Rachel del Valle
I do keep a journal, sort of. I can look back on it with minimal discomfort, and I don’t have to search through memorabilia boxes to find it. It’s my Facebook profile.
I don’t understand why it’s laughable that girls want to hang out with a bunch of other girls and drink and not get dressed up and just chill. That sounds a lot like bro culture to me, but no one writes articles blaming bros for declining marriage rates.
To huff and puff every time a woman is noted for both her beauty as well as her brains only reinforces the double standard females face in reaching positions of power. So what if someone says she’s pretty? Get over it.
There’s an unavoidable, nettling sense of superficiality that comes with mentally aligning yourself with a certain life — or in my case, lives.
Because sometimes you don’t actually have that much to do. At the end of every horrible week, there’s a calm, and you can either choose to embrace it or unnecessarily stress yourself out about the next thing.
So every once in a while, it’s a bit jarring to pause and realize that I’m living in 2013, in the United States, with a biracial president — and there’s still a current of latent prejudice everywhere.
Maybe we should just be more open. The fall 2013 courses are up on Penn In Touch, and as I scan over the hundreds of listings, I’m trying to temper my graduation requirements with my intellectual curiosity.
Today, instead of shifting education to match the new century, people point to the status quo as an argument to preserve it. But to suggest, for example, that there is a dearth of qualified minority candidates for administrative positions at Penn is evidence itself that the system is broken.
Defining yourself against something — “I don’t like chick flicks” — can be easier than finding something you do like. The only problem is that you often end up living up to those categorizations.
Jumping on the bandwagon after a season has aired and catching up on an online streaming service is becoming more and more common.
If I had been more diligent about checking the reviews on a hostel I stayed at briefly in Barcelona, I wouldn’t have my checking-out-at-4 a.m.-because-of-bed-bugs story.
Emailing is not that hard, in theory. Neither is texting. And, if we’re going to get really college-centric about this, Facebook messaging and G-chatting both require even less effort. So why is it that so many of us put off getting back to people?
I had never thought of the coffee I drank every morning as something exotic. I thought every country would have it, every bodega. I’d depended on it, really — I wasn’t prepared to go without it.
Being in Europe makes it hard not to care about the presidential election.
I’ll be leaving on a jet plane. Soon — I mean, relatively soon. I’m studying abroad in London next semester. Now that classes are over, that statement actually feels like it means something.
Our culture — especially the microcosm of Penn — values effortlessness, or perhaps more accurately, the appearance of effortlessness.
Most people, myself included, have a tendency to forget that others are more than just the props in certain parts of our day. They have dimensions, they have lives and offering some bit of recognition takes little to no effort.
This Wednesday, on the 100th anniversary of RMS Titanic’s maiden voyage, you can get your multi-dimensional Rose DeWitt and Jack Dawson on. You can yell at Rose to move over because there’s totally enough room on that piece of wood for the two of them.
One could argue that Mad Men’s boost between seasons was owed as much to investment as it was to buzz.
Before yesterday, I’d never had personal contact with an Encyclopaedia Britannica. I was a little sheepish when I went to see them in the reserved section of Van Pelt. I didn’t want to have to be the one to break the news. You guys are obsolete. I’m really sorry. You can all go home now.