10 Reasons Why It’s Totally OK That You’re Procrastinating Right Now

  1. You deserve this.

  2. You’ve been working really hard lately! Like, super hard!

  3. Winter break is only like two weeks away — it’s not like any decision you make at this point could actually affect your grades that badly.

  4. It’s only a couple of minutes… or hours… or days…

  5. Even though society wants you to forget it, you are a person before you are a student.

  6. If you think about it, you probably don’t need all that time to do your work anyway. Doing it all right now and finishing early would just mean that you’ll have free time later when everyone else is working. So if you procrastinate now, you’re really just pacing yourself so that you’re not left to have fun by yourself when everyone else is studying. If you don’t really think about, it makes a whole lot of sense.

  7. Think about all the Facebook holiday baking videos you’d be missing if you were working right now. It’s practically criminal.

  8. Spending time with your friends before you have to abandon them for a month is equally, if not more, important to the work you think you should be doing.

  9. As Maya Angelou (who is like, super smart) once said, “Every person needs to take one day away.”

  10.  I mean, at the end of the day, you’re going to do what you have to do. Who are you kidding? You’re a perfectionist that took 34 AP classes in high school. It’s not as if your academic conscience, which has equated academic success with self-worth for the last fifteen years, would let you not turn in your 15-page international relations paper. So even if you do end up writing all of it in the final 12 hours, you’re going to do it — ergo, you might as well surf Facebook for now. Yay!


Hometown Thanksgiving: Turkey with a Side of Discourse

“If Pop-Pop says something racist at Thanksgiving dinner, oh boy, am I going to tell him off!” said Kendall Wilfred, a Brown freshman who, at press time, had said absolutely nothing to Grandpa Joe.

Primed with his newfound knowledge of words like “heteronormative” and “nuanced,” Kendall, in early November, reported that he was confident in his ability to even further alienate his conservative family at their singular, annual gathering. Kendall even expressed a hard-line stance on “problematic” statements, reiterating that not even close friends from his rural, small-town Southern high school would be granted passes.

Correspondents reported, however, that all evidence of Kendall’s previously unshakable moral convictions had mysteriously disappeared once his plane landed in his hometown, which overwhelmingly voted for Trump in the 2018 midterms (write-ins). We’re told that Kendall was witnessed sighing deeply, but not vocalizing, when his old classmates expressed their relief that Brett Kavanaugh was confirmed. Incendiary statements such as “Sure, we can’t know what happened, but the important thing is a Republican majority on the court,” were overlooked by Kendall, who noted that his classmate was making good use of his state’s open-carry gun policy. When confronted in the local supermarket with “I don’t mind immigrants, but it’s the illegals that need to be simultaneously waterboarded, separated from their children, and held in the basement of an abandoned windmill for the rest of time,” Kendall meekly suggested that his childhood best friend read a recent Vox article on the issue. It’s worth noting that Kendall did express regret that he didn’t bring his projector, which made a thorough PowerPoint presentation on the topic impossible.

Even more shocking than Kendall’s interactions with his classmates — people that he considers further removed from his social network than literal strangers — are the conversations that he partook in during Thanksgiving. During dinner, Kendall used phrases such as “intersectionality,” “cissexism,” and “binary determinism” twenty-four times less than he was known to while at Brown University. Usually a prolific advocate and known to express his opinions in any situation where everyone would undoubtedly agree with him, Kendall exhibited surprising timidity in the presence of his family members, whose elderly authority had been ingrained into his impressionable psyche for the past twenty years straight. We’re told that Mitch McConnell’s work in the senate was lauded extensively at some point during the third course, and though Kendall attempted to make a statement, he ultimately decided to simply continue eating Grandma Pearl’s famous mashed potatoes.  

At press time, Kendall was still debating whether Pop-Pop’s comment about “those homosexuals” was worth an argument that would likely give the family patriarch a prolonged heart attack. In the end, Kendall decided against a confrontation that might have actually benefited the political development of younger members at the table, choosing instead to live tweet the experience @unapologeticallyopinionated.


Meal Plan Is A Scam

Extra, extra: Meal plan is a scam. (If meal plan is a part of your financial aid package, please read until the end.)

Here’s the meal plan situation by the numbers:

When examining these numbers, take into consideration that millennials spend an average of $237 dollars on groceries per month, which comes to about $2.67 per meal (assuming three meals a day). If you’re still not shocked, take into account that these numbers assume that you have no points or credits left at the end of the semester (which, I’ve never personally witnessed), and that you never spend a penny eating out.

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When MyPrint Calls You Out

I do not care for the new printing system, not one little bit.

Back in my day, you would upload your documents, they would be uploaded (or not, depending on your luck that day), and you’d be on your merry way. This new printing system… it mocks me with its colorful infographics and self-assured demeanor. “You’ve killed .6% of a tree, how does it feel to be a murderer?” it whispers as I struggle to print off my lab manual. “You’ve emitted 431 g of CO2  this month… I take it you’re not a believer in the Paris Agreement?” it taunts, impervious to my tears. So now, on top of how distraught I am to be doing work in the first place AND in addition to the pain of realizing I’ve started printing a color document on a black and white printer, I have to weep for f@cking mother nature.

I hate to break it to whoever made the new printing system, but the number of pages I print pains me just as much as it pains the environment. Do you think I want to be spending my Tuesday night reading and annotating the 300 pages of post-colonial underwater basket weaving history my professor assigned? Do you somehow imagine that I was happy to put off my 20-page term paper, write it all between the hours of 1 and 8 am, scramble to the SciLi at 8:59 am, and then sprint to my 9 a.m. to turn it in — the page still piping hot in my hand? NO.

Look, I’m not saying that I expect to have the extreme luxury of never feeling guilty. I expect to feel guilty when I make eye contact with the professor of my five-person seminar while waiting in line at the Blue Room—knowing full and well I skipped class that day. I expect to feel guilty when my roommate walks in on me watching Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives, eating olives with my fingers, and giggling uncontrollably at Guy Fieri’s entire personhood. And sure, I even expect to feel a pang of guilt when I’m reprimanded for showing up to Thanksgiving dinner in (only) nipple pasties and fishnets. You know when I don’t expect to feel guilty? When I’m trying to print a paper that was assigned to me — a cosmic act completely out of my control.

If Brown wants to tangibly reduce its carbon footprint, it has to go straight to the top. Not to the Brown corporation itself, not to wildly unregulated megacompanies, not to the elected representatives that refuse to change harmful environmental policy — no — Brown must go to the absolute zenith of power. To the professors.

I promise you, if you tell my professor to stop assigning so many papers, everything will be solved! If I wasn’t printing 16 pages a semester for AMST 1900, I assure you that global warming would be fully reversed by 2020. And don’t even get me started on the two pages I print out every semester for (insert STEM class name). Abolishing readings, papers, and lab manuals is the only logical step forward, and if nothing else, I’m glad that the new printing system has paved the way for us, as a University, to come to this revelation.


Health Services Only Prescribes Tylenol

Sometimes I feel like Health Services doesn’t exist in the human realm. Every time that I walk through their uselessly heavy doors, I feel myself being transported to another universe. One where, presumably, the definition of what constitutes “helpful medical advice” are far laxer.

I visited Health Services this week because I had body aches, a headache, a sore throat, and nausea. The doctor that came into see me asked if I had tried taking Tylenol. “Yeah, a couple hours earlier, but it didn’t really help,” I mustered, millions of viral particles exploding from my orifices with every syllable. She looked me up and down, a pensive glint in her eye, and said “Well, you know what, taking Tylenol is probably the only thing you can really do right now. Oh, and drink more water.” With this sage advice, I was ushered out — a few disposable thermometers thrust into my hand, the door slamming behind me.

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WHY THE F@CK IS IT COLD AND SUNNY

I understand that the title may have betrayed a few aspects of my identity— yes, I’m from Florida; yes, I was born in California; yes, I’m obnoxious. But I resent that Providence’s temperature has been turned into a disgusting display of identity politics. I’m tired of my Northern brethren sneering at my plight— only after I tell them from where I hail. Northern or southern, rural Montana mountaineer or Bay area bro— are we not all human? Do we not all bleed red when cut? Do we not all have functioning nervous systems capable of recognizing how cruel the Providence wind can be?

Look, don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not one of those southerners, I did my research. I didn’t show up to Brown with a single pair of sandals in hand and a few pastel colored shorts, naively expecting the Northeast to cater to me. No, I perused Winter Coat Weekly for months before deciding on my perfect synthetic feather-filled friend. I weathered the jeers of my friends as I asked them innocent questions like “Why can’t I just wear my jean jacket?” I did my due diligence, all in the efforts to keep myself toasty in the icy winter months.

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