From under the button
N o one wants to hear my senior wisdom (trust me, I read your comments) so rather than share my prudent advice, I want to tell you about my favorite campus landmark: The Button.
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N o one wants to hear my senior wisdom (trust me, I read your comments) so rather than share my prudent advice, I want to tell you about my favorite campus landmark: The Button.
Every week, hundreds of Penn students file into dusty classrooms in West Philadelphia’s middle and high schools where they tutor students in math, English and science. It’s hard work, no doubt, but it’s worthwhile: Based on state assessments, less than 40 percent of students in the School District of Philadelphia can do basic algebra.
O nce, when I was traveling abroad, I ate a truffle so delicious that I was inspired to create an account on TripAdvisor just to write about it. In my review, I gushed about the flavor of the truffle and recommended the restaurant, Josephine Cafe, to anyone in the area.
B ack in January, a Duke freshman named Thomas Bagley was huddled up in his dorm room, watching porn on his laptop, when he saw something that made him pause the scene. He squinted at the girl, and although she was sprawled naked across the screen, he was sure: It was a classmate of his, a fellow Duke freshman.
I t ’s Valentine’s Day. The candles are lit, the lingerie falls to the floor, the condom is on and then … nothing. She’s just not that into it.
Okay, Glass. It’s time.
There was a time when Philadelphia was synonymous with the cheesesteak. And then there was a time when Philadelphia became the city of Swiss cheese — specifically, Swiss cheese wrapped around the penis of a man on the loose.
Just before I slipped out of my dress and splayed my bare legs, she asked me for my number. I was perched on the cold plastic chair in my gynecologist’s office, wincing just slightly in anticipation for my annual check-up, when she asked: “How many sexual partners have you had?”
Trending in The New York Times “Health” section last week was a story, audaciously titled: “In Hookups, Inequality Still Reigns.” Readers may have been shaken (though certainly not surprised) to find the Times spilling another thousand words bemoaning our generation’s taste for casual sex.
I have never been pregnant.
It always begins innocently enough. You’re browsing through your Facebook feed, cheerfully clicking along, until it hits you. There it is: your ex, probably looking jaunty and well-adjusted, possibly posing blithely with a new lover.
Two years ago on Halloween, my best friend and I chose to dress as Adam and Eve. My interpretation of the mother of creation— little more than a few leaves and a ripe, shiny apple — was about as close to naked as I could get.
When college freshman Eryn Hughes and her boyfriend realized they would go long-distance during college — she matriculated at Penn, and he enrolled at Duke — they considered breaking up. But after just a few weeks into their respective college lives, it was clear that they still wanted to be together.
Like a flash of bright-white lightning, half a dozen streakers tore through Lower Quad’s junior balcony at midnight on Monday.
Forget waiting for birthdays or Hanukkah — you can have a present delivered to your door every month, for one low monthly rate.
If only for a fleeting snip of a moment, it looked like Penn could be a contender for the Top 10 Party Schools of the Year.
With his signature flair and haughtiness, Anthony Weiner conceded defeat in his campaign for the mayor of New York City on Tuesday night by flipping the bird at a pack of reporters.
Twerking: it can’t be tamed.
At the crossroads of Locust Walk and 37th Street, freshmen amble in wide circles, making great adjustments to their strides to avoid the Compass. Penn folklore holds that a foot on the compass means failing your first midterm.
Dear Class of 2017, Now that your parents have ducked back into their rental cars and headed home, you can breath a sign of relief: you’re finally at college! You’ve made it! You can now stay up as late as you want, scarf down ice cream sandwiches for dinner and even have sleepovers where you don’t stay in your clothes (provided your roommate is accommodating)! Over the summer, while you were likely buying overpriced Penn T-shirts and Facebook stalking your future classmates, you may have seen the feature that ran on the front page of “The New York Times” about sex and hookup culture at Penn. More specifically, your parents may have seen it, and grumbled some sentiment of concern and fear about attending such a sex-soaked university. If this was the case, I’m happy to pacify both your and your parents’ concerns by telling you that sex at Penn is not altogether the way that it was portrayed in “The New York Times.” This campus is not a bastion of casual sex, fraternity hook ups and the occasional moment of sexual “cost-benefit analysis.” Oh no, young freshman. It is much worse than that. Penn is a place where sex is everywhere — except for conversation. You have likely already attended a frat party and witnessed uninvited grinding or a dancefloor makeout (note to Kate Taylor, it’s abbreviated DFMO, not DIFMO). There are human-sized vaginas that parade up and down Locust Walk every spring in honor of the Vagina Monologues. And throughout the next month, your hallmates will gradually — or immediately — deplete the pile of free condoms provided by your RA. But students rarely engage in honest-to-goodness conversations about sex. Unless, of course, they’re speaking covertly to New York Times reporters and only under the guise of their middle initials. You’ve spent the last week attending countless sessions about how to maximize your college experience, from taking advantage of the general requirements to joining all the extracurricular activities you can stomach. But here’s what no one is telling you: your maximal college experience can also involve sex — and not just having sex, but also learning about it. If you’re as smart as Amy Gutmann told you that you are during your freshman convocation, then you’ll take it upon yourself to find out — whether or not you’re doing the dirty. For starters, do you know the difference between ejaculation and orgasm? Have you ever heard of the Philadelphia Masturbate-a-Thon? Are you even sure what you’re really into, beyond vanilla missionary-style sex? As Penn students, we ought not confine our knowledge to “quantitative data analysis” and “formal reasoning,” but also to the realities of our social interactions, including sex. But while you’re engaging in your collegiate sexual education, don’t feel compelled to start hooking up just because “everyone is doing it.” That would be a stupid reason, both because peer pressure is a stupid reason to do anything and because everyone isn’t doing it. As reported in the 2011 Sex Survey by 34th Street, over 30 percent of Penn students are still virgins. And that’s totally cool. In fact, Penn is a place where you can remain virgin for all four years if that’s what you choose. I do, however, sincerely hope that you’ll allow yourself to explore sexually — on your own terms — during your freshman year. As a bonus (for you Whartonites), recent research from the Institute for the Study of Labor found that people who have sex more than four times a week garner 5 percent higher salaries. More than anything, however, I hope you’ll help to make Penn is a place where you can, for the most part, talk about sex — intellectually or casually, philosophically or clinically, sociologically or personally. It’s up to you, my dear freshmen, to make sex part of your Penn lives.