I’ve been thinking about how to start this article for years. I don’t mean that as hyperbole. The first time I read a deadit I was a freshmen and the editor for the News section. I’d spent months reading articles about depressing news all over the world and nothing hit my heart quite as hard as raw emotion poured into these articles. I was nervous that I would never be quite as devoted as the staff writing these articles. Then the months went by and I fell in love with the paper and eventually the day came where I had to give up being a co-editor chief (shout out to all my incredible co-editors through the years, but especially actual real-life talented journalist, Luis motherfucking Gomez), leaving the paper felt like tearing a piece out of my heart. I haven’t come back to the print shop since I turned the lights off on my last day. I don’t know if I could ever take another last time in that place.
Senior Year of college, what a time to be alive and by alive I mean bouncing between the pure stress of entering adulthood and the joy of entering into a new phase of my life.
Marshall creates an ethereal masterpiece here that emanates one of the most relaxed atmospheres of any recent album I can remember
Editors’ Note: Honestly we have no idea what’s going on here
It’s aggressively ok.
Will France get their own Brexit/Trump situation?
Non-Tenured Professors are Vital to Fordham’s Community