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After a longer-than-expected hiatus from the Gatehouse (The News-Letter’s office), I’ve somehow found myself back here again to write my last column. It feels fitting. There is something comforting about being back in the space where I spent so much of the last four years. In fact, there were many weeks where I spent more time here than I did in my own apartment. It feels good to be back, though more than a little bittersweet.
When I was in what my secondary school called the Vth and all of America calls freshman year of high school, I took part in an exchange program with a school in D.C. When our plane landed, we were shuttled to the school in yellow school buses. We passed the Watergate Hotel on the way. My friends bought hoodies and coffee cups with the school’s name on them to take home to London. I saw huge sports fields and people playing American football. It was the first time that I found myself truly immersed in American culture.
Almost a year after Greta Gerwig released her take on Louisa May Alcott’s 1868 classic novel, Little Women has returned to our screens once again. This time, it’s in the form of an audio-play, courtesy of the Barnstormers. Having chosen the show way back in the spring semester, before the University announced that this fall would be completely online, the group lucked out in picking a show that, as producer Deb Weidman described, is “so story driven, so text driven, so character driven,” and could easily be translated to the audio format.
Over the past few weeks, I’ve spent a lot of time editing articles that have focused around the theme of joy. I’m not just saying this so that I can plug The News-Letter’s fall magazine, though you should definitely check it out — take even five minutes out of your day to read or watch one of these pieces and I guarantee it will brighten your day.
I turned 22 on Monday, and a friend casually asked me what my three goals are for the next year. This probably shouldn’t have caught me so off guard — Jan. 1, the first day of school and your birthday are the only three acceptable times in the year to set goals, after all. But eight months into the pandemic, I haven’t thought about long-term goals all that much.
Emily in Paris is Netflix’s latest top 10 easy watch. At just 10 episodes, each under half an hour long, you would be far from alone if you watched the whole series in under a day. The show focuses on Emily Cooper (Lily Collins) who is sent by her marketing firm in Chicago to be the “American perspective” at the company’s office in Paris after her boss discovers that she’s pregnant and can’t go herself.
There are a lot of terrible things happening right now, and it’s difficult to know how to acknowledge that while also putting something a bit more uplifting out into the world.
Content warning: I’m going to discuss suicide in this column. Please don’t continue reading if you aren’t in a place where that’s something you can read about — I know that I wasn’t for a long time. Take care of yourself, and if you or anyone you know is suffering, know that you are not alone, and that help is available. Please see the bottom of this article for a list of resources.
On Wednesday, March 11, we sat together in our Gatehouse office for the last time.
I just took a DNA test, turns out I’m 100 percent that b—. Well, not quite, but love you Lizzo. I took a DNA test in January, got the results a month later and found out that I’m not 100 percent anything. Don’t worry, it wasn’t some shocking turn of results — I knew my DNA would prove to be a multicolored pie chart.
About three quarters of the way through every concert that I’ve been to, I find myself transitioning from a state of enjoying the concert and the moment that I’m in, to realizing that the experience will be ending soon and feeling stressed about having to enjoy the performance.
European Horizons, an organization that is part of an international, student-run think tank, hosted a discussion called “The Brexit Mess” on Thursday. The group, which started on campus in 2016, organizes discussions and brings in speakers with the aim of broadening student engagement with issues in Europe. The group attempted to sort through issues with Brexit and to reflect on Great Britain’s current status with regards to the European Union.
I came away from Dean Lewis’ concert having learnt three things. Firstly, that all the best artistic inspiration comes from spending time in London. Secondly, that diamonds are definitely made under pressure. And thirdly, that Dean Lewis’ voice is even more beautiful in real life than it is over Spotify, which is something I truly didn’t think was possible.
“My break up tally: Break ups = 20000+; Cancelled engagements = 70; Divorces = 80.”
The first time I saw The Wombats live was in 2015 at the Reading Festival in the U.K. It’s a sort of rite of passage, at least for private school students in London, to spend three days after GCSE (the first set of big public exams for British students) results come out camped out in the mud, going to see as many different artists as possible, getting no sleep and spending as much money on bad food-truck food as you can.
Roughly a year ago, I wrote my first column for The News-Letter. In an attempt to “introduce myself” and this column, I unwittingly put myself into a box. I labelled myself as “the British girl” because that’s what I had already been labelled as by most people I’d met just a few weeks into my first semester here. I allowed myself to stay within that box, however, and I can only blame myself for that.
No one could say for even a moment that Crazy Rich Asians does not deliver on its title, despite our Uber driver telling me at length about how all he could think of was Crazy, Stupid, Love. when he heard the name of the movie we were on our way to see (which hadn’t crossed my mind until that moment).
While the Fresh Food Cafe (FFC) will probably be the place you go to most often for food, and the Baltimore Museum of Art (BMA) the place you go to most often when you need to feel like you’re doing something cultured, there are plenty of hidden treasures in Baltimore — if one only dares to pop the bubble.