Oh, Shoutouts, you are a fickle mistress. Some people think you are too mean. Some people think you are too tame. Sometimes you ruin lives. Sometimes you enhance them immeasurably. One time the Inquirer wrote an article about you, but they just didn’t get it. Shoutouts, for better or worse, you are Penn.

On your best day, you are bitingly clever. On your worst, you are, well, the worst. You’re more fun in the spring, but you aren’t too shabby in the fall. A lot of the time you try too hard, but when you’re on your game, we are pretty damn impressed. You’re drunk a lot. And you like to be slutty (or at least, you like people to think you’re slutty). You love yourself. But it’s okay, because we love you too.

Having access to every single Shoutout that gets sent in is both a blessing and a curse. It means that I know all of your dirty, unpublishable secrets (and who called you out for said indiscretions). It also means that my phone didn’t stop buzzing for two weeks straight. In the end though, it’s worth it.

Seeing all those Shoutouts got me thinking. While there is something cathartic about shouting out that hot kid in your chem class (or that heinous bitch on your block), I challenge you all to lift the veil of anonymity. Tell your roommate that it was you who cleaned your toilet with their toothbrush, or tell your TA that you want to do naughty things during office hours (okay, maybe wait until the semester’s over for that one). Be honest, be open, be a little bit brave.

While you probably picked up this issue for the Shoutouts, we have lots of other good stuff, too. We interviewed Street crush Mike Posner (see pg. 8), located some pork buns (pg. 6) and got some Twilight dish (pg. 17).

But one more thing about those Shoutouts: to be shouted out means to be relevant. So don't be sad, oh shouted out ones. You matter. Mostly.

A little bit louder now, Julia