1000 items found for your search. If no results were found please broaden your search.
Philadelphia, Nov. 19. I’m relishing in the quiet cold. I’ve just gotten out of my economics class. The dusk is just temperate enough that I can sit in the glow of light seeping from Van Pelt–Dietrich Library onto the wooden bench looking at Locust Walk. Measured footsteps lull me into prayer–like contemplation.
A pretty clear line can be drawn tracing Yeat’s musical evolution since he first blew up in 2021. Initially, there was the incredible run of 4L, Up 2 Më, and 2 Alivë: a seamless melding of hungry delivery, bouncy and hypnotic beat selections, and playfully tongue–in–cheek lyrics, half of which stuck in the form of inescapable vocal stims (“I been spinnin’ off these percs like I’m a laundromat”was generational shit). 2023’s AftërLyfe took an abrupt turn, with fewer memorable bars, but a fruitful dip in experimentation and introspection.
I am 18 and moving into my new dorm alone.
I almost didn’t make it to Love Sent Across Seas. Housed in the Penn Museum, a building that takes up an entire block, I walked to the entrance of the nearby side and was faced with nothing more than shipping entrances. To my chagrin, standing coy and clueless, I met the woman behind the video installation, Dr. Neisha Terry of Stony Brook University, who was also lost, coming from Long Island. A professor, videographer, and incentive behind the VOICE (VocalizED Identity Crafting and Exploration) Lab, I got the privilege to speak with her on my way in, granting a literal behind–the–scenes look into the exhibit.
“Can the basement that they run p*tchfork out of just collapse already,” Halsey tweeted after reading the publication’s review of her 2020 album Manic—a review that said her newest work reminded them of “sitting miserably in the backseat of a Lyft.” This tweet was promptly deleted after Halsey found out that Pitchfork operates out of the World Trade Center. Halsey quickly tried to remedy the issue by claiming she was joking and was attempting to “poke at them back with the same aloof passive aggression they poke at artists with.”
Philly is, without a doubt, a diverse city. Home to residents of all backgrounds, its vibrant diversity and genuine sense of community create an atmosphere that is both welcoming and rich in character. Reflecting the city’s incredible assortment of cultures, several spots stand out as examples of how Philly's architectural heritage intersects with community–driven spaces.
Ah … the “good old days.” The days in question? Going outside for fresh air and kicking a ball around aimlessly for hours, of course. Maybe even waving around foam swords while concocting a multitude of imaginary scenarios involving dragons and princesses. Roll your eyes at this bout of nostalgia if you want, but with the rise of Generation Alpha and what has come to characterize their childhood, it seems that the stories our parents (or grandparents) have passed down may not seem so bad after all.
Siren–like synthesizers. The heady pulse of house. Punchy 808s that strain my cheap and overworked bluetooth speaker. The bubblegum–lilt of a K–pop track. As the semester enters a lull after the frenzy of midterms, I’ve swapped out my instrumentals and brown noise playlists for my cache of music to get ready to. On the weekends, I hook up my ailing JBL portable to a charging port as one would prepare an IV for a sickly patient, open up Spotify, and sing along as I power through my makeup routine, always slightly behind schedule.
“Why are you dressed so scary?”
Korean horror cinema is a beautiful sickness. It contains that slow, creeping dread that nestles in your bones, a shadow that won’t leave even after you turn on the lights. It doesn’t just haunt; it stains, sinking under the skin, warping everything familiar into something chillingly wrong.
Who is Mavis Beacon?
Those new to the Philadelphia food scene typically associate the city with cheesesteaks and hoagies. But when they finally set foot on the streets, the air of high–culture cuisine is hard to miss. Among the most famous symbols of high–culture Philly is restaurateur and culinary icon Stephen Starr, whose food empire is so large it’s impossible to eat out and not know his name.
“How have you been?”
One of the most important members of the Penn Curling Club is Luke Krier’s (C ‘27) mother. Without an eligible driver for the competing players last season, Krier stepped in, ensuring that the team could attend bonspiels, or curling matches, with other schools across the Northeast. Flying in from Minnesota, she drove the team up to ten hours to other universities in a rental car. As an “honorary member” of the team, according to several of its players, Krier stepped away from her accounting position in the thick of tax season to help the team thrive.
Dystopian novels captivated us in the 2010s. Books like Divergent, The Maze Runner, and, of course, The Hunger Games, seemed to whisper warnings about the state of our world. There’s a reason why this genre resonates. Dystopian stories aren’t just about bleak futures—they eerily predict and amplify our anxieties about the world to come. As issues in our society shift and intensify, these narratives grow too, evolving to reflect the fears of each new generation.
How many actresses need their own Cinderella story before the narrative becomes overdone? At this point, everyone and their mother has seen a Cinderella adaptation; and as clever as some of these filmmakers think they are, their homages to Grimm’s fable are never really all that subtle (although many aren’t trying to be, and that’s okay, too). Cinderella’s plight represents the all but futile idea that you can achieve the American dream entirely separately from the system that makes it so difficult; a golden individual who maintains a fiercely humble set of morals yet still in the end attains all of the benefits enjoyed by the top percentile of a capitalist society. Throw a storybook romance in there too and how could it not be alluring?
I still remember when Lil Uzi Vert first dropped Eternal Atake. It was the week before COVID–19 lockdowns, and I was a freshman in high school walking to my world history class when suddenly, everybody went rabid. The outer–space, alien–themed album had been delayed, hyped up, and mourned over for nearly two years before it was finally released with zero warning. As a student in the Philadelphia school district, a part of Uzi’s hometown, it’s safe to say that it was all anyone could talk about or listen to that day.
At noon on May 31, students, faculty, and staff of the University of the Arts (UArts) received a devastating email: the school was closing. Without prior warning, the UArts community was thrown into chaos, with the status of careers and education uncertain. For some, this uncertainty has abated as short–or long–term solutions have been found. For others, the effects of the closure will last for a long time to come.
Medical tourism has occurred for as long as travel and trade. Throughout the ages people have traveled great lengths to receive the best care possible, from Vikings and Romans visiting the hot springs of Bath, to travel for treatment in the Ottoman Empire. In the modern day, when the phrase “medical tourism” comes up, it often evokes imagery of cosmetic surgery in countries where treatment is either more advanced or cheaper. However, it more commonly refers to international travel for medical treatments unavailable or much more expensive in travelers’ home countries.
The familiar old Cinemark seats and nachos with Diet Coke, backtracked by endless trailers for movies we’ll probably forget about by the time they release in a year or two. But, we’ve been waiting for the Joker sequel ever since the first whispers about it emerged back in 2019. Surely, you remember the debates on social media about who would make a better Harley Quinn: Margot Robbie or Lady Gaga.
Solutions by The State News
