Tech Issue Crossword
As an artificial–intelligence driven language model, I can’t solve this puzzle for you.
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As an artificial–intelligence driven language model, I can’t solve this puzzle for you.
When you’re a kid, you’re taught to keep moving forward. Don’t hesitate, don’t dwell on things that can’t be changed, don’t look back unless you have to. Forward is progress and progress is everything. Exit 8 turns that idea on its head, and spins forward motion into something closer to a trap than a solution.
What does it mean to be an actor? Some might define acting as reciting lines in front of a camera until the director yells “Cut!” Others take a more serious (and sometimes detrimental) approach and become their characters, blurring the lines between fiction and reality.
On the eve of Penn’s pre–finals obligatory reading days, I got my chest crushed at Franklin Music Hall’s barricade instead of sitting by a Van Pelt–Dietrich Library carrel, and all I got were these lousy bruised ribs. I have no regrets having spent my evening with fakemink, a rapper whose music—often described as a softer version of jerk rap inspired by Dean Blunt—has come to define my cram sessions. I was practically studying, anyway.
Whether it’s on TikTok, onstage with West African Vibe, or handing out gift cards on Locust Walk, you’ve seen Xian Scott (W ’26). His love for personal connection permeates into everything he does, weaving together a rich community behind him. While his professional ambitions might have brought him to the Wharton School, he refuses to stay trapped in the box of finance. Instead, he brings his profound kindness and strength to uplift small businesses, helping put them in social media’s limelight. He’s also a hardworking director, bringing different people and dance styles together. The whole world is his stage, and this one–man show cannot be missed.
For a day, I walked around Locust Walk feeling like either a poacher or a casting director for a NYC modeling agency. On a warm, sunny afternoon last week, I looked around campus for nice outfits, to see if students’ clothing were bright enough to remedy the campus of its seasonal affective disorder. In honor of the new warmth, here are some trends I saw in our community that can serve as your next outfit inspiration (or depending on your perspective, cautionary tale).
Mix gorgeous cinematography, jaw–dropping acting, disturbing humor, scripted hypocrisy, and moral ambiguity and you’ll get Kristoffer Borgli’s newest romantic–dramedy, The Drama: an intense, uncomfortable, and confrontational film that succeeds by making its audience ruminate on the unconditional nature of love.
On March 27, Street attended this year’s tour of HUMP!, a 90–minute film festival featuring 23 independent pornographic short films. These adult vignettes ranged from the painfully benign to the faux surreal. As we watched, growing more and more numb to the horror with each “film,” we began to regret our choice of entertainment that night. This wasn’t the “underground,” “fearlessly curated” experience of “communal intimacy” advertised to us—this was yet another attempt to appear subversive, to stick it to the “industry.” In reality, it reinforced all the problems it hopes to solve.
If I said the phrase “girl horror” to refer to a film sub–genre, it would likely evoke images of early ’90s and 2000s cult classics, such as Jennifer’s Body or The Craft. Notably, it probably doesn’t evoke anything from recent pop culture. However, if you have felt this girl horror shaped hole in the mainstream industry, look no further than the new film Forbidden Fruits.
In many respects, the first general body meeting of Penn’s revived Effective Altruism club is just like any other. Cheap pizzas are stacked up by the Lauder media room entrance; students sit on the college house’s bare, standard–issue upholstery, chatting about their preprofessional trajectories. The EA@Penn board paces back and forth by the front counter—Hazem Hassan (E ’29), the club’s intrepid president, is pulling his hair out trying to get his slides on the screen.
What are the ramifications of unchecked greed? Has rapid technological progression doomed human connectivity? When our shared morality appears under siege, how can we revitalize willingness to cooperate with each other?
Andrew Saltz, a teacher at Paul Robeson High School, grabs a stool for me and places it in the school’s hallway. He’s substituting for a class, and the door is propped open so he can monitor the students. Sitting down across from me, he points to the ceiling above our heads. “If any of these tiles fall, don’t breathe and run.”
If you’ve been feeling uninspired lately, a conversation with Nikhil Sheth (W’ 26) might be exactly what you need. From completing an Ironman freshman year to leading an 8–day venture in Chile to finishing a 24–hour adventure race senior year, his personal philosophy and mental frameworks are nothing short of fascinating. What’s remarkable is how he balances an easy–going, laid–back demeanor with unwavering focus and determination. On top of that, his warmth and humility leave a lasting impression. It’s hard not to walk away from a conversation with him thinking a little bigger.
It’s no secret that I’m directionally challenged. On the SEPTA, on campus, and on streets I’ve walked a hundred times, I am always staring at Google Maps, watching a line of blue dots tell me where to go. And somehow, I still miss turns. I end up somewhere close to where I’m supposed to be, only to realize that I’m on the wrong side of the street, or that I’m still a couple of minutes off from my true destination.
Cameras for eyes, the playful gait of a Labrador, plating wrapped around its torso like a onesie—walk up to Ghost Robotics’ Vision 60 robot dog, and you might think it’s a mechanical “man’s best friend.” Then you see the assault rifle strapped to its back.
Apart from its breweries and record stores, Fishtown feels incidental on a Wednesday night—something to move through in passing. People drift along Frankford Avenue in clusters, stopping without committing to stopping—and by the time you walk through that shadowy arch into Johnny Brenda’s, it feel as though you’ve already entered mid-conversation; paused mid–sentence; stalled to listen.
I often say that if I was hit by a laser that turned me into a girl, I would probably become Norah Rami (C ’26). I think she’d concur with that assessment. The two of us grew up in very technology–focused, very Indian suburbs. We both find pleasure in aimless and meandering conversations. And, of course, we both eventually found a home for ourselves at Street.
Fake–dating, enemies to lovers, love triangles, friends to lovers—fans of Netflix’s Bridgerton have seen it all. But perhaps the most overused trope that has been incorporated thus far is actually one from a fairytale: Prince Charming, a beautiful ballgown, a hidden identity, and a lonesome slipper.
I started coding when I was 12 or 13, but it wasn't until 15 that I really started liking it.
Let’s talk about doomscrolling. The evil algorithms and waning attention spans of today’s youth make it almost impossible to avoid social media addiction. It’s become so much of a problem that people are suing social media sites for personal injury and winning. Despite the costs of lawsuits, apps like TikTok and Instagram rake in billions of dollars because the public can’t stop scrolling. This poses a great threat to streaming entertainment sites, as demand for quick stimulation reduces attention spans for full–length films and shows. The world’s ability to focus is in danger, pushing us towards an age of brain desensitization, cognitive decline, and “brain rot” addiction. But instead of correcting the problem by attacking the source, other areas of media are adapting the addictive scrolling model and utilizing new artificial intelligence technologies to do it. This addictive model is now spilling into other areas of media. A kind of imitation culture has formed, where scrolling through short vertical videos is the new norm in not just social media, but every facet of online content.