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My family is deeply religious. My father’s side is wholly Irish Catholic. My mother’s side is not Irish, but my grandparents on her side were sure as hell Catholic, and, of course, so is she. I believe we may have some Baptists in the family somewhere but I have not heard much about that.
It’s always the quiet ones. That’s what they tell me anyway. I’m pretty sure the whole expression is, “It’s always the quiet ones you have to watch out for,” but to be honest, that doesn’t help me understand it much. Do people expect me to jump out from behind their blackout curtains just as they’re settling in for the evening? Steal the highlighters I borrow from them? Occasionally say something snarky? The horror.
You’ll know it when you see one. We sit in the front row of every class, answer every (rhetorical) question, flood review sessions and the 6 p.m. JHMI shuttle and follow professors around like lost puppies until we’re sure they’ll write us a letter of recommendation. Hopkins is our battleground, and we are feared and despised by our peers and faculty alike.
I’ve spent the last year trying to write screenplays and short stories about teenage girls struggling to come out to their families and friends, and one question always came up from my peers in workshop and my professors: “I don’t understand why it’s so hard for her to come out.”
"You’re a man now! Stop crying.”
I think it was in fourth grade when I truly came to grasp a sense of my “otherness.” It was a hot August day, and I was playing on the swings at my local community center. A girl with mousy brown hair and glasses came up to me and asked, “Why is your face so flat?”
San Francisco. My mother’s womb. None of your business.
Last summer, while looking for a free bike on Craigslist, one thing led to another, and I ended up working part-time at a Chinese restaurant in D.C.'s Chinatown. Since then, people have asked me what I did there, and I can't really say.
Eighteen is just such an arbitrary number to mark the entry point into adulthood. I always think that something’s just wrong when I’m signing a form and don’t need to get parental consent, especially because I’m just as dependent as I’ve always been.
We wore matching outfits. We shared a room. We even had bunkbeds. We watched Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen on VHS. It’s true: We did switch places to confuse our high school teachers.
As we move into the end of spring semester, many of us find ourselves in new rooming situations. Need to force your roommate to move out in order to get your make your McCoy experience a little less awful, or are you just simply a terrible person? Doesn’t matter. Through this series of simple steps, I can teach you how to be the worst roommate possible.
Singer Amelia Meath and producer Nick Sanborn met at the Cactus Club in Milwaukee, Wis., but both were involved in other projects at the time. According to an article on Partisan Records’ website, When Meath asked Sanborn to remix one of her singles, “Play It Right,” Sanborn “sensed that there was something more important here than a one-time handoff.” They knew that magic had sparked.
Let me first say that I’m a fan of Supergirl. The show, which tells the story of 24-year-old Kara Zor-El, Superman’s cousin, made history when it premiered in October 2015 as DC’s only female-led superhero TV show. It offers a refreshing portrait of female strength and vulnerability.
To couch or not to couch, that is the question...
Over spring break, my cousin got married. It was terrifying, really, because I’m at the point in my life where people come up to me at the wedding and go, “You’re next,” in their singsong old-people voices and smirk at me while I shove food into my face so I don’t have to respond.
As a student journalist I understand the importance of checking the facts: There are serious consequences if a publication gets something wrong, and printing incorrect facts has the potential to damage both reputations and whole lives. Fact-checking is one of the most essential principles of journalism.
At its core this poem, like all poems, is about emotions. In this particular case the speaker struggles with her mother-in-law’s worsening dementia. However most of the poem doesn’t mention dementia specifically but instead highlights parts of everyday life that seep through the speaker’s resolve and cause her to question the purpose of living. In fact the only time the speaker explicitly refers to the dementia is through the line “she can’t remember who’s alive and dead.”
Over spring break my parents and I embarked on the ambitious project of watching as much of Marvel’s eight-movie X-Men franchise as possible in order to jump on the bandwagon and go see Logan, the ninth, critically acclaimed installment, in theaters. I was home in suburban Philadelphia, not Cancun. There wasn’t much else to do.
The health care bill debacle reinforced, in no uncertain terms, the Republican attitude toward the Affordable Care Act (ACA) during Obama’s presidential terms. Namely, they opposed it for the primary reason that it came from the opposition party and specifically from the Obama administration. (Yes, they even originally scheduled the repeal/replace vote date to be on the anniversary of the ACA.)