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.
When it comes to campus cuisine, I feel like a freshman again. only better, because I'm a senior. Once more, I'm excited by all the surrounding eateries that I've yet to fully explore and exhaust - that, and three years later I'm still avoiding Commons.
I am terrible at keeping in touch. I can jump up and down stairs on a pogo stick, but despite every tool at my fingertips - cell phone, e-mail, Skype and even stamps and envelopes if I feel like going retro - I often struggle to maintain constant contact with my friends located far from Philadelphia.
At my high school, the graduating class each year held a "senior catharsis." This event took place outside of school, and was a special moment in which seniors and faculty gathered to share favorite memories - while laughing and crying - in order to approach commencement with a fresh outlook.
Though cathartic, shout outs are nothing like that.
Our semiannual, campus-wide discharge of rants, raves, and declarations of love is quite the release, but (I will admit) hardly sentimental.
A 21st birthday is a coveted thing. Friends who are already 21 finally welcome you into their special club - more commonly known as Mad4 - and friends who have yet to reach this arbitrary legal cut-off look with envy as you waltz into Wine & Spirits, fully confident in your purchasing ability.
But a girl's 21st birthday can mean more than vodka.