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(03/18/24 12:43am)
At Penn status is a currency in its own right. Money pumps through the veins of our university—our eyes always green with envy and grasses always seem greener on the other side of recruitment cycles. Penn is the place where golden goose sneakers traipse down locust and Goyard purses are stuffed to the brim with laptops, Essentia water bottles, and platinum cards. In the words of Madonna, we’re material girls living in a material world.
(02/14/24 5:42pm)
Dearly beloved,
(02/02/24 2:45am)
If you’re a pop cultural obsessive like me, Christmas isn’t the most wonderful time of the year. That actually comes a few weeks earlier, usually from late November to early December, in the form of list season. You know what it is, if not by name: when every magazine, blog, and online publication throws down their takes on the best movies, music, television, trends, books, and unforgettable moments of the year. It’s a time to feel vindicated when our faves top the charts, and to discover everything we missed while boring stuff like jobs and school kept us busy.
(11/07/23 3:00pm)
I took a class last fall that made me believe food is the center of the universe.
(10/11/23 12:00pm)
Senior year is canonical. You have the senior slide, the cataclysmic breakdown of some friend groups, and the forging of new bonds that feel like they could last forever. A deluge of camaraderie and legally purchased liquor can melt some (but not all) of the grudges powered by the treacherous climb of student leadership and, of course, the toxic gossip train. But for me, senior year mostly means one thing: I’m not the young talent anymore.
(09/08/23 12:03am)
Back from abroad, and I’m exhausted. My face keeps breaking out from a combo of soot and sweat, and I’ve got these lingering headaches from a summer cold I keep insisting wasn’t COVID. My body feels like it traveled the world in a cargo plane.
(05/24/23 8:47pm)
It feels cliche to begin any letter about adulting with the phrase “growing up.” I’m going to do it anyway, but here’s hoping that I can get a pass for calling myself out. At the very least, you’ll have to acknowledge my self–awareness.
(04/07/23 10:00am)
Usually the process for writing these letters is standardized. On the eve of our last production night, I’ll set up camp in the Stroffice and bang out a draft in a couple of hours. It’s easier—and somewhat necessary—because of the time frame they exist in: half reconstructing some bygone anecdote, half addressing the reader of a magazine that has yet to be printed.
(03/03/23 5:00am)
At the beginning of last semester, I started Prozac. That’s the brand name of fluoxetine, which is an SSRI—selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor. Pretty much my brain either doesn’t make enough serotonin, or takes it back up from the synaptic cleft too quickly. My psychiatrist didn’t test for any of this when I met with him; he knew I had a family history of depression, and asked me to describe how I felt in one of my lows.
(02/01/23 5:00pm)
Sitting down to write this letter feels kind of like entering the Avatar State. No, not that Avatar. Not the new one either. I’m talking about that generation–defining (and vastly better!) animated series Avatar: The Last Airbender. Pretty much, our reincarnated protagonist can call upon the skills and knowledge of all his previous selves, pictured as an line of blue spirits stretching out to the middle distance. In my lineage, there’s Emily and Bea looking over my shoulder, then Tamsyn, Annabelle, and before them the predecessors I know only by name—Nick Joyner, Orly Greenberg, Emily Johns.
(12/01/22 5:00am)
Dear Walden, Arielle, Alana, and Collin:
(11/02/22 1:45am)
Consider yourself warned, this letter is about Taylor Swift—although thankfully not in the Twitter discourse way. It’s become somewhat of a tradition to write one of these letters about a celebrity, mostly because of one particular Swiftie who used to occupy my role, and it felt only right that the release of Swift's tenth album earned her another.
(10/03/22 6:00pm)
Every year when it started to get cold, my grandma and I would set up shop in the kitchen and start our annual Christmas Eve ritual: making kolaczki.
(09/01/22 1:00pm)
If you’ve picked up a copy of Street before, you might notice something different about this one.
(04/26/22 4:00pm)
The first piece of advice I got when I came into this job was to never stay overnight in the Stroffice. I was warned that sleeping here would be the telltale sign that work had overtaken my life, and that if it ever happened, I should quit. (Thankfully, it hasn’t.)
(04/19/22 5:00pm)
I almost didn’t run for this job.
(04/12/22 12:00pm)
Every year when the weather starts to get warm, it seems like everyone feels an intense need for change. We make vows, sincere or otherwise, about entering and exiting hoe phases, binge productivity YouTube videos, and begin our spring cleaning—all in service of our obsession with wanting something new.
(04/06/22 12:48am)
I think my younger self would be disappointed in me today.
(03/29/22 9:00am)
I fell in love with food from afar before I learned to love eating. Food writing was the first kind of journalism that meant something to me, and it was all the more ironic that I was savoring the descriptions of dishes I would’ve demurred in reality. I recall picking up my first copy of Saveur, the Nov. 2013 issue, which included this line in a guest column titled “The Food I Dream Of”:
(03/22/22 7:44pm)
It's the Saturday of St. Patrick’s Day weekend, but instead of going out, I woke up early to trek across campus and conduct an interview. A man in clover–shaped sunglasses and a green sarong is verbally accosting me, and it’s the happiest I’ve been all week.