In an effort to make flying a little more pleasant this spring break, I decide to pack light. I threw a few sweaters, some jeans and a couple pairs of sneakers in a bag and headed to good ol’ PHL International.
With everything awash in red and pink during this most hallowed/dreaded of Valentine’s weeks, my thoughts turn to soulmates of the fictional variety, those people you just know you’re meant to be with… if only they were, you know, real.
In the Cameron Crowe classic Say Anything…, Diane Court explains, “I have a theory of convergence, that good things always happen with bad things.” This moment marks for me such an intersection: today is the much-anticipated arrival of shoutouts and my last letter as Editor-in-Chief of this magazine.
The Social Ivy. We’ve all heard the phrase, whether during the tours we took of Penn as high school juniors or from our own mouths as we explain to non-Quakers why they should be impressed with our credentials.
Everyone knows what a large number of Facebook friends signify: you are popular. Or you're so deluded that you request friendships from random people who, in desperate need of appearing popular, accept said requests.
It’s only when my parents make me decode my own speech that I realize how much of what we say is in the form of acronyms: there are Penn acronyms (DRL, UA, LT’s…), Internet-inspired acronyms (LOL, BRB, ROTFL) and acronyms for just about everything else (DMV, HSM…1, 2, and 3, USA). And floating within this acronym soup is the game that goes by the initials KMF: kill, marry, fuck.