So. Here’s what I’d like to do:
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So. Here’s what I’d like to do:
In my last column, I wrote about pop culture events that were significant to me and also acted as time markers in my years at college. I keep thinking that it feels like I just moved into my freshman dorm yesterday, but when I think about certain songs that were hits during orientation, for example, it seems like eons ago. Oh, and high school seems like an eternity away.
Congratulations, freshmen! You’re no longer the babies of the Hopkins fam bam. The title of Baby Blue Jay now falls to all the newly admitted members of the Class of 2019.
In this column I will attempt to answer ethical questions that you, the readers, email me. You can direct your questions to email@example.com. I am in no way an expert on ethics, but I enjoy thinking and talking about it, and I’ll do my best to answer your questions in a reasonable and straightforward manner.
Everyone’s favorite f-word is having a moment of limelight and galore. Ideally, we would all celebrate by reading some Woolf, waving flags with “We can do it!” or “Votes for women!” feeling beautifully independent or independently beautiful, but there are some issues to tackle first.
Two weeks left of classes and about one month until graduation. I’m trying to keep my head down, distract myself with work, but the butterflies bat violently in my stomach. I tried on my graduation robe a few days ago; I bought a frame for my diploma. There is so much left to do and think and feel that I’m capsizing into stillness.
Hopkins, as far as I can tell, is not a particularly cheery place. Despite the best efforts of student life groups to combat the dour presence with free hugs and pumpkin smashings, the source of this cultural campus malaise has deep-rooted seeds.
I have a problem — a very real, pressing problem — with falling asleep. Always. In any position: seated, standing, leaning casually against a doorframe. No matter the temperature of the room or the volume of the environment; no matter how socially acceptable sleeping may or may not be, a tired Lily (though let’s be real, a typical Lily) will always be found asleep.
I’ve been asked a lot lately how it feels to be a senior, and I give everyone the same response: It feels good, but I love college and don’t want it to end.
Spring break came and went, and despite our new tans and the monster of a hangover, we’ve been thrown back into the Hopkins minefield.
Spring break is usually the time where you see only bikinis and burns for miles. For me, however, I’m always in Ireland during break, getting paler and staying indoors. The one benefit to my overcast country is getting to see the trends across the pond and how radically different they are than the ones here. The outfits are tighter, the hair is voluminous and jeans are rarely on the horizon.
The author of the poem “Candy is dandy but liquor is quicker” got it all wrong: any self-respecting dandy would agree that liquor trumps candy when it comes to dandiness — so does sartorial elegance, quick-witted banter and quoting “The Flowers of Evil,” probably.
There’s an odd, pervasive murmur that seems to follow myself and many of the seniors that I know. It sighs, “I’m tired.” It whispers, “I feel diluted.” It moans, “Get me out of here.”