pm)
I love fairs. Fair play, fairlife, fair trial, fair trade, renaissance fair, oktoberfest, Iowa State Fair, etc. etc. The only thing that I love more than fairs and the right to bear arms is clubbing. There is truly nothing better than paying twenty dollars for entry, twenty dollars for a tequila sunrise, twenty dollars for an Uber, not to mention sixty dollars for an ID that says you’re above twenty. That’s what I call putting your money where your mouth is. As my going out group (we went to Spades together last Friday and have vowed to only go out with each other from here on out) will tell you, I’m really great at doing mental math, even when I’m 2 Solo cups in. So I can tell you that the money I spend when I go clubbing amounts to 480,000 times the fun.
(09/05/23 4:18pm)
There are certain rites of passage that no freshman should be deprived of regardless of their criminal record, BMI, immigration status, age, medical history, etc. Among those we have becoming executor for one’s parents’ estate, fuzzily consensual intercourse, getting lit in Wawa on Market and 33rd, and, of course, being granted access to the wet market (see US Prohibition era doctrine to understand). The US gets pretty much everything right, but we are completely backwards and third world with respect to our drinking laws. How at the ripe age of 17 and 11/12ths am I considered a legally consenting adult and yet I can’t for the life of me or the homeless woman who refused to buy me alcohol at a 5% interest rate get my hands on any of that good good or that wet wet? I’m not even talking hard core. I’m talking poppers baby, booze man.
(08/31/23 7:48pm)
Late at night I sit at my computer, slaving away at a paper about little red schoolhouses–that didn’t actually exist—and their impacts on ethnic minorities (none) in the mid-1800s. My roommates' gentle snoring no longer soothes me the way that it did that one split second I thought she had died and the gentle “HAH SHOO” proved my worries unwarranted. No, now I can only think about the ads for sleep apnea medication that I watched ad nauseam as my apneic stepfather refused to switch the channel from CNN to Food Network because “debates were happening.” How I wish to be my roommate. She has the pleasure of having me as a roommate. How I wish to be keeping her awake with my whimpers, as she tries unsuccessfully to figure out where it all went wrong (Horace Mann.) But alas, I am still me, the great witness to apnea. My mind wanders to Passover circa 2012 when it was not Elijah who came through the door, but instead, a choked up Matzoh ball that, with many tears, wheezes, and gags, came hurling out through the doorway that is my mouth. In my delirious state, I see a light. Jehovah? Is that you?
(02/14/23 3:41am)
My favorite part of thrifting other than buying kids shirts, dressing poor, and reselling everything I find to turn a profit is the smell. Have you ever heard the saying, “It smells like teen spirit?” You probably haven’t, it’s part of the aesthetic. Well anyway, when I walk into the thrift, it smells like cold, hard spirit. I pull out my pocket amethyst and I let it absorb the energy. My amethyst usually senses rotting white people and soiled underwear. Weird? Or cool!
(02/16/23 6:15am)
Penn Carey Law School Professor Amy Wax’s xenophobia, racism, bigotry, scientific racism, eugenic beliefs, anti-immigrant rhetoric, and probably, hatred of every minority or source of diversity have taken the world by storm. Penn, not so liberal after all huh? Penn has never had a single community member like this, ever, right? Wax is a racist and I don’t want her as my law professor, even though I am not a law student. Impeach! Fire! Lay off! Terminate! Dare I say…deport…
(02/08/23 2:08am)
My GSWS 0106 “What Happened on January 6th and Why That Should Make You Vegan” professor calls herself “woke.” Her shoes are not just made from faux leather, they’re made from recycled plastic and are therefore vegan. Her children are homeschooled so that they don’t deprive other students a spot at Germantown Friends. Her husband teaches them, because he’s her bitch. She killed her dad to smash the patriarchy. She is the preeminent “vegan teacher.” An archetypical enlightened woman.