For Mikel Elam, the canvas is a portal.
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For Mikel Elam, the canvas is a portal.
Lauded as a pinnacle of American history, Philadelphia is known for its rich, colonial roots. From Elfreth’s Alley to Independence Hall, Philadelphia is replete with historical sites and districts that have continued to attract tourists from across the globe.
It's too easy to not give full attention to a movie.
Editor's Note: This is (strictly speaking, no guarantee) the longest article we've ever published in the history of Street. Sadly, as much as we'd like to, we at the office can't watch the show back–to–back together in order to copy edit the piece and make sure Isaac has got every tiny detail right—that's the task we've left to all of you. I can't speak for everyone else, but I'm so ready to dive into Riverdale world immediately after this is published.
Twenty years ago, Roberto Aguirre–Sacasa, a former Glee writer who would go on to become the Riverdale showrunner, received a cease–and–desist order from Archie Comics the night before the world premiere of his adapted play, Archie’s Weird Fantasy. Archie Comics forced Aguirre–Sacasa to change his characters' names, distancing them from the pre–existing IP, as the company thought that portraying Archie as gay, which Aguirre–Sacasa intended to do, would “dilute and tarnish his image.” So the team bit the bullet, changed the names, and premiered Weird Comic Book Fantasy instead of Archie’s Weird Fantasy, following the grown–up lives of Tapeworm (Jughead), Monica (Veronica), Rosie (Betty), and an out–of–the–closet Buddy (Archie). Oh, and also the play included AIDS, the Leopold and Loeb case, and a meta–commentary on the head of EC comics. Is it any wonder Aguirre–Sacasa’s Riverdale would end up going in the myriad of increasingly fantastical directions?
The day is almost here. An explosion of Penn pride is only a breath away. Homecoming, an annual tradition dating back more than a century, welcomes students and alumni alike to celebrate school spirit and enjoy an all–American game of football. This Saturday is the day for Penn kids to rally. To flood the streets with blue and red. To darty–hop all the way down Locust to Franklin Field dressed in their finest bookstore merch. To cheer on our fellow Quakers against Cornell and the Big Red Bear. And, of course, to raise a toast to our dear old Penn.
It’s drizzling rain outside in The Sculpture Courtyard, a mixed indoor–outdoor event space in Northeast Philadelphia. Murmurs, fragments of conversation mix with the icy and distorted synths of “Hedphrlym,” an ambient techno song. Guests walk by in military boots, colorful patchwork jackets, layers of silver punk chains. Here, on a Friday night, unique characters and personalities reveal themselves, liberated from the rules and normalities of daily life in Philadelphia. It’s a new, alien world, one defined by both individual self expression and a strong sense of community. This is not the “land of the free” anymore, it’s the Land of the Free(ks) fashion show.
In the competitive landscape of Penn, where pre-professionalism often reigns supreme, students often feel lost amid the relentless pursuit of perfect resumes, impeccable cover letters, and LinkedIn profiles. In the midst of this, Christine Kong's journey stands out as a testament to the value of intellectual curiosity. She not only thrives in her chosen major but dares to explore her passions, whether they lead her to the lab bench or the symphony stage. As she approaches the culmination of her time at Penn, Christine imparts a vital lesson—one that emphasizes the profound significance of exploration.
When someone tells you that a live show was “absolutely insane,” the image that comes to mind is a packed house, blaring noise, and a mosh pit that threatens to swallow you alive. On their current tour, however, Xiu Xiu presents a very different kind of madness—at any given show, you’re likely to find rapt crowds, plenty of personal space, and moments of eerie silence to balance out the wall of sound hurled out from the stage. At small, intimate venues across the country, Jamie Stewart, Angela Seo, and David Kendrick treat their audiences to not just an incredible concert but an emotional journey.
If you’re a chronically online TikTok addict who probably spends too much time scrolling (totally not speaking from experience!), chances are you had a neutral phase. Everything (and I mean everything) from the T–shirt you wore to bed to the art you decorated your walls with had to fit within the color schemes of beige, grey, white, and black. Color was so distasteful, so old–fashioned, so cheugy!
Content warning: The following text describes suicide and can be disturbing and/or triggering for some readers. Please find resources listed at the bottom of the article.
Despite life’s unpredictability, fall welcomes the return of several autumnal constants: birds fly south, Starbucks rolls out its infamous pumpkin spice latte, and the Gilmore Girls aesthetic starts trending again.
Jennifer Egan's (C '85) name has been in my mind for a long time. I remember it from bookshelves, New Yorker articles, and award lists. But it was only when I came to Penn and realized she was a Penn English graduate that I truly delved into my obsession with her literary work.
Any person semi–familiar with mainstream country music knows whiskey, beer, and dirt roads like the back of their hand. These often cliché motifs limn radio—friendly portraits of small town bliss. Their inescapable presence in the genre has been a particular point of criticism, due to the lack of originality and performative “southern working class culture” they perpetuate. But, few lyrical landmarks are better traveled in the genre than the pickup truck. HARDY’s “TRUCK BED” bemoans his actions that led his girlfriend to break up with him, as he woke up on the “wrong side of the truck bed this morning.” Morgan Wallen sings about battling alcoholism on “Born With A Beer In My Hand” and mentions that he “put some scars on some trucks, [him]self as well.” But perhaps even more dominant are trucks’ presence in female country artists’ discographies, love songs and all.
Picture this: it’s the beginning of October, and everyone around you has begun setting up spooky decor and planning their slayest costumes for Halloweekend. You go to your nearest Spirit Halloween or Target to get supplies, maybe planning to dress up as Barbie or Oppenheimer. Do you ever notice what music they’re playing on the radio?
“What’s your favorite scary movie?”
In the Victorian era, “coming out day” evoked a stifling image of gloved upper–class girls lined up and formally presented to high society. Today, the term means something else entirely—sharing part of your identity with family and friends, rowdy street celebrations, and boisterous declarations of love. Nonetheless, some members of the LGBTQ community still see a thread of resemblance between the daunting rush of declaring one’s sexuality and the now archaic debutante, terrified and forcibly exposed to the world.
Name: Isaac Gateno
From dislocated knees to broken arms, humans are inexplicably prone to injury. More often than not, everyone at some point has found themselves lying in a hospital bed, nervously awaiting a doctor’s examination while a nurse offers them a calming smile and a comforting array of cafeteria snacks. For many people, hospital visits are a normalized aspect of one’s adolescence, certainly unenjoyable yet dually inevitable.
Troye Sivan’s third album, Something to Give Each Other, is a cohesive mixture of club and dreamier pop sounds, boasting a total of three singles out of a ten–track record. Though boundary–pushing, the album shines as a healthy progression from his past singles and features, with some sonic similarities to 2020 release “Easy” with Kacey Musgraves featuring Mark Ronson and 2021 solo release “Angel Baby.”