Every year we’re stunned by Penn students’ sheer inability to submit funny shoutouts. Since you never learn, we’re making an example of some particularly heinous submissions. We’re not laughing with you, we’re laughing at you.
Ah, the mid-semester crunch: the week or so before Spring Break when professors refuse to acknowledge the demands of other classes, TAs are overwhelmed to the point of becoming useless and Penn students become notably hermitic.
It’s not so much that we never leave the house; it’s that we never leave our respective corners of the Penn community.
I have never seen so much snow fall in an urban setting in my entire life. Not even close. Sure, I had snow days in high school — but in Atlanta, snow days mean a half-inch of winter white and a city of Southerners scared to drive while it’s flurrying.
Last week I attended my first preceptorial ever. It’s not that I hadn’t wanted to go to one before this semester, but rather I was systematically shut out of every cheese-tasting, Barnes Foundation-going, ceramics-learning preceptorial imaginable for the past six semesters.