With Fling (regrettably) over and reading days just a week away, I sat down to write this semester’s last letter with a mild case of writer’s block. I’ve written a lot this year. I’ve written about rock concerts, the Gap, gay bathhouses, the Roots — and that was just for my classes. Street has allowed me to write about Girl Talk, Miss Philadelphia, 90210… and pretty much whatever else was on my mind during any given week.
So, what’s on my mind this week? The fact that it’s almost May. What a weird eight months it has been. Equal parts too short and far too long, the year is coming to an end. Like many of you, I’ll be heading to New York next month to participate in the unofficial Penn-in-Manhattan summer program (you know, that one where students get i-banking internships that pay too much or cool internships that pay too little, live in NYU dorms and expand their circle to include their fellow Ivy League interns). I’ll make the occasional weekend trip to Philly, spend a total of approximately two weeks at home and return to Penn a senior come August.
And that makes me feel old. Not just I’m-21-so-now-the-bouncer-with-the-dreads-lets-me-into-Smoke’s old. As my friends and I wandered around the sun-soaked campus last weekend, we came to the startling realization that we just don’t know that many underclassmen. And with a new crop of frosh ready to assume position, we will know even less in the fall. What makes me feel even older is the fact that my younger brother — the one who I will always remember as a gawky 13-year-old with braces — will be one of those freshmen (though sadly for me, not at Penn). In the time I’ve been at college, he has grown about a foot, lost the braces, played varsity basketball and gone to prom. That makes me feel ancient.
Alright. I’m not over the hill quite yet, but gone is my bright-eyed freshman self. I’ve gotten a little less naive, a lot more cynical and developed a love for BYOs and sculptures of oversized clothing fasteners. Too strange that my brother will soon go through it all, too. (Though hopefully with a little more grace.)
Three down, Julia
