For some students, the cancellation of the semester meant going home to the safety of their homes and families where they could all bond over the fact their lives have been put on hold indefinitely. For others, it meant the complete opposite. These students have gone home to find their family members thrown onto the frontline, their lives shifted into overdrive as they are also placed in the line of fire while their relatives fight the good fight against the novel coronavirus.
You only turn 56 once, but my dad turning 56 during a pandemic is something that is truly once in a lifetime. After rolling out of bed and going downstairs, he enjoys his usual breakfast of a cup of coffee and a cigarette on his porch while pondering the strange circumstance he finds himself in. What do you do on your birthday when you can’t do anything?
I know what you’re thinking. How is the entertainment editor about to rip celebrity culture a new one? I’m not sure either.
When I came to college, I thought I was an adult. I thought, as most of us probably did, I had it all figured out. Though I was only 17, I was on my own, free from my parents’ roof. I lived in Hepburn Hall during my first year, and while it was nice, I longed for the day I’d be able to live off campus, avoiding sticky dining hall tables and crowded dorms with communal bathrooms.
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.
Ohio bars and restaurants have closed their doors indefinitely.
Imagine a silent, patient audience, partially comprised of students required to attend an event for a class and partially of eager LGBTQ+ community members ready to “get their life.” Now imagine that silence interrupted by three powerful words sung by Teyana Taylor.
“I promise you I didn’t do this on purpose.” Sophomore psychology major and independent musician Lyric Rains-Bury, also known mononymously as Lyric, says to me in reference to his outfit — a red-tinted shirt plastered with a baby picture of himself with his name on the sleeves. “I really just wanted to match with the rest of the red vibe I was feeling today,” he said. He also makes a point to call out how his anime-decorated walls are “weird,” and how I should divert my attention elsewhere. My eyes jumped to an endless mound of caffeinated beverages that seemed to have accumulated on the floor. As braggadocious and larger-than-life as Lyric presents himself in both his fashion choices and music stylings, he could not be more different in person.
I love Doja Cat. A lot. I find myself not wanting to listen to anything else at any given time. Whether it be walking home from class or crafting the playlist for my shower concerts, she is the only thing I gravitate toward. I’m obsessed, and I love when you can feel yourself growing obsessed with a new artist. You listen to every song on every album. You watch any interview or performance you can possibly find on YouTube. It’s a great feeling.