1000 items found for your search. If no results were found please broaden your search.
Perched on top of her fridge with a bucket hat, cowboy boots, and an acoustic guitar, Adrianne Lenker, lead singer and songwriter of Indie–folk band Big Thief, belts out a verse from the band’s recent single “Vampire Empire,” an emotionally explosive track that details a toxic love gone bad like “expired milk.”
Since the 19th century , the campaign song has been a staple of presidential elections. Jackson had “Hunters of Kentucky,” Lincoln had “Battle Hymn of the Republic,” and even Penn’s own ill–fated William Henry Harrison was cranking out bangers like “Tippecanoe and Tyler, Too.” In the 21st century, however, the art of the campaign song seems to have fallen by the wayside. Campaigns nowadays are more than happy to utilize premade songs from established artists, rather than create their own tunes. Even worse, the cultural democratization of the internet has led this vacuum to be filled by constituent hacks from across the political spectrum, be it Le Tigre’s oddball Clinton anthem “I’m With Her,” or Latinos for Trump's divisive new hit “Unity.” Things were much simpler in the mid 20th century, the true heyday of the campaign song. Communications were developed enough to disseminate media to audiences across the country, but before the art of the campaign song was lost to the sands of time. But even during this apex of the art form, some presidential candidates simply had more juice than others—the history of campaign music has some pretty clear winners and losers.
In a Miyazaki film, time is granted to allow the characters to live.
Filipinos are passionate about their food. I grew up with the pungent aroma of garlic and banana ketchup on sticks of chicken caramelizing on the grill—the highlight of family gatherings. Birthdays were always celebrated with pancit and lumpia that my mom would make from old family recipes. My family’s cravings would be satisfied when we visited my uncle in NYC and ate at Filipino staples like Krystal’s Cafe or Jeepney, or when my aunt brought us ube cakes from a Princeton bakery on her visits. But growing up in Philadelphia, there were hardly any local Filipino food restaurants we could go to for a “home–cooked” meal. So when Tambayan first opened in July 2021, my family was naturally thrilled.
To say “food is a love language” has become a one–liner spoken ad nauseam, but it cannot be denied that some foods truly do create feelings of warmth, comfort, and love. Filmmakers clearly understand food’s connection to love, specifically the correlation between eating noodles and falling in love. Captured countless times in some of cinema’s great love stories, these scenes showcase that the power of pasta and the power of love are not mutually exclusive phenomena.
The first video on your feed is of Pete Davidson. How predictable.
Amid the urban jungle of broken concrete and faded brick, street artist Kala Hagopian is an eco–conscious mother of naturalistic murals. With a passion that has blossomed since childhood, Hagopian is committed to repainting West Philadelphia's perspective on environmental conservation.
Few things define Brazilian cuisine as distinctly as a love for steakhouses. But for me, a born–and–raised Brazilian, a “churrasco” is much more than a meal—it’s a culinary spectacle. In it, an array of meats is expertly skewered or placed on a spit, resembling a delicious rosary of flavors charbroiled to perfection. It's an art form unto itself. Over the years, I've enjoyed numerous churrasco meals with loved ones, whether indoors or outdoors, and it has always been a joyful celebration.
Let’s take a trip down memory lane, back to 2014: The ALS Ice Bucket Challenge had everyone pouring ice–cold water on themselves, Kim and Kanye had just tied the knot, “Let It Go” was stuck in our heads, and The Fault in Our Stars was making us all tear up. And if you were the I’m–not–like–the–other–girls kind of girl (like me), Tumblr was the pinnacle of your 2014.
If you were to search for Emily Whitehead (C '27) on the Internet, you'd undoubtedly come across descriptions like “cancer survivor,” “first pediatric patient to receive CAR T cell therapy,” and “living miracle.” However, if you asked Emily Whitehead herself, she would tell you that those labels are just a fragment of her identity: “There's so much more to me than cancer.” Ten years ago, Emily received groundbreaking treatment at the University of Pennsylvania that garnered worldwide attention. Now, having come full circle, she returns to Penn as a freshman, prepared to embark on a new adventure.
It's another day. The same day you've lived countless times over. You wake up at the same time, eat the same breakfast, talk to the same people, and finally collapse in the same bed to start the cycle all over again. The next day is, well, the same. It almost feels like you're living life in third person, a voyeur to the "real world," one of adventure, excitement, and newness. It's a world you're not sure even exists and you're definitely not sure where to find. But amidst the isolation and mundanity of our corporatized twenty–first century lives, you'd give anything just to see something truly brand new.
Drunk cigs don’t count, but what about smoking a dart on Locust at 1:45 p.m. on a Wednesday?
Immediately, three beats of the song’s percussion draw you in. Friendly strings lead up into piano notes that hop back down before jumping into a funky beat. Sweet female vocals begin to sing of love and disco. From this description, “Plastic Love,” which was released in 1984, seems like your typical ’80s hit—perhaps an exemplary karaoke song, but nothing particularly groundbreaking.
What does it mean to be kosher? How can our family recipes enter mainstream culinary canon? How much is a yahrzeit glass? Heck, what does it mean to be a Jew today?
Whether they’re making a pit stop at Saxby’s in between classes or catching up with friends over lattes, Penn students have made coffee a vital component of their daily routines. From pumpkin spice lattes to toasted croissants, local coffee shops in Philadelphia define cultural trends and influence individuals' daily habits.
The term “cult classic” can very easily be understood by breaking it up into its two constituent words: Cult and classic. Cult means that a given piece of culture only appeals to a certain group, and that these devotees rarely make up more than a small subset of the overall population. But classic means that for these dedicated few, the piece of culture occupies a very special place.
It only took Disney ten years to kill Star Wars—Star Wars, one of the most legendary franchises of all time. Imagine telling your eight–year–old self that one day, a new Star Wars TV show would be released every couple of months, and not only would no one care, but the shows would be mocked and reviled. This summer’s release of Ahsoka, the latest Star Wars TV show, demonstrates just how far the once–great franchise has fallen.
The fashion side of TikTok and Instagram is booming. There are countless tutorials on how to incorporate color into your wardrobe like a Scandi girl, thousands of get–ready–with–me videos featuring French style button–downs and flared jeans, and endless clips of outfits of the day on the streets of New York City. In mainstream media, the West is synonymous with exemplary taste—NYC, Paris, London, and Milan are exalted as the world’s fashion capitals, and Western designers are worshiped for their pioneering collections. But why don’t we ever seem to hear about the groundbreaking style choices of the rest of the world? Why is social media constantly bombarded with posts romanticizing Western fashion, but rarely with those recognizing global fashion?
The past two years have seen the prolific rise of new female rap stars. From GloRilla’s “F.N.F.” to Ice Spice’s “Munch (Feelin’ You),” rising female rap stars have been at the forefront of pop culture. Indeed, these young stars’ rises have been marked by high–profile collabs like Ice Spice's verse on "Karma" by Taylor Swift, and cosigns by established veterans like Cardi B and Nicki Minaj. But St. Louis’ own Sexyy Red seems to be running ahead of her peers in terms of grassroots support. Her raw authenticity and infectious nature set her apart—and in comparison, the pull of her originality makes her contemporaries feel manufactured. Sexyy Red, currently best known for her “Pound Town 2” remix with Nicki Minaj and her solo single “SkeeYee” off of the album Hood Hottest Princess produced by Tay Keith, brings a genuine charm to a polished and even plasticky music industry.
It’s a summer night—warm and hazy, late August, cocktail of nostalgia, tranquility, and tipsy glee floating in on the breeze. Nobody quite feels like going home yet, so you and your friends seek out an after–dinner treat. You’re approaching the corner of 7th and Christian streets when you first catch sight of that familiar beacon of bright red, white, and green, jutting proudly into the pink sunset. You begin to salivate. You can practically taste the sweet, sultry mango flavor on your tongue, cold and crystalline and more refreshing than it has any right to be. It’s the taste of summer. It’s exactly what you need.
Solutions by The State News