I’m trapped in Faculty Memorial Hall on a Thursday morning, shifting uncomfortably in my seat every two minutes, unable to stop thinking about breakfast sandwiches. I’m copying down the notes from the PowerPoint, tapping my pen against my chin, and drawing random lines in the margins of my notebook. The professor asks the class a question, and I do everything in my power to slip into the void to remain invisible. The lines in my notebook are suddenly the most interesting thing I’ve ever seen! But then, it happens. A giant spotlight shines down from above and hits me directly in the eye. There’s nowhere to run now. I’ve just been randomly called on even though I’ve done nothing to suggest that I want to answer this question.
In recent years, fossil fuels have become something of a pariah in American politics. Class action suits, perhaps most famously Juliana v. United States, echo the lawsuits that broke the tobacco trust. Spearheaded by either youth activists or coastal cities, such lawsuits basically argue that Big Oil should be liable for the damage it has done to the planet. And, like Thalidomide or Big Tobacco, it should pay for its public deception about the true danger of its products, as its decades-long campaign of climate denial finally collapses.
Back in December, I began the extremely taxing process of writing a resume, and started my search for a summer internship. Unbeknownst to me, I set my hopes too high because I really hoped that I would land a paid internship – knowing to a degree that it was unlikely, but I didn’t realize how difficult it is to even get an internship, period.
As someone who has been working a paid job since the age of 15, I had learned from an early age that I deserve to get paid for the work that I do.
This past week, a publication (we do not speak its name here at the paper) published an article about me. I think it was intended to be complementary? Perhaps even admiring? However, upon reading it this past Wednesday, I found it to be insensitive, inappropriately toned, and: here’s the kicker. It was written so poorly and edited so haphazardly that it accidentally implied I was both sexist and racist. It did not explicitly call me a racist, but it could be inferred through misleading pronouns. Misleading pronouns: you know, that thing you learned not to do in middle school grammar class.
When I think of the working class and who really has their best interests at heart, a single name keeps crossing my mind and I can’t stop seeing their smiling face.
It’s not César Chávez, who organized migrant farm workers in California and Florida in the 1960s and 1970s.
Love is stronger than hate. Love is stronger than hate. There has been a lot of controversy with schools lately. From the white supremacy scandal on our own campus, to the fact that young people can get guns so easily and bring them to school; there is a lot of hate in our world. People do not pay attention to the needs of others. It is rather upsetting to many of us here at the paper. We are constantly in awe of what is going on in our own country and we cannot do anything to really make a difference at times. We try our best to influence our writers to act in solidarity, but are we successful? Not always.
As I write this on March 16th, I am in the middle of the second of my two favorite days of the year. I am talking, of course, about the two days on which the first round of the NCAA basketball tournament (March Madness) takes place. Over the course of these two days, 32 basketball games are played, and I need to watch every. single. one.
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Jerry Seinfeld. Loving husband, father of four, and Emmy-nominated stand-up comedian. Noted for his iconic commentary: “what’s the DEAL with AIRLINE food??” Seinfeld has accomplished many great feats in his life, well known for his self-titled sitcom, Seinfeld, co-written with Larry David. But what happens when you give Jerry Seinfeld complete control of a children’s movie? You get The Bee Movie.