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Big night. I’m backstage with Jen O’side and she is sweating under the lights. Or is it the pressure? A big night like this takes balls to put together, tucked or not. Her makeup is caked and her boobs are fake, and woah is she melting. I don’t know how legitimate her claim is to be here. In this setting of false pretenses, I began my interview.
If anything means anything in this world then I want to hit it right on the nose, and I know just the nose.
skdfksdfjsdj Penn Engineers are having more sex than everyone.
Human remains and the Penn Museum go hand in hand. Historically, the museum sourced these from multiple avenues. Grave robbing being the most admirable. Penn students have benefitted since the advent of anthropology from the Penn Museum's generous endowment of body parts. However, during the summer of 2020, the Penn Museum’s board learned about this thing called “racism.” The feeling of guilt was insatiable and had never been felt before, so they did the right thing. Or started to. Or said that they would. Or made a committee to? It’s unclear. The main point is that they say they were going to repatriate the human remains of the Morton Cranial Collection, so there’s a new need for objects to study.
The University of Pennsylvania has begun a renovation of the Quadrangle that will take at least three years and as long as thirty, and it might not even happen. As a result, they will begin leasing the Radian next year as sophomore on campus housing, and you and I are on this cosmic journey together. A moment ago, we were freshmen, running naked around the quad, goo-goo and ga-gaing. Now we are upperclassmen, filled with envy and anger that decays the soul. All because we heard that the Radian is very nice, very fancy.
On-campus housing is a debacle. It’s a struggle of push and pull. It is unfair, unequal, inequitable, and honestly cruel. Our lives are so hard. But you reading this, you don’t actually have it that bad. Imagine if your roommate snored. Imagine if you couldn’t get one lick of sleep a night because of your noisy roommate. Nightmare material. See, while the Fossil Free Penn protests were going on, there was a group that deserved a space in those tents – those who were woken up by snores. I propose a solution to this problem: Penn should start a program where they isolate snoring students in Stouffer. Snoozing Snoring Stouffer! Perfect. Hopefully they won’t disturb the Wawa employees. Five Guys is probably not opened yet solely because of all these violent noises. Disgusting...
I was having a conversation with one of my many acquaintances who are so overwhelmingly in love with me that they pop the question: “Where do you live?” Why do you want to know? Do you want to bed me? It’s a personal question. I steer the conversation, because I’m really not one for hook up culture. I prefer trysts that begin with long walks and chaste conversations. You really have to get to know me before I answer questions that pertain to my soul, and it’s hard to really know me. I’m a bit of a popular loner. If they continue to probe, I always find a way to answer the question in an elusive, flirty, and honestly sexy way: “I’m a nomad, a traveler, right now I live in on-campus housing, next year I’ll live in a different on-campus housing, and after that, god only knows.” I know what they really want to hear is: “Maybe we can find a place to settle down together, start a family in one of those funky high rises.” But, like I said, I don’t move that fast.
A Message to the Penn Undergraduates
Last semester was full of McClelland bowl idealism. These bowls were yummy little lunches that included rice, cucumbers, carrots, popcorn chicken, and sauces. However, after students filled out the end of semester dining hall questionnaire, it was realized that there was no gratitude for these bowls. Did they really think that carrots and cucumbers were a given? Their tuition can hardly cover such expensive vegetables. Not to mention, popcorn chicken is simply luxurious when chicken nuggets are so affordable.
It happens when I least expect it. I’m definitely a sympathetic person, at times empathetic. I don’t mind being a shoulder to cry on for a friend. But I am not the empath that strangers assume me to be. Too often I find myself being a therapist for classmates, acquaintances, and complete strangers. All I have to ask is, “How are you?” and they plummet into a sob story that I couldn’t care less about. Walking back from class I learned that my classmate was forced to speak in tongues every Sunday from ages 5 to 16. The whole time I was consumed by my anger at him for stealing the armrest from me in class. A few days later on the bus another classmate told me that his fifteen year old brother tried ketamine and he doesn’t know how to tell his parents. In the bathroom, a hallmate tells me from another stall that the boy she’s in love with is in an ethically non monogamous relationship but still not interested in her. All of this leaves me thinking, “Damn! I didn’t ask for the whole story!”