The theme for this year's roundtable consisted of three parts: tradition, conservation and continuity. Jackson introduced the event and asked the panelists, each from a different department, to consider how any of the three concepts might have echoes within their fields. The panelists included Associate Professor Jesse Rosenthal of the English Department, Professor Jennifer Gosetti-Ferencei of the German Modern Languages and Literatures Department and Associate Professor Christopher Lebron of the Philosophy Department. Drawing on Christian theories of hermeneutics, German Idealism and virtue ethics, the discussion spanned from ancient Greek tragedies to 18th and 19th century novels, tracing a continuity across disciplines and throughout time.

The first speaker, Rosenthal drew from his specialization in the Victorian novel and novel form to analyze the etymology of the English word "tradition." Much of his work studies literature of the 18th and 19th centuries, and the publication of his first book Good Form: The Ethical Experience of the Victorian Novel was covered by The News-Letter nearly a decade ago.

Rosenthal began with the multifaceted nature of his topic.

"Tradition," Rosenthal said, "is the water we swim in, the tool we use, and the object we critique."

What's interesting for Rosenthal is how the concept of tradition has passed through all of these different identities throughout time. While the term has its first known use in 1384, but Rosenthal observed that its undergone massive changes in popularity in the time since.

"The very idea of a great tradition - the idea that a tradition, in any sense we understand it, is great at all - is not old-fashioned. It was strikingly new," Rosenthal said. "The elevation - even the use in English - of the term 'tradition' was an innovation of the late nineteenth century and the early part of the twentieth century."

For proof, Rosenthal compares the few and far between appearances of "tradition" in the works of Jane Austen, Charles Dickens and early literary criticism to the overwhelming use of the term in the published work of Professor Jackson, literary critic Frederic Jameson and himself.

What could explain the dark spot in use lying between its original conception in the 14th century and its popularity in contemporary criticism? Rosenthal traces the connection between "tradition" and Catholicism; starting in c. 1425, the word referred to "doctrine... which, though not explicit in the Bible, is believed to derive from the oral teaching of Christ and the Apostles and to be divinely revealed." Tradition, relying on the divinity of priesthood, would've stood opposed to Martin Luther's Protestant Reformation and the belief in sola scriptura.

Perhaps, Rosenthal theorized, there might be a connection between England's Protestantism and the disappearance of the word "tradition" in English novels. He pointed out that when the word was used, it did not usually have the positive definition of a grand passing-on.

"Even George Eliot," Rosenthal said, "through most of her career, used the term simply to refer to the superstitions and folk wisdoms of her rural characters."

Tracing the associations of "tradition" throughout a period of English history, Rosenthal brought to the table varied literary and religious traditions pertaining to tradition.

On the other hand, Professor Gosetti focused her discussion on the other two topics: conservation and continuity. Her work combines literary study, philosophy of the imagination and the environmental humanities with methods of thought from 19th and 20th century Continental Philosophy such as phenomenology and existentialism. The themes of conservation and continuity appear in Gosetti's two book projects at the moment, one of which is on the possibilities of creativity - the nature of imagination - and the other which is focused on critical ecology - the imagination of nature.

For the first book project, the question of continuity is important for the realm of imagination and its products - literature.

"Through imagination," Gosetti said, "the literary work speaks across time, space and differences by evoking worlds that, while diverging in variable degrees from any real world, rely on familiarity with some world or other, and literature remains readable insofar as it still evokes dimensions of a common world."

Thus, imagination is what carries and continues the "common world" into the space of a literary text, yet the creative aspect of imagination allows for a departure and discontinuity from this common world into something wholly new and un-real.

Naturally, conservation takes on a very particular meaning in critical ecology, the subject of Gosetti's second book project. Continuity still plays a part; she analyzes the problem of imagining nature as discontinuous and separate from humans. In the time of the Anthropocene, it is indeed hard to imagine nature without the influence of humans, and a path forward in conservation requires understanding the continuities between the two.

Yet as much as the possibility of "becoming-animal," as French philosophers Gilles Deleuze and Guattari would say, sounds somewhat hopeful, Gosetti cautions us against the belief that we can easily and wholly assimilate into nature. While writers and poets like Rainier Maria Rilke have attempted to capture the perspective of animals for our understanding, nature also has the agency to resist our stories about it. The history of humanity's negative impact on the planet stands between an easy understanding of the two as one.

But the stories we tell about nature are nonetheless extremely valuable despite their possible pitfalls.

"Literature can be a resource for an ecological aesthetics responsive to the earth that avoids the hubris of claiming to speak for it," Gosetti concluded.

Literature, it seems, can and must balance on the tightrope between continuity and discontinuity, speaking of without speaking for, while inching toward a deeper understanding of our world and what should be done with it.

Similar to Gosetti, Lebron approaches the themes with a perspective toward action and the future. Working primarily in political philosophy, Lebron specializes in "social theory, the philosophy of race, and democratic ethics." Continuing the connection between shame and racial discrimination from his first book, The Color of Our Shame: Race and Justice in Our Time, Lebron looks back on Greek traditions of morality to help elaborate on the problem of racism in the United States today.

Lebron begins with an evocative formulation from African American writer and essayist James Baldwin's "Down at the Cross/Letter from a Region in my Mind." Baldwin finds something fundamentally wrong, a kind of ignorance, in the ethical disposition of white people; thus "whatever white people do not know about Negroes reveals, precisely and inexorably, what they do not know about themselves."

But what consists of this ignorance? Lebron answers this question using political philosopher Alasdair MacIntyre's After Virtue, which argues that modernity has lost the concept of certain ancient moral values, and that reviving an older vocabulary can help us describe our own ethical situation.

Taking up the tragedy of Oedipus Rex, Lebron argues for the ancient virtue of shame. Oedipus' incestuous sins were not understood to him at the time as sinful and thus draw the shame of not understanding what one is truly responsible for. Yet when all is revealed, Oedipus understands himself to have not met his own standards of morality. Lebron finds a parallel in the contradictory situation of the United States.

"The most profound feature of racial inequality," Lebron remarked, "is its presence in a society whose stated philosophical values explicitly deny the legitimacy of that kind of inequality."

The United States' contradiction in understanding itself to be liberatory yet acting otherwise -this is what Lebron diagnoses as shamelessness.

"Oedipus is in a sense completely free to live shamelessly, yet he is not free to live shamelessly and at the same time to live a good life or claim to have integrity, to be whole," Lebron said.

Shamelessness lies in the hipocracy to act one way and claim another, but recognizing shame is an important motivator to act.

"The story of Oedipus makes clear that his shame is reflective and not present in his ethical make-up for its own end," said Lebron. "It serves a distinct purpose which indeed turns Oedipus outwards: he is the cause of multiple catastrophes and he must find a way to respond appropriately." The traditional virtue of shame becomes the way for a path forward; Lebron thus argues for freedom through tradition.

The roundtable ended with an engaging Q&A session and open socializing. If you happened to have missed this year's AGHI Roundtable talk, you might find the tradition continued next year.

"Maybe you don't actually want the thing. Maybe you don't want it enough. Maybe you want the identity of the person that does the thing more than you want the work of getting it. Maybe you want it once and you don't anymore and you just haven't realized it yet." - Lindsiann Shi, Youtube Content Creator

This article is a direct and deeply personal reflection from watching the Youtube video by Lindsiann with the same title. It's shocking how among the 8.3 billion people on Earth, someone who lives thousands of miles away from you can describe your life so perfectly with a comment section full of similar people. What syndrome is this? What pandemic is this? Actually, is this even a bad thing?

If you're like me, you probably have five windows and 40 tabs open. You don't want to close them because you could potentially look at the information when you get the chance. You have Notion pages that keep track of your fitness, wish lists, to-dos and to-watches, ideas for the next trip, packing lists, and more. You click through the perfectly curated, color-coded blocks on your calendar, looking for a weekend when you could go somewhere and do something. Boston? London? New York City? Hawaii? Los Angeles? You refresh the flights page in incognito mode, watch the prices go up, regret not booking earlier, give up and repeat the cycle a week or two later.

You start a new hobby. You really enjoy it for the first three weeks. You buy a matcha bowl, a whisk, ceremonial-grade matcha powder and your favorite milk, only to make matcha twice and let the milk expire peacefully in the fridge. You've long wished for a vlogging camera, and you got it. You use it twice and decide that vlogging your life is too tiring, and, even if it's not too tiring, it's too much work to learn how to edit - and even if you can edit you don't have energy to always look presentable enough to film yourself. You start making Instagram Reels or TikToks and realize that you can never be an influencer because there's so many creative ideas and so many things you want to share, but you're afraid of judgment from the people you know and the people who might get to know you in the future.

And so your new hobbies disappear one-by-one, just like this. In the end, you return to your signature low-entropy state: doomscrolling on Instagram or TikTok or binge watching a show until your eyes are too tired to stay open. Another perfect day with perfect possibilities wasted. Another perfect dream that could've come true but didn't even begin.

You live at two extremes. You're either super excited or super exhausted. You're excited by the million things you want to accomplish, by the constant planning of new vacations or adventures or career paths, by the possibility of being a videographer, researcher, trilingualist, perfect child, perfect sibling, barista, athlete, writer - all at once. Then you're exhausted by the reality of passing your classes, by waking up in the same body as yesterday, by not being able to be all of those perfect human beings at the same time. You can't even seem to pursue the ideas one by one. And so you procrastinate, rot, feel guilty, discouraged, beaten. But who is making you feel this way? Sometimes the person making you feel the worst is yourself.

When we are in the middle of a whirlwind and we feel like we're getting sucked deeper and deeper into it, we just need to ask ourselves: do I actually want to do this? Do I want to keep doing it, or was trying it once enough? Do I want the identity of someone who does the thing more than I want the work of doing it?

To everyone who's been stuck in the "thinking but never doing" loop, maybe start by going outside for a bit. Try to be honest with yourself about what you really want and need. It's okay to want it all, and it's okay to want nothing at all. What's important is giving yourself the patience and grace to decide on whether the execution is worth it and whether you'll be happy after accomplishing it all.

Linda Huang is a junior from Rockville, Md. majoring in Biomedical Engineering. Her column celebrates growth and emotions that define young adulthood, inviting readers to live authentically.

There isn't much that typically goes on in Madison, Connecticut. A quaint, seaside vacation spot, Madison is remarkably beautiful, with cozy shops lining a singular, brightly lit thoroughfare in the town square. A quick Google search would inform you that my town is most famous for its "coastal charm," or, in other words, being a place where nothing out of the ordinary happens. I would have agreed with you most nights, but not on November 10, 2022.

At the time of the blue suitcase, I was 15 years old. Having recently discovered my independence, I often walked from my house to restaurants in town, going to dinner before watching a B-movie in an old-timey (yet newly renovated) theater that charges an exorbitant ticketing fee. On November 10, my best friend Joe and I trekked about a mile and a half to the only Chinese restaurant in town to enjoy a Friday night order of chicken fried rice. Having paid the bill with money that was not ours, we vacated the establishment and began the slower walk home for movie night.

As we headed back, a sloppily written sign on the otherwise perfect New England street took us both by surprise. In poorly penned Sharpie, it said:

FREE VINTAGE SUITCASE. NO FEE. TAKE IF INTERESTED.

The glaring redundancy of the first two sentences might have been a cue to keep walking for most people, but to two 15-year-olds in need of a break from the mundane, it was a mystery worth investigating. We calmly approached the suitcase, admiring the antiquity of its vibrant fabric before picking it up. As the cautious (wimpy) person that I am, I stayed a few feet away while Joe picked up the suitcase. Carefully raising it to chest level, he gave the box a few shakes before nodding to me in affirmation that there was something inside. The next step, we both agreed, was to open it. Unfortunately, the suitcase's rusty hinges were unyielding, and we were left to speculate on what could be inside.

"Maybe it's a bomb."

"Could be a million dollars."

​"What if it's another suitcase? Like one of those Russian doll things where they keep going until it's a ton of mini boxes. That would be some weird shit."

​The speculation is reminiscent of Schrödinger's Cat, a thought experiment in which a cat is placed in a box with a radioactive atom, a Geiger counter, a hammer, and a bit of poison. The atom has a 50% chance of decaying, and if it does, the hammer will destroy the flask of poison, ultimately killing the cat. Essentially, the idea is that the cat is in a superposition - existing in multiple states at the same time - while the box is closed and the result unknown, meaning it is both alive and dead. For Schrödinger, superposition demonstrated a core belief about quantum mechanics; for Joe and I, it demonstrated that a blue suitcase on the side of the road could house both a million dollars and a box of cigarettes.

The mystery crescendoed as we arrived back at my house a half hour later, the suitcase safely intact. Immediately receiving a questioning look from my stepmother, Joe and I ran upstairs to show my father. Feeling immensely proud of our conquest, I breathlessly recounted the story: dinner, the box, the potential bomb and the million dollars at stake. Brow furrowed, my dad took a beat before eventually deciding to help us solve the mystery, and the three of us worked to smash the hinges open, taking turns chipping away at the rust with a screwdriver until it eventually gave way. At long last, our labor had borne fruit. We opened the box, revealing…

six measly pinecones.

For a minute, Joe and I stood silent, staring at the box in disgust. By taking it from outside the store and into the house, we had given it life. We had given it a home. And it rewarded us with… disappointment. "They don't even smell good," I mumbled as we ambled downstairs, tossing the suitcase angrily in the garbage.

That night, Joe and I microwaved a trusty box of Orville Redenbacher popcorn before watching a stupid Netflix movie on the couch. We laughed about the foolishness of bringing home a suitcase on the side of the road. In its simplicity, that suitcase allowed us to reach beyond ourselves into a world where something outlandish, even magical, could happen. To experience nature in its truest, realest sense.

Bryce Leiberman is a sophomore from Madison, Conn. studying Political Science and Philosophy. His column explores questions of authenticity, purpose, and the slow work of becoming oneself.

Following these announcements, they continued an ongoing discussion regarding free speech for SGA members. This involves what members of the association are allowed to say in regards to subjects involving the SGA.

The directive wishes to assure that all Homewood students have a right to free speech regarding all matters of the SGA. The free expression initiative affirms that Hopkins students have the right to express their opinions freely and publicly without prior restraint. A discussion clarified the point that senators could always speak freely in their own name, as long as it is not on behalf of the SGA.

The resolution has not yet been passed, but was moved to the Civic Engagement Committee for further review. Additionally, a directive is being written and sent to The News-Letter to affirm the SGA members' ability to write freely.

The second reading, presented by senator Mamadou Thiam with Reagan Sam, Philanthropy Chairman of Phi Delta Theta, addressed issues involving waste that had been raised about the crab fest, which is hosted during Parents Weekend. Sam stated that this year they were anticipating a more accurate count of how many people were going to be attending the event, something they were unable to do the previous year because of issues involving Hopkins Groups and securing the space. With a more accurate estimate of attendance, less waste should be produced. The funding bill was passed.

A fundraising 5K, hosted by Pi Beta Phi, was also passed after discussion regarding funding and advertising for SGA. Students receive tickets for the event at a discounted price, and those who have already gotten tickets will get a partial refund the day of the event.

Lastly, Senator Sophia Baleeiro announced that the Trick or Treat funding bill, regarding an event taking place on Oct. 30, had a positive recommendation from the finance committee. There will also be an option for students to participate in a haunted house, with the first 100 students getting in without charge.

Oscar-winner Alejandro G. Iñárritu's newest film Digger stars Tom Cruise as a wealthy oil tycoon trying to save humanity before an impending disaster he started. Besides sporting movie star Cruise himself as the lead, the satirical black comedy holds a similarly stacked supporting cast with Riz Ahmed, Sandra Huller and Jesse Plemmons in supporting roles. As a satire, Digger seems to be a promising investigation into the perils of climate change and corporate greed simmering in our society. The film releases this Friday, Oct. 2.

1972 saw the airing of John Berger's influential BBC television mini-series, Ways of Seeing, which has since become a staple in many introductions to art history. The English-born artist, critic and essayist lived from 1926 to 2017, amassing a prodigiously varied oeuvre of novels, poetry, art, and literary and cultural criticism. He married four times and traveled the world; in the second half of his life, he self-exiled himself to a village among the southern French peasantry. Tom Overton, who has previously edited Berger's essays for the collections Portraits and Landscapes, takes on the challenge of describing such a life in John Berger: From Life. In capturing the man whose art was in writing about art, Overton, too, must paint a portrait with words. John Berger: From Life publishes on Sept. 29.

Just barely a year after the release of his fourth studio album Vanisher, Horizon Scraper, Quadeca is already returning to release another album, and it's gearing up to yet more proof of his endless creative evolution. While Vanisher saw Quadeca exploring a distinctly orchestral sound, the singles from Life 1 so far seem to indicate an album that will see much more electronic influence. Fans of indietronica and chamber pop will find Quadeca's new album chockfull of the type of joy that makes the mundanity of everyday life feel beautiful.

Too often, we think of the lush world of tapestry largely as a medium meant to blend into our floors, but Erin M. Riley's work has always been meant to provoke. By drawing from a distinctly American nostalgia, reflections on her past relationships and the erotic, Riley puts to fabric intimate views of her lived experiences. If you're searching for inspiration and insight, come watch her in conversation with the public at the JHU-MICA Film Center this Tuesday!

As always, we hope that something else in the full list below might also pique your interest:

To watch...

• Digger, directed by Alejandro G. Iñárritu - Oct. 2
• Verity, directed by Michael Showalter - Oct. 2
• Beware Boiuna, directed by Mike P. Nelson - Oct. 2
• Rolling Loud, directed by Jeremy Garelick - Oct. 2
• The Scout, directed by Paula González-Nasser - Oct. 2

To read...

• John Berger: From Life, written by Tom Overton - Sept. 29
• The Only Thing There Is to Want: A Memoir of Three Loves, written by Sarah Hepola - Sept. 29
• Everything Must Go: The Stories We Tell About the End of the World, written by Dorian Lynskey - Sept. 29
• Man in the Mirror: Hope, Struggle, and Belonging in an American City, written by Anand Giridharadas - Sept. 29

To listen...

• Life 1, by Quadeca - Oct. 1
• Frequency of Love, by Victoria Monét - Oct. 2
• hunting what we already killed, by Dev Lemons - Oct. 2
• QRÖMELIFE, by Quavo - Oct. 2
• walt disco, by Walt Disco - Oct. 2

Live events...

• Visiting Artist Talk: Erin M. Riley - Sept. 29, 2-3 p.m. at the Saul Zaentz Screening Room, 2nd floor, JHU-MICA Film Centre
  • This event is free.
• 2026 Latin American Film Festival: "Bacurau" - Sept. 30, 5-7 p.m. in Room 266, Mergenthaler Hall
  • This event is free.
• THE INVISIBLE YEARS Book Launch Event: A Conversation with Translator Lily Meyer - Oct. 1, 5 p.m. at Bird in Hand Cafe
  • This event is free with registration.
• The Marvelous Magic Lantern - Oct. 1, 6-7:30 p.m. at the Homewood Museum
  • Ticket prices vary between $5-10. This event requires registration.
• New/Next Film Fest - Oct. 1-4 at The Charles Theatre
  • Ticket prices vary.

Agre opened his talk by challenging the notion of the Nobel Prize as the achievement of a lone scientist. After sharing a humorous anecdote in which he credited his wife for much of his success, Agre distilled his message into four words: "Nobody does it alone."

Interestingly, one of Agre's most consequential collaborators was not a scientist at all. It was luck itself. The path to unveiling aquaporins arose from an unexpected finding. His laboratory was studying red blood cells when they encountered a mysterious 28-kilodalton protein.

"The discovery of aquaporin[s] was a total serendipitous observation. Anyone who tells you there was genius is really pulling a fast one because it was an example where a scientist ran into a lucky observation that was not anticipated," Agre said.

But chance alone did not elevate the mysterious protein into a scientific breakthrough. Rather than focusing solely on his own role, Agre repeatedly highlighted the mentors, postdoctoral fellows and collaborators whose observations pushed the research in unexpected directions. Notably, when Agre had first identified the mysterious protein, John C. Parker, his clinical mentor at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill at the time, recognized its prevalence in water-permeable biological systems and was the first to suggest the possibility of water transport across membranes.

"When I explained [to Parker] what this protein was like, and that it existed not only in red blood cells but renal tubules and in the roots of plants, it's like a light bulb went on over his head. [Parker] smiled and said, 'These are interesting because these are water-permeable membranes.' I'd never considered water transport… and so we sought to test this hypothesis."

With a possible function for the mysterious protein finally in mind, Agre turned to the next question: Could they prove that it actually transported water? Just as Parker helped provide the hypothesis, another collaborator would help produce the experimental evidence. Gregory Preston, Agre's first postdoctoral fellow, helped perform the decisive frog oocyte experiment to test whether the mysterious protein could actually transport water, demonstrating a dramatic increase in membrane water permeability associated with expression of the then-mysterious protein.

"That was extraordinary… Greg's enthusiasm and can-do attitude made it happen," Agre emphasized.

Demonstrating that aquaporins could transport water was only the beginning. Agre and his collaborators next sought to understand where these channels were expressed throughout the body and what physiological roles they played. Søren Nielsen, a postdoctoral fellow from Denmark, became instrumental in connecting the newly identified water channel to kidney function.

"Søren was a brilliant scientist. He localized, with great precision, the locations of the aquaporin-1 protein. It's in the proximal nephron of the kidney," Agre recalled.

Nielsen's work helped demonstrate how aquaporin-1 allows water to move across renal epithelial cells, contributing to the kidney's ability to concentrate urine. But Agre and his team soon found that the family of water channels extended far beyond the kidneys. Namely, aquaporins transport water in the eye, brain, sweat glands, skin, adipose tissue and liver, demonstrating connections to cataracts, brain edema, thermoregulation, skin hydration and metabolism.

As the known functions of aquaporins expanded, so did the network of researchers Agre credited with uncovering them. Looking back at a photograph of his laboratory, he pointed to a group of postdoctoral fellows from eight different countries.

"They've all contributed in important ways to the story," Agre said.

Beyond recognizing the researchers who contributed to the aquaporin story, Agre reflected on what emerging and experienced scientists alike could take away from his journey. Since serendipity played a central role in his own career, he emphasized that researchers can put themselves in a position to recognize unexpected findings.

"You can't engineer luck. But to some extent, you can increase your chances by being technically observant... If something unforeseen shows up and you're very careful, it might be important to take another look."

At the same time, Agre cautioned against treating every unexpected result as a breakthrough. He suggested that scientific curiosity must be balanced with the willingness to let go of findings that cannot withstand rigorous testing. Accordingly, he emphasized the value of discussing uncertain findings with other researchers.

"Having colleagues you can talk to and get wisdom from expands the database that you have to draw from."

In many ways, Agre's advice reflected the same lesson as that of his account of the aquaporin discovery: science does not progress in isolation. The importance of collaboration also emerged in the broader celebration of National Postdoctoral Appreciation Week. During the event's opening remarks, Johns Hopkins Postdoctoral Association Co-President Jose Francisco Delgado Jimenez highlighted the role of postdoctoral researchers and their mentors in advancing scientific discovery.

"Every day, postdocs enrich Johns Hopkins with countless ideas. Guided by our mentors, we develop research proposals, produce scientific publications, build collaborations and drive discovery towards a meaningful impact."

Although Agre stood before the audience as the Nobel laureate whose name has become closely associated with the discovery of aquaporins, much of his story centered on the people who helped make that discovery possible. From an unexpected protein to a Nobel Prize, Agre's journey echoed the four words with which he began his talk.

"Nobody does it alone."

The newly announced exhibit, titled "Tove Jansson and her Families," will feature previously unseen drawings and is "the UK's first ever exhibition to focus on Tove Jansson's work as an illustrator," and runs from Nov. 21, 2026, to May 9, 2027. Most famous for her work on the Moomins, hippopotamus-like creatures both endearing and blunt, Jansson illustrated extensively for numerous magazines and wrote novels such as The Summer Book and Fair Play outside her books for children. In the spirit of this retrospective exhibition, I too wanted to reflect on Jansson's work in the quarter-century after her passing in 2001.

Jansson's childhood

Tove Jansson was born to sculptor Viktor Jansson and graphic designer Signe Hammersten-Jansson in a Swedish-speaking minority within Helsinki, Finland. With a father whose sculptural work is still on display in her hometown, and a mother who "designed most of Finland's postage stamps from 1929 until 1962," Jansson was exposed to aesthetic, bohemian influences from an incredibly early age. The Quentin Blake Center's exhibition will include some of Jansson's earliest humorous magazines and booklets which she sold to her classmates starting from the age of seven.

Her tendency towards satire began early too. According to Jansson's biographer Tuula Karjalainen, she was reprimanded at 12 years old "for drawing a caricature of her teacher on the class black-board." At 16, Jansson went on to study art in Stockholm. While her parents' artistic influences followed her her entire life, she was also exposed to a great drive towards Modernism in the art world of the Finnish 1930s.

The Moomins

In addition to exhibiting her early satirical and comic works, the Quentin Blake Center's exhibition features art depicting "the origins of the beloved Moomins." The Moomins' origins appeared in political cartoons which Jansson drew for Finnish anti-fascist left-wing magazine Garm during her teenage years. According to Kathryn Davis' introduction to Jansson's The Summer Book, an even earlier version appeared as an "insulting portrait of Immanuel Kant... on an outhouse wall after she lost a philosophical quarrel with one of her brothers." Jansson would continue to illustrate for Garm until the end of its publication in 1953, contributing "around five hundred drawings... including every single cover from 1944 onwards."

In her illustrations for Garm, a Moomin-like, long-snouted creature would accompany her signatures. They thus represented Jansson herself, but they would also appear in her more grim, private work to represent "ghostlike and scary creatures... released from the shadowy forces of the subconscious." Yet during World War II, she began to reimagine the Moomins in a world of their own, and "through them she escaped" into the idyllic valley of her children's stories.

But the Moomins were not characters typically featured in magically happy children's books. It was important for Jansson to include more strife and more reality, wishing not "to shut out the mystery, tenderness and cruelty that were a part of the child's world." She may have wanted to escape from the war, but she did not want to deceive herself, nor anyone else. Children, like the main character Moomin or the mischievous Little My, are clever and rambunctious. Indeed, the characters of Moominvalley "often [say] rude things and even [swear] at times." They may not be role models, but they are funny and endearing.

Biographical Influences

Moreover, the Moomins and Jansson's other work often reflected the people in her own life. Family is central to the Moomins in particular. The main family consisting of Moomin, also known as Moomintroll, Moominmama and Moominpapa took after Jansson's own family. Jansson saw herself in the precocious Little My as well as in Moomin himself.

Moomin's best friend, the gruff, always-traveling Snufkin, takes after Finnish left-wing intellectual Atos Wirtanen, whom Jansson was in love with and briefly engaged to. Leaving Moomin and Moominvalley every winter to travel south, Snufkin parallels Wirtanen's absenteeism and need to be alone. Thus left behind, Moomin gave voice to his author's love and love troubles:

"Moomintroll, who waited and yearned so terribly. Who sat there at home, waiting and admiring, and who said: Of course you should be free. It's obvious that you need to go away. And I understand that you have to be alone sometimes.

And at the same time Moomintroll's eyes were dark with disappointment and helpless longing."

Jansson's other works, such as The Summer Book and Fair Play, are equally influenced by her family and loved ones. The Summer Book, written one year after the death of Jansson's mother Signe Hammersten-Jansson, is immanent with quiet grief. The story, a series of vignettes, is set on an island on which a grandmother and her six-year-old granddaughter Sophia live after the death of the latter's mother. They go about exploring the island, observing the animals, writing stories and talking to each other. The two discuss death with a funny casualness which only the very young and very old can manage. A daughter figuring out how to live without a mother, Jansson imbues The Summer Book with the striving working through of loss.

Similarly set on an island, Fair Play captures the serene love between two elderly women, the artist Jonna and the writer Mari. The story is inspired by Jansson's own relationship to her life partner and lover Tuulikki Pietilä, one of Finland's most influential graphic artists who taught at the Academy of Fine Arts, Helsinki. Like Jansson and Pietilä - who "spent every summer for nearly 30 years" on a "tiny barren island no bigger than a football pitch" - Jonna and Mari work on their crafts and their relationship with each other.

Work and Love

Tuula Karjalainen's biography on Jansson is titled Tove Jansson: Work and Love, named after Jansson's motto: Laborare et Amare. Through her career, Jansson shows that love and work are more than two separate practices to alternate between, but rather two things mutually influencing one another. Her work is full of the people whom she loved, and who loved her in return.

Published at a tumultuously political time, the Moomins drew criticism for "portraying an excessively bourgeois view of the family." It's true that Moominpapa, Moominmama, and Moomin live lives befitting traditional familial and gender roles. Yet their inclusion of and community with other characters, as well as Jansson's own nontraditional life, points toward the flourishing of multiple families, families beyond the family, as circles around one, enriching one's own work and love.

From comic books and outdoor movies to handmade crafts, astrology and neighborhood celebrations, this weekend offers a mix of creative and community events across Baltimore. Saturday brings the Baltimore Comic-Con, a screening of Dirty Dancing under the stars and a local makers market, while Sunday features hands-on sewing, an astrology workshop and the Abell Community Street Fair.

Saturday, September 26

Baltimore Comic-Con, Baltimore Convention Center, Sept. 25-27

The Baltimore Comic-Con returns to the Baltimore Convention Center for a weekend celebrating comic books, creators and pop culture. Attendees can meet artists and publishers, browse vendors, and participate in drop-in art workshops. The convention runs Friday through Sunday, with Sunday programming beginning at 10 a.m.

Silent Movie Night: Dirty Dancing, Canton Waterfront Park, 7-10 p.m.

Watch Dirty Dancing under the stars at Canton Waterfront Park during a special Rhythm & Reels Silent Movie Night. Attendees can follow the movie through event-provided headphones while enjoying the waterfront atmosphere. The event will also feature free popcorn with a gourmet toppings bar and a loaded baked potato bar from Raspberry Moments. Admission is $10 per person.

Mini Maker's Market - It's Fall, Y'all!, R. House, 12-6 p.m.

Head to R. House for the Mini Maker's Market - It's Fall, Y'all, a fall-themed afternoon featuring handmade goods, local crafts and food vendors. Shoppers can browse everything from candles and jewelry to ceramics, artwork and crochet pieces while supporting Baltimore-area makers. Admission is free.

Sunday, September 27

Live Patch Sewing Event by The Flying Puffin, The Charmers Club, 11 a.m.-4 p.m.

Stop by The Charmers Club for a hands-on customization event with The Flying Puffin. Choose a tote bag or clothing piece or bring in an item of your own, and personalize it with your choice of patches. Pricing varies depending on the item and customization.

The Astrological Sun: Getting to Know Your Sun Sign, Manor Mill, 1-3 p.m.

Explore the meaning of the Sun in astrology during this interactive class with ODastrology. The session will examine how the Sun relates to autonomy, creativity, self-expression and life purpose, including how it can manifest across different signs. Tickets are $40, and attendees should bring a pen and paper and provide their birth information when registering.

Abell Community Street Fair: "Over the Moon," Abell Avenue & 32nd Street, 12-5 p.m.

Celebrate the Abell community at its annual street fair, this year inspired by sci-fi and outer space. The event will feature a silent auction, porch concerts, local food and drinks, art, costumes, and neighborhood decorations. Admission is free, and proceeds support the Abell Improvement Association's year-round community projects.

1) 3-2-1 method

I often find that the transition phase between tasks is the hardest to overcome. If I'm in my bed and scrolling on my phone, the task of getting up and locking in seems daunting. To combat this, I use the 3-2-1 method: in my head, I'll count down from 3 and get up when I reach 1. This gives my mind something to do and distracts me while I get ready to start my task. I notice that after I begin, the work seems less stressful and I can truly concentrate.

2) Notes app

I don't know if it's just me, but I hate using planners. The task of having to lug around a book with me at all times is hard for me to stick to. Instead, I utilize the Notes app on my phone that I sync with my computer. Being able to jot everything down at a moment's notice and organize when I get home is more convenient and effective.

3) Take breaks

When you're on hour two or three of studying, your mind can lose focus easily. I find that taking a break is vastly beneficial.

Different ways to take breaks:

- Pomodoro method: 25 minutes of working followed by a five minute break, and repeat. You can find custom timers online, especially on Youtube, that can help set the aesthetic appeal of your study session (rain ambience is my favorite).

- Switching between tasks: If you have more than one type of work to do, it's best to take breaks from one type of work to do another type of work. It gives different parts of your brain time to rest. For example, yesterday I had terms to memorize for psychology and a long article to read for my film class. I divided my time equally between the two, spending 25 minutes on one and then 25 minutes on another. I felt more refreshed and productive, and I was able to focus for longer.

- Go for a walk: The most underrated form of taking a break. Sitting for long periods of time can slow your circulation and make you tired. Get your blood flowing on a walk, and you'll feel refreshed and ready to approach your work again with a fresh perspective.

4) Don't overload

There are so many cool organizations here, and I would love if I could join them all. At the Student Involvement Fair, I definitely felt some serious decision fatigue. However, overloading yourself with work can be detrimental, and you'll often find that putting your energy into two or three things you're super passionate about is better than joining as many clubs as possible and doing half-hearted work.

5) Optimal sleep

Contrary to popular belief, not all hours of the night are worth the same. Research from the Cleveland Health Clinic suggests that the best hours to be asleep are from 10pm to 2am, as that is when your body's natural circadian rhythm maximizes deep sleep and melatonin production. When given a choice, it's always better to prioritize sleep in this timeframe, even if that means having to wake up at an earlier time the next day to get work done.

6) Mindset is everything

While hard work is valuable, nothing is more important than your physical and mental health. Working too hard can cause a multitude of issues, and no one gets an award for suffering. Instead of overloading yourself, constructing a schedule that maximizes your own personal health and happiness is the most important of all. Make sure to do the things you like, whether that be having fun with friends or setting aside time to do your favorite hobbies. With good time management, you can thrive.

On campus, there are a multitude of resources to help if you are struggling. Go to this link to seek professional support if you are feeling down. It is never embarrassing to ask for help!

Stay safe, Blue Jays, and have a good semester!

With 24 songs for 24 hours, the album is split into 'day' and 'night' sides. The Day side songs share an autumnal wistfulness with a focus on live instrumentals Jepsen hasn't spotlighted so strongly since her debut. The Night side gives her classic synthpop a clubbier spin. There's no doubt Jepsen had little difficulty filling up 84 minutes - fans will recall her claims of writing 200 songs for Dedicated. The diverse production choices help the time go by quickly, but I question the inclusion of some of these tracks ('That's Just Me" goes in one ear and out the other).

The album's singles are well selected for the most part. "On Wires" and "After All" mark the public's introduction to the album's day side, and both remain among the strongest tracks on the record. The emphatic guitar-driven chorus of "On Wires" (with the classic Jepsen brass in the back of the mix) marks a radical departure from her typical sound. Meanwhile, "After All," a soulful and hazy fall-time picture of family life, opens the album as a natural evolution of the disco sounds from her previous The Loveliest Time. The Night side was represented in the singles department by "Don't Leave Me on the Dancefloor," which evokes ABBA in its bright piano keys and Robyn's patent 'sad banger' style. "Motivation" marks well-explored territory as a catchy, almost embarrassingly sincere dance-pop ode to found family.

The single "Versailles," released alongside the album, is perhaps most telling for Jepsen's intentions with her latest project. Stuttering piano appears and disappears as she switches in and out of a slower, ballad-esque tempo and a dance track to dissolve in. These adventurous production choices crop up in several other tracks, from the mild psychedelic distortions in "Something Tragic" to the closer of the Day side, "Just a Little Walk on the Moon." Her vocals in the bossa nova influenced song sound like they're emerging from an evening radio, as the album prepares for the night side of life. "Gimme your time, gimme your nights, gimme your days" she demands on "Habits of Creatures" - and who can deny her?

Jepsen's B-sides do tend to have the better songs - I staunchly maintain both Dedicated: Side B and The Loveliest Time are superior to their A-side counterparts - and this double album does not mark an exception. While the stripped back and instrument-based soundscape of the Day side do not always synergise with the pop star's strengths, her forays into new dancefloor territory on the Night side yield more consistently magical results.

"Never Let a Good Thing Die" immediately launches listeners from the Day side into the club, pulsating with jittery beats before expertly transitioning into an expansive outro. Right after, "Amalfi Coast" recalls Jessie Ware's nu-disco while blending a vocoder and synth to glorious house effect. Jepsen does not stray far from her usual lyrical grounds across the album, but in "Patience Power Passion" she delights in the irresistible bounce of the chorus, while in "Diver" she pulls out enough metaphors to please a high school English teacher.

Her warehouse of dance references expands with the build-up to the garage-style beat of "Near or Far," merging with her poppy sensibilities where "No Labels, I Love You" conjures up classic house for everyone to get up and dance. Fittingly, she draws the curtains on "Super Sage," an ethereal and enveloping track filled with love.

Day and Night is among Jepsen's more mellow and less immediate records, along the tone of The Loneliest Time. It is also perhaps her most ambitious album so far - released during one of the busiest periods of her life (keep an ear out for her upcoming 10 Things I Hate About You musical).

"My joke is that I'm at some point going to write a memoir, and it'll be called The Year We Did Everything at Once," she described in an interview with Elle. For an album which reflects this breadth, all of it - the new, the familiar, the great, the less-good - feels at home in the sonic world she has constructed in her musicianship.

This stylistic expansion is a new springboard to continue growing her flawless discography (yes, including Tug of War). As the world of dance-pop evolves, Carly Rae Jepsen strengthens her niche and keeps her loyal listeners excited to run away with her once more.

Hello, it's good to be back

Utilizing the iconic Oasis branding for headings, their tumultuous and meteoric rise through the '90s is captured with old clips that include concerts, television interviews and home videos. It's a fast montage that builds up the tension until the infamous Paris 2009 show - where an announcer revealed to the waiting concert crowd that the brothers had fought backstage, resulting in the end of Oasis. The brothers did not speak again for 15 years.

From there, we fast forward to 2025, when six weeks of band rehearsals begin. Noel arrives first at the nondescript location. One of the first things he admits in his testimonial is that he never forgives people. Then, some time into the rehearsals, his brother Liam arrives. He says little, getting straight into the music and leaving right after. It's a departure from his usual in-your-face behavior that surprises his brother, but he claims to respect it. This awkward, standoffish atmosphere mixes with the band's hard work ethic to prepare for their first concert in Cardiff, U.K.

As we see the brothers wait behind the curtain to go on, Noel says in the voiceover that Liam wasn't at rehearsal the day before. In an interview with The Guardian, the directors shared that there was "a palpable tension," and that how the show would go was unknown not only to them but the brothers themselves. Then, as they walked on stage, Liam grabbed his brother's hand and lifted it in the air - a moment Noel says was not planned, but that they repeated at every one of the 41 shows on the tour that followed.

At the end of the day, there were no weepy or dramatic apologies. Instead, over the course of the tour, there was the steady crumbling of walls both in the public onstage and in the private moments. Noel remarks that he forgot how funny his brother was, and how they message and spend time together outside of shows when they didn't before. It was a reconciliation that perhaps strengthened their bond more than ever before.

Return of the rock 'n roll stars

Lovelace and Southern excel at capturing the raw, charged energy of an Oasis concert. A sea of hands and waves of bouncing fans screaming the lyrics of decades-old songs as if they were brand new. Unlike some music documentaries, there are long, uninterrupted clips of songs played almost through their entirety. For those who may have missed out on the tour, it's a close second to the real thing. At one point, the Poznan dance is introduced and Liam's playful antics (roughly paraphrased to "I don't ask you to put your hands in the air like you just don't care like the others, but I'm asking you to do this. Turn around, give a little cuddle to the guy next to you and jump") bring a new layer of fun to the show.

All emotions are on display without inhibition. Notably, at the end of the Cardiff show, the movie audience becomes privy to those moments of reverence after a high-powered concert. Not just tears, but moments of laughter, embraces and even lying on the floor in equal parts exhaustion and wonder. To the sincere surprise of both brothers, the truths of their music still ring true today.

You're my wonderwall

As much as this film serves to celebrate the success and incredible music by the band, it also serves to thank the fans who have remained loyal in the face of all the doubt from the press and themselves. They've passed down their music to their kids, creating a new generation of fans who can connect with their messages of community, being yourself, trying your best and never giving up.

In the documentary, we see examples of the connections fans have with the band: A Welsh mother and her nonverbal son bond over a love for the song "Talk Tonight," a Korean free diver overcomes her depression through their music and young English woman who survived the Manchester Arena bombing with "survivor's guilt" finds a way forward with "Don't Look Back in Anger." It is these stories that highlight what makes these songs so powerful, even all these years later.

Midway through the tour, the brothers learn that Gary "Mani" Mounfield, their close friend and member of the groups Primal Scream and The Stone Roses, has passed away at the age of 63. It is a moment that shakes them both, and during the night's show they dedicate their song "Live Forever" to him. In the voiceover, Liam says that after he watched The Stone Roses from the bar one night, he was inspired to start Oasis.

Some might say

However, given the title of the film and history surrounding the band, it was surprising that little information was given on the coming back together of the band after all this time. It's a quick transition from the break up to the reunion. Although there is clearly tension, more time could have been used to discuss why the band decided to come back together at all. Both have had careers after the band's breakup (Noel Gallagher's High Flying Birds and Beady Eye, featuring Liam Gallagher and Oasis rhythm guitarist Bonehead) that enjoyed moderate success. So, why now? What was the ultimate catalyst? Perhaps we will never know.

Looking back

At the end of the documentary, it is revealed that the voiceover narration that runs throughout the film from Noel and Liam came from an interview they gave right next to each other the whole time. It's a humorous reveal given the sometimes heartwarming and sometimes blunt comments each has said about the other. Still, it is that chaotic brotherly love that makes Oasis what it is, and ultimately, what makes this rockumentary so heartwarming. As Noel described, they were rewriting the story of the band. It is now one of forgiveness and redemption.

Both a movie to watch and a movie about watching, Lance Oppenheim's Primetime is a drama film inspired by To Catch a Predator, a reality TV series from the mid-2000s starring Chris Hansen. Robert Pattinson, of The Twilight Saga (2008-2012), The Batman (2022) and The Drama (2026) fame, stars as Hansen in a thrilling reflection on the predatory nature of sting operations and the corrupting ambition to create ever more captivating spectacles at the price of human privacy. The film has garnered a lot of press for its exciting trailer, which uses split screens to play on the idea of mass media, and its negative reception by Hansen himself, who plans to take legal action against it. If you want to find out what's substantial at the center of all the controversy, check out the film when it releases Sept. 25.

There are movies to watch about watching or books to read about listening. Penguin Random House's new edition of Palestinian American literary critic Edward W. Said's Musical Elaborations is set to publish Sept. 22. Famous for his works in Middle Eastern Studies such as Orientalism and The Question of Palestine, Said also wrote and taught extensively on Western music. Musical Elaborations is a collection of essays from Said's 1989 lectures at the University of California, Irvine, exploring the tension between music as "an intensely solitary and subjective experience for the performer or listener" and as "public occurrence, fully implicated in the social and cultural world." The book uses the criticism of Theodor W. Adorno, Walter Benjamin and Paul de Man in discussion about Ludwig van Beethoven, Richard Wagner and Richard Strauss.

While the great canonical musicians might've prompted solitary reflection, R&B pop artist Tinashe's new album Popstar seems to be destined for those ego-death crowded moments at the club. Coming off the success of her hit single "Nasty" on Quantum Baby (2024), Popstar will be Tinashe's eighth album. Its singles include "Crash Out," "Too Easy" and "Pillow Fight," all with sparse yet catchy beats to accompany and emphasize her voice. Starry-eyed, Popstar's cover features Tinashe herself in headphones with stars across her irises. Can't wait to be starry-eyed yourself? Give the album a listen when it releases on Sept. 25.

Looking to combine a love for music with an appreciation of the visual arts? The Walters Art Museum is hosting "Art / Sound / Now with Love Groove," an event that combines the experience of the museum's galleries with live music. John Tyler, the organizer of Baltimore's Love Groove Festival, will curate the live performances for a night of food, drink, art, music and community. The event, taking place Sept. 24 from 6:00-7:30 p.m., is free and requires registration.

To watch:

• Primetime, directed by Lance Oppenheim - Sept. 25
• The Incomer, directed by Louis Paxton - Sept. 25
• Heart of the Beast, directed by David Ayer - Sept. 25
• Never After Dark, directed by Nebâ Afutâ Dâku - Sept. 25
• The Stunt Driver, directed by Michael Dowse - Sept. 25

To read:

• Musical Elaborations, written by Edward W. Said - Sept. 22
• Hollywood, Ending, written by John Green - Sept. 22
• Bad Bad Girl, written by Gish Jen - Sept. 22
• Blood Money, written by Anna Seghers - Sept. 22
• Playing Wolf, written by Zuzana Ríhová - Sept. 22

To listen:

• Popstar, by Tinashe - Sept. 25
• All My Demons Greeting Me as a Friend (The Moth Tapes), by AURORA - Sept. 25
• The Gem, by Julia Jacklin - Sept. 25
• Hotel Usona, by Protomartyr - Sept. 25
• Leave on a Light, by Max McNown - Sept. 25

Live events:

• Distinguished Artist Chamber Music Master Class Series - Sept. 21, 7:30-9:30 p.m. at the Cohen-Davison Family Theatre
  • This event is free.
• AGHI New Book Lunch (Teresa Bejan) - Sept. 23, 12-2 p.m. at Mergenthaler 431
  • This event is free and requires registration.
• The Walters Art Museum: Art / Sound / Now with Love Groove - Sept. 24, 6-7:30 p.m. at The Walters Art Museum
  • This event is free and requires registration.
• An Evening of Flamenco - Sept. 24, 6-8 p.m. at Carriage House, Evergreen Museum and Library
  • This event requires registration. Tickets cost $30-35.
• Acoustic Fridays at Bird in Hand - Sept. 25, 5-7 p.m. at Bird in Hand
  • This event is free.

I'm good at coming off crazy. It comes natural to me, and even when I don't necessarily subscribe to the brand of crazy I'm selling, sometimes it still slips out, like saying your old age the day after your birthday. Just recently, someone described to me being a project starter but lacking follow-through, and I asked if they were an Aries. (I do not believe in astrology, really.) That isn't my only offense, and usually, the energy of the conversation drops by 10 degrees as if a ghost passed by. Another way I've been my own worst brand ambassador: talking about ghosts, which I also have a neither-here-nor-there attitude on but which I won't give up in conversation.

Crazy, when applied to me, is not a coded word. Or, if it is code, then it only translates to something innocuous, like "a lot to deal with too early in the morning." There are people we pass everyday, however, who are stamped as "crazy" in a way that feels wrong to write without quotes around it. I met a lot last summer, and as I just sat down to write something - I had no plan going in - they spoke to me like the chorus in an ancient Greek drama. Right there is another one of those statements the like of which has killed conversations for me before, but within it is a collision of the two worlds I've discussed so far: the "crazy" speaking to the crazy.

Methods of modern transportation make me sad to think about when it comes to how they affect socialization. In fact, more than a broken record, I'm a car spinning out when it comes to this topic, seeing how I've written twice about trains, "crazy" people and feeling anti-social. I'm coming back for thirds - but this time, have no fear, because now it's all about buses.

Before I even cite the evidence I unintentionally gathered this past summer - which, by the way, is that not the most beautiful kind of evidence? the unintentionally gathered? - I want to acknowledge something: Of course, I know this topic is a tenuous (im)balance between humanity and safety. We have constructed a society where one person's prioritization of their own safety necessarily lessens the humanity of another being. I am not claiming anyone should feel guilty for keeping themself safe, nor am I arguing that they should stop; instead, I am trying to not normalize, as I think is happening, the dehumanization of someone else simply because we are conditioned (sometimes rightfully) to believe they are "dangerous," which we euphemistically call "crazy," the kind with quotes and obviously comes from other social determinants.

How would you like me to stop pontificating and bring in the stories, the raw material, which I've been pussyfooting around?

With some friends from my internship in San Francisco this summer, I was returning home on a public bus. We were talking in our closed circle when a man not much older than us began laughing at some of the quips we made, then added a few of his own. This summer forced me to realize more than I had before the conditions that have emboldened me to be friendlier to strangers in circumstances when no one else is: Not only am I, yes, a large-framed white man, but I'm from the Midwest, where conversation with strangers is as guaranteed when setting foot outside your house as seeing a pickup truck.

That is to say, I did not want the man to feel shut down by our group, so I politely responded. Sure, I can admit that the things he was saying were awkward, but there was insufficient reason to assign malice. It was tolerable for the remaining five minutes of our bus ride.

Just now, I was going to write a comparison to introduce an older man who briefly jumped into our conversation on that bus as well. Something cliché came to mind at first, "Like moths to a flame, passengers joined my friend group's discussion," but then I realized how even a statement so small and "harmless" as this only bolsters the habits I'm railing against. Why are my friends and I, young and educated and vivacious (if you'll allow me to flatter myself), the thing burning bright and hot, and everyone besides us are low down on the casting sheet, the ugly, hated and dusty monsters of moths?

Once we disembarked, we all laughed. "Wasn't that crazy?" However, in lightheartedness, I was asked why I in particular talked so much to the man, though by my standards I didn't think I did anything unusual. Meanwhile, others traded their experience, stories and tactics in how they have trained themselves to disengage from strangers, no matter how friendly.

As a child, I once gave credence to every parent's worst nightmare, and I wasn't punished for it. As I walked home alone, a neighborhood man offered to drive me the rest of the way because it seemed as if it would rain. I said sure, and thankfully, nothing bad happened. Perhaps this, in part, either explains or exemplifies my pollyannish attitude toward strangers.

Another time last summer we took a sunset bus to Ocean Beach. There was a man whom everyone on the bus carved a vacancy around, despite no obvious reasons why. Or, I should say, no valid reasons why. Yes, he appeared like someone who you could guess people would avoid, but it was purely cosmetic: In his behavior, he displayed no serious threat to having someone beside him. So, following urinal etiquette, I left only a one-seat gap between the man and myself, while the next nearest person was across and five seats down from him.

He started talking to us, complimenting some of our styles, saying he looked like us when he was younger, when he would go to the movies with his wife, whom he misses since she passed. In my mind, I started feeling indignant on this man's behalf that everyone would treat him so inhumanely from appearances alone. He was becoming gradually more energized from having people to talk to, and he began telling a long-winded and meandering joke, which I followed keenly even as he was marring the telling with his excitement, causing everyone else to adopt faces of visible concern.

The gist was this: There's a dead body with a cork in its rectum, and when you remove it, the anus begins to emit a sound. In the man's retelling, this sound was a sort of jazz scatting, which he put his everything into, erupting into a scat and flailing his body in a way that caused others on the bus to begin staring. The punchline came when a medical examiner is invited from far away and late at night to witness the oddity, to which he responds, "I didn't come all this way to hear some dumb ass sing!"

A joke like this pushed the man irrevocably into the territory of "crazy." Everyone, it seemed, immediately treated him like a criminal because of how the joke was so unheard-of to any of us, and it involved a dead body and also a bizarre scatting. However, after the fact, I discovered that this joke is actually well recorded, even if the man's jazz and punchline seem to be undocumented permutations.

I've made a good case for this man so far. But in the end, shortly before we were about to step off the bus in perfect terms, he said something off-color and bigoted in a way that caused us to stop talking with him, proving everyone else "right" who didn't engage from the beginning.

But were they really right, and were we wrong? Is there a way to tell by looking at someone, by making surface-level observations, that they are destined to pose a threat to your safety in some way - and how certain do you have to be to act on this?

We live in a society where daily we walk by and ignore people in obvious need of help. We pacify ourselves and square this behavior that we're ashamed of by claiming that it's for our safety, and sometimes it is, but I believe we all know that, really, most of the time the people we ignore are victims of circumstance themselves who cannot, nor do they want to, turn us into victims of something else. I know "most" is a weighty claim, but I would invite you to consider: If one feels the majority are indeed threats to safety, how can one be certain they aren't ignoring the rest to such an extent that they cannot even call them to memory once they pass by?

We do not want to believe the things that have happened to others less fortunate could happen to us or any ordinary person. We pretend that the daily war they have been drafted into was instead a "tragedy" that they practiced, auditioned, rehearsed for and perform for us to scrutinize, leaving us feeling better about ourselves after.

Riley Strait is a junior from Olathe, Kan. studying Writing Seminars, English and Anthropology. He is Voices Editor for The News-Letter. His column, "In Medias Res," translates from Latin to "into the middle of things," shares narratives that bury occasional insights within fluffthat often leave the reader wondering, "Did I ask?"