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I couldn’t stop biting my fingers the first time I went to CAPS. It’s a nervous habit I’ve had for as long as I can remember. I pick at the skin around my nails when I do my homework, send an important text, prepare for an interview—anything that makes me stressed, anxious, or afraid of failure.
On Aug. 3, 2018, Mac Miller released Swimming, intended to be the first of two companion albums. On Sept. 7, 2018, Miller was found dead in his home, in what was later determined to be an accidental overdose of fentanyl, cocaine, and alcohol. On Jan. 17, 2020, Warner Records posthumously released Circles, the intended companion to Swimming, and the final studio album by Malcolm James McCormick.
As Jesse Fox (C '21) stepped out into the cold October air above the Waterloo Underground station in London, he was taken aback by a sight ripped straight from the evening news. Thousands of Brits marching by, their faces painted blue, waving European Union flags above their heads. Jesse was abroad for the semester and had flown back from a short trip that morning. The unusual bustle at the Tube stop near his apartment was shocking.
In an age when algorithms often dictate our tastes, a genuine recommendation can be hard to come by. But, so unlike everything else is Frances Quinlan's music, connections form in the most unlikely of places. A story heard on the radio, a book she read, a podcast, an album—all are fair game for Quinlan. Listeners are inspired to seek out the hidden gems within each lyric, put forth like a good friend giving suggestions over coffee.
This decade's output of television—the good, the bad, and the ugly—was staggering. At times, it was hard to keep up. But we tried our best. To qualify, a show had to air not entirely but mostly in this decade, and to have made a cultural impact on the 2010s. Below is Street's list of our favorite television shows from this decade, listed in the order in which they aired.
At 1:10 p.m. on a Wednesday, Williams Hall is quiet. Noisy lunch dates over Magic Carpet and Lyn’s egg sandwiches have mostly subsided for the day, and you can hear keyboard clicks and wind rushing through the grey double doors. In the back corner of Williams Hall sits Williams Café, fondly known as “Wilcaf.” The line is short right now, and baristas hang around, leaning up against the counter, snacking, and scrolling through their phones while the quiet moment lasts.
This list was compiled from a poll of Street staff's favorite albums of the decade, collected and organized first by artist, then by most popular album. The result was fifteen artists and fifteen albums. We chose to order these albums chronologically, rather than ranking them. These are the albums we came to love this decade—let’s dive in.
Towards the beginning of Knives Out, a detective (Lakeith Stanfield) remarks that Harlan Thrombey (Christopher Plummer), a successful crime novelist and the patriarch of the Thrombey family, “practically lived inside a Clue Board.” The detective is referring to Harlan’s sprawling, mahogany–filled mansion that serves as the film’s primary setting. In some ways, though, the whole movie feels like Clue.
On the blustery November Wednesday following homecoming weekend at Penn, the campus sidewalks overflowed with piles, cans, and bags of garbage. Wednesday is collection day for the neighborhood surrounding Penn’s campus, so for those without a landlord or private pick–up service at their residence, hump day is waste day. In kicking their garbage to the curb, those living just west of Penn’s campus have to confront their week’s worth of waste as they set it outside to be whisked away later that day. And after homecoming parties and pre–games and brunches, there’s waste galore.
Nestled across from historic Washington Square, three bird boxes sit atop the sign marking the entrance to Philadelphia's iconic restaurant enclave, Talula's Garden. As customers walk through the iron gate, they're transported to a hidden urban oasis. The city street disappears as they enter a picturesque patio, tucked away amid vines and beams of wood. Hundreds of yellow twinkling lights enlace the leaves, illuminate the quiet street, and thaw the brisk November evening. In the words of acclaimed chef and restaurateur Aimee Olexy, walking into Talula’s Garden is like transporting yourself to “a hideaway secret garden.”
Welcome to 34th Street Magazine's Climate Change Issue. This is our world too, and we should never forget that.
I guess I'd call it environmental guilt—a feeling of being completely useless and also completely responsible for more than I want to accept. It’s the fear of extinction. It’s the discomfort of having my survival instincts kick in, and being confused as to why some people seem so unafraid of the danger. It’s the anger I feel when someone asks me why I protest. It’s the disappointment of forgetting my metal straw, or worse yet, the disappointment of knowing my metal straws won’t save me. It’s hopelessness and helplessness. I feel so guilty.
Ben Habermeyer (E ’20) looked at the Statistical Inference (STAT–431) exam in front of him with a sense of mild panic. Not one of the textbook practice problems recommended by the professor looked anything like the questions on the page in front of him. He looked around. No one else seemed to be struggling nearly as much as he was. As the clock ticked away, he scribbled in what he could and turned in his exam feeling decimated.
The July heat surrounded Claudia Chung (C ‘20) as she stood on the streets of Yuen Long, a town in northwest Hong Kong. Sweat stuck to her clothes as she walked in a crowd of thousands, many dressed head–to–toe in black shirts and pants, thick gloves, hard hats, and face masks. From above, the protesters looked like a sea of floating umbrellas—a safeguard against pepper spray and rubber bullets. In Claudia’s backpack were two liters of water, goggles, and a first aid kit she hoped she wouldn’t have to use.
Though Mika Graviet (N ’21) grew up in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter–day Saints, the first time she’d ever read the Book of Mormon and prayed with a “sincere heart” was during her freshman year at Penn.
There’s one story that Reverend Chaz Howard never gets tired of telling. Thirty years ago, when Howard was in middle school, he remembers playing basketball at an all–boys Jewish sports camp in Maine. “It was the best of times and the smelliest of times,” he says with a laugh.
I pulled my sweater tight around my body, shaking from a breeze equal parts cold and invigorating. Kanye West’s “Gold Digger” blasted through the speakers as clusters of middle school boys laughed with measured amounts of glee, daring each other to walk through the hallowed halls of Philadelphia’s most famous prison without so much as a gasp.
Jana Pugsley (C‘22) was used to the metal detector that greeted her at the entrance of Central High School every morning. She was used to subsidized breakfast and lunch, to bathrooms without toilet paper, to letters in the mail from teachers begging parents for photocopy paper.
In one of the first classes that history professor Ann Farnsworth–Alvear taught at Penn, the sheer range of experiences of the students packed into her lecture on Latin America was both remarkable and invisible, depending on who you asked.
If you’ve met me during any part of my adolescence, you probably know me as ‘aa–kroot–ee’. If you’ve had the unfortunate displeasure of meeting me for the first time at any social event where the decibel of the music turns those three syllables into an incoherent mess, you may know me as "AJ."
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