Even before the stay-at-home order, on GBD last week, uptown was quiet. There were no lines stretching out of Brick Street Bar & Grill. There were no queues spilling out of Bagel & Deli. There were parking spots available. Sidewalks were nearly empty.
Cover photo courtesy of Pixabay
The bathrooms of college students can be downright gross. Toothpaste lines the bowl of the sink, the trashcan overflows and the toilet paper roll is notoriously empty. But, at the very least, Miami University sophomore Seif Boulos can fix that last problem.
Some stories delve deeply into the lives of their subjects. Others seek to capture the human condition in just a few words. Modeled after journalist Brady Dennis’ 300 word stories that explore the unfiltered intimacy of the everyday, these pieces offer a glimpse into the untold experiences of college life.
In a classroom on the second floor of Upham Hall sit 10 students. They drum their fingers on desks, bob their heads and tap their feet while the song “Heading Out to the Highway” by Judas Priest plays. Instead of the regular sounds of muted lectures and shuffling students, the raw chords of the song reverberate throughout Upham’s hallways. At the front of the room, the music video dances across the whiteboard. This is what a meeting looks like for Miami’s heavy metal club known as the Newly Woken Organization Based on Heavy Metal (NWOBHM). The name is a nod to certain metal subgenres like NWOTHM (New Wave of Traditional Heavy Metal).
Drinks? Check. Music? Check. Local vendors and student entrepreneurs? Check. Wait, what?
I’ve always loved a ritual. Proms, bat mitzvahs, confirmations, swearing-in ceremonies, quinceañeras, masses, weddings, funerals. And graduations. Rituals help us take what is ordinary, what is necessary, and transform it into an event. A moment that helps us step out of our everyday selves to recognize that the momentous has happened. Now, it looks like the chance to pause and feel how momentous graduating is might be taken away.
Going off to college, my soon-to-be roommate was texting me, excitedly talking about future plans and how she couldn’t wait to get to Miami. It seemed like all my friends from home were the same way, counting down the days until they would leave for school. I was the complete opposite. I was terrified to leave the only place I had ever known to move 300 miles away and live with complete strangers. When my parents left me, I cried the entire walk from their car back to my dorm, before wiping my eyes and trying to pull myself together as I met the people I would be living with for the next year.
The XT700 Styrofoam Densifier
Photo courtesy of Sammy Harris
After a brief introduction, four dogs ran out onstage to blaring rock music, taking their places on four wooden crates in a line upstage. Dog-loving families had packed the seats of Hall Auditorium to see Mutts Gone Nuts, a traveling comedy dog show, at 7:30 p.m. last Friday. Founder Scott Houghton entered in a red velvet blazer, introducing the dogs to the audience. Their lead trainer, Samantha Valle, stood behind the mutts, directing the tricks and sneaking them treats from her pocket.
I’m not exaggerating when I say I’m a picky eater. I tried to make a list and thought of 25 foods I like. While I’m sure I’m forgetting some, you get the point.
I texted my dad the other day to show him a recipe I’d found – he responded pretty much right away with excitement, declaring he’d try his hand at it in a few days. Waiting to hear how it goes is providing more anticipation than any March Madness prediction he could ever come up with.
Meemaw is not so much a believer in measurements. Or detailed instructions, for that matter. Back when she could still cook, my aunt tried to learn her secrets by watching her do it, but had a hard time interpreting how much a dash of this or a “humping spoonful” of that actually was. No one, to my knowledge, has tried to make creamed chicken since Meemaw became unable to. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the legacy of food, and the ways in which the things we eat as children shape us.
In China, it’s common to ask 你吃了吗 (nĭ chī le ma) in Mandarin, translated as “Have you eaten yet?” in English, as a form of greeting. This tradition must have been spread over the world by the Asian diaspora, as my family will continue to ask me this instead of the usual “Hello,” “Howzit” (Hawaiian pidgin slang) or “Welcome home.” But regardless if you have eaten or not, they will give you food.
I told my cousin about how my housemates and I often take turns cooking meals for one another, and it’s a rare occasion when we don’t end up eating our meals together. “You’re kidding me,” she said, incredulous. “You guys actually do that? I don’t even share groceries with my housemates.”
“The Wolves,” a one-act play by Sarah DeLappe, follows a girls indoor soccer team as they warm up before their game each week. The nine girls slide tackle big political questions and social topics with the energy and awareness of high school students. The cast consists of ten women: nine teammates identified by their jersey numbers and a soccer mom played by professor and Chair of Theatre department Julia Guichard.
Tucson DeShon drapes a white apron across a boy sitting in a dorm room desk chair. “What are we looking for today?” he asks. DeShon, a sophomore marketing major, started cutting hair during his junior year of high school. He’s a triplet, and one of his brothers, Turner, was tired of going to a barber to get his haircut.
Starting in the wee hours of March 19, Miami University students across Oxford will begin celebrating Green Beer Day (GBD), a “holiday” where students dress up in green clothing or wear shirts sporting pop culture references related in some way to drinking beer colored a ghastly shade of green.
Sunlight beams in through the large windows at the front of the living room as Robert Schonlau sits before the gleaming ivory keys. His face, reflected in the glossy black finish above the ivories, is contemplative and serene as he adjusts the large-rimmed glasses on his face. Back straight and feet reaching for the pedals, the 16-year-old pianist sets his fingers to the smooth keys.