Twas the day before Fling, and up to campus’s edge,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a pledge.
The booze had been smuggled into the Quad with care,
In hopes the RAs wouldn’t know it was there.
The students in class wished they were in their beds,
With visions of fried Oreos dancing in their heads.
Tonight’s festivities would include a downtown jaunt,
Mashups and dancing at our fave nighttime haunts.
Papers and exams seemed so very far away,
Kegs and eggs is how kids would choose to start their day.
Friday would bring inflatables and the yummiest of food,
A cappella performances would help complement the mood.
Fling wouldn’t be complete without a funnel cake or two,
Not to mention a trip to the Zete petting zoo.
The DP’s Quad booth promised photos and more,
Oh, there’s such well-deserved fun in store!
The Green would be filled with lots of earthly delights,
(Study the back of our insert so you don’t miss the sights.)
When nighttime cometh, Akon would take the Fling stage,
With the Guster boys in tow (check out our first insert page).
But be wary, dear reader, of your Flungover state,
Make good choices, drink water, be smart and be safe.
And when Sunday comes, there is one thing you must do:
Submit lots of Shoutouts, we want to hear from you!
Stage Five Flinger,
Julia
We love lists. We love making them, reading them, crossing things off of them. Each issue of Street starts with a story list and ends with a production checklist.
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.
My friend Kara’s favorite game is to ask new acquaintances to describe in explicit detail what they would eat (every meal and in-between snacks!) if this was their last day on Earth.
I am a nomad. I have lived four different places in my not-quite-three years at Penn, not to mention the two summers I’ve spent in New York City dorms.
When I was the Ego editor way back in the fall of 2007, my co-editor Chloé and I came up with a slew of questions that we routinely asked our Egos of the Week.
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.
“Isn't having a letter from the editor on the first page of your magazine self-indulgent?”
This was the question I was posed last month by a fellow editor at a peer publication.
While some of you frolicked in Cabo or hobnobbed in Aspen, I spent most of winter break holed up in bed (thanks Streptococcus pneumoniae!) in the ’burbs of the Midwest.
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.