To give you a foggy idea of our campus:
Look outside, people! Flowers are blooming, bros are rocking Chubbies, and those really well-dressed kids whom you aggressively envy are posted up on the steps of Faunce! It’s a balmy 61 already this morning, and yesterday’s flooding on the Pawtuxet River is a mere memory. It’s as if the simple turning of the calendar from a month in which it’s meteorologically acceptable (though incredibly depressing) for it to be perpetually freezing and gray to a month that will bring us Binder and the beginning of Reading Period made your lingering seasonal affective disorder disappear overnight!
Oh wait. It’s 36 degrees out with a wind chill of 28. April fools. Has anyone designed a Diplo-themed parka on Teespring yet?
Friends describe their spring break adventures as sand-strewn beaches that sparkle with the light of a thousand suns
A rippling sea of familiar faces greets me as I step into the Blue Room, and I sigh with happiness at returning to my beloved university after Spring Break. As I breathe in the sweet spring air scented with freshly baked cookies, I spot my friend through the gaggle of chattering students.
“How was your spring break?!” I cry, my voice high with my lack of caring.
“I went to the Bahamas!” She replies, giddy with excitement, and my face falls. “I lay on the beach and soaked in the beauty of my surroundings for hours on end. The sand sparkled as it reflected the daggers of sunlight like tiny diamonds. The ocean reflected my joy in its leaping waves, while the sun caressed my face until my melanin levels shot up in delight.”
“That sounds amazing!” I say, a fake smile plastered on my pale, melanin-less face. “What else did you do?” Continue Reading
The Public Health Program announced in a Tuesday press release that Community Health concentrators after 2014.5 will be required take three community-based methods courses, from the previous two.
Acting Community Health Concentration Advisor Mitchell Ray, who was wearing a slim-fitting beige sports coat when I met with him on his fourth-floor South Main Street Office, said that the increase in the number of community-based courses is a “good” one.
“With more emphasis on community-based approaches, we’re making our curriculum more in sync with recent trends in public health and medical anthropology,” Ray said, boyishly tucking a lock of goldish-brown behind his ear, as light poured in from the North-facing bay window.
* * *
“Community.” We hear that word a lot around Brown, but what does it mean? Are communities real? Continue Reading
I can almost see it
The dream I am dreaming
But there’s a voice inside my head saying
“You’ll never reach it.”
Each step takes one on an ascent toward the pinnacle of Brunonian civilization. One that houses the strength and determination of each and every student on this campus. The experience is daunting. Anticipation and fear abound. We await arriving at the structure in which we find countless visions of the Brown experience: the muffins, the hydration stations, and the perfectly labeled receptacles for rubbish. The study groups and the student groups. UCS. Even the cathedral ceilings in the noiseless Leung Family Gallery cannot contain the work ethic, the unconditional love, and undying passion of each and every student.
Indeed, Faunce House, yes, houses several aspects of greatness of our fine university that take human form in our students. But this is not complete oneness. Indeed, we are not whole. Indeed, we are scattered between three disparate levels. Some here, some there, like a bag of strewn M&Ms all over the living room floor after at 10 p.m. on Super Bowl Sunday. Bold in color. Stale in flavor. Handfuls are grabbed from a large bowl, yet some inevitably fall through the cracks of the greedy fat man’s hand.
The irony is that the truest manifestation of human greatness is not what everyone hopes to reach, but what transports them there. The ultimate utopia, however, is the Faunce Steps. Continue Reading
“Out here in the fields,
I fight for my meals.”
– The Who, Baba O’Riley
Whoosh! High tide shattered the shores of Panama City, Florida, retreating back into the ocean like a fickle woman. As I breathed in the sights and sounds of the wasteland affectionately known by the Delaware Fighting Blue Hens as “The PCB,” I wondered out loud to my compatriots – How did we end up here?
It was our spring break and we were just looking for fast kicks and a rip-roaring time. We were seniors, after all, on deck to launch headfirst into the real world. This trip was more than a superficial jaunt; indeed, it was an epitaph to the adolescent experience.
“I feel cold,” said Adam, the runt of our group. It appeared we had been sold on Panama City under false pretenses –not knowing the temperature would stay tepid at best. The pools too chilly to prove inviting, the wind gusts blowing sand into our eyes as we squinted helplessly for the path ahead. In such a climate as this, there was only one thing left for us to do.
For our beers, it was always Wal-Mart. I saw the mammoth structure as a landmark of a bankrupt culture, a consumerist nightmare pulled straight from Philip K. Dick. According to lore, this particular Wal-Mart had outsold all others in alcohol sales over the previous three years. The place was, simply put, a madhouse …