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Early in the morning of June 16, 1915, professor Scott Nearing received notice about his dismissal from Penn. “As the term of your appointment as assistant professor of economics for 1914–1915 is about to expire,” disclosed the letter from the Provost, “I am directed by the trustees of the University of Pennsylvania to inform you that it will not be renewed."
Obama, Trump, and Biden walk into a bar and talk about baking gingerbread cookies. This scenario has likely never happened in real life, but on TikTok, you can find an audio recording of this conversation happening, down to the correct voices and all. It’s pretty obvious from the context that the recording is fake, and most people who encounter it will probably find it funny, regardless of what side of the political spectrum they’re on. But the recording itself begs the question: What if we didn’t have that context to know that the recording was fake? What if the three presidents had been discussing something other than baking gingerbread cookies? Given that people now have the technology to create videos of anyone doing anything, how can we tell what is real and what is not?
Apple cider donuts, gravelly cello music, a vegetable stand run entirely by three blond tweens, and wailing children scraping their knees in the middle of the street. Who runs Clark Park?
What do a Wattpad story about One Direction, the Lord of the Rings trilogy, and Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet all have in common with each other?
There’s a quaintness to Jacques–Jean “J.J.” Tiziou’s abode on Osage Avenue beyond the kind typically embodied by West Philadelphia's colorful rowhomes. It’s reflected in the year–round Christmas lights strung across the narrow zigzag staircase and above the table, which, aside from a small lamp, are the only source of light in the dark wooden dining room. Deep shadows paint the faces of the soirée guests. Brows furrowed and eyes twinkling, the visitors exchange words and bowls of thick pottage. Somehow, I’ve found myself a part of the semimonthly tradition as nearly as old as I am—Tiziou’s French soirées.
Content warning: The following article includes mentions of rape, sexual violence, and murder, and can be disturbing and/or triggering for some readers. Please find resources listed at the bottom of the article.
Search “things they don’t tell you about pregnancy” on TikTok and a slew of videos pop up. New parents, shock evident in their voices, and people on their second or third child hoping to educate others, describe unexpected bodily changes—everything from chronic nose bleeds to rapid hair and nail growth. How could no one tell them this would happen?
The day is almost here. An explosion of Penn pride is only a breath away. Homecoming, an annual tradition dating back more than a century, welcomes students and alumni alike to celebrate school spirit and enjoy an all–American game of football. This Saturday is the day for Penn kids to rally. To flood the streets with blue and red. To darty–hop all the way down Locust to Franklin Field dressed in their finest bookstore merch. To cheer on our fellow Quakers against Cornell and the Big Red Bear. And, of course, to raise a toast to our dear old Penn.
In the Victorian era, “coming out day” evoked a stifling image of gloved upper–class girls lined up and formally presented to high society. Today, the term means something else entirely—sharing part of your identity with family and friends, rowdy street celebrations, and boisterous declarations of love. Nonetheless, some members of the LGBTQ community still see a thread of resemblance between the daunting rush of declaring one’s sexuality and the now archaic debutante, terrified and forcibly exposed to the world.
Put a finger down if you love eating the same foods over and over again. Put a finger down if you don’t eat. Put a finger down if you pick at your fingers a lot … and put a bonus finger down if it’s because it helps you focus. If you put more than six fingers down, you might have ADHD.
If imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, then celebrity impersonation is a lifelong devotional. Career impersonators—from Elvis officiants for elopers in Vegas to washed up cover bands performing to senile audiences—are often disparaged as the runts of the entertainment industry.
A few inches away from a dumpster in a parking lot sit half a dozen people, their legs hanging over a hole they’ve been digging for the last week. It’s a motley crew. An undergrad student works in sync with a Ph.D. who’s decked out in round glasses and a safari hat to clear away the dirt with brushes and spades. A professor helps an older woman get up after her legs fall asleep while digging in the pit. A mom and her 13–year–old son can hardly contain their excitement when they find a broken glass bottle.
If you reach into the depths of your brain, back to the fuzzy memories of your 10–year–old self, do you remember your favorite elementary school teacher?
“Because things have changed, and we’re tired of it. More importantly, we’re tired of being lied to.”
Elif Batuman writes in The Idiot that “everyone thought they were Dumbo." Even school bullies will cheer along with the pink–eared baby elephant as they watch the Disney classic. Nobody has the self–awareness to realize they’ve been the bad guys all along. But when I sat down this June in a chilly conference room at the ornate William Penn Hotel in downtown Pittsburgh, reporter’s notebook in hand, I realized that some people are content to play the villain.
Music floats through the air: hyperpop remixes of Charli XCX, bubbly EDM, Beyoncé, Lizzo, pumping club beats. Around thirty people have just started an extremely energetic Cupid Shuffle, and even more are dancing around them. Pride flags, most of them in trans colors, swing through the air. Every so often, a chant ripples through the crowd: “Philly is a trans city! Philly is a Black city!” This is not your average rave.
What motivates graduate students to become graduate students? Unquenchable curiosity, a love of their field, or a desire to push the boundaries of human knowledge? Any grad student would probably point to their passion for learning. But in the same breath, that grad student would also tell you that passion doesn’t pay rent. When it boils down to it, graduate students are workers for the university they attend: they’re people who have bills to pay, need healthcare coverage, and vacation time. And at Penn, in order to wield their collective power as graduate workers and have control over the terms of their employment, Graduate Employees Together at the University of Pennsylvania (GET–UP) are seeking to form a union.
At Street, we wear our influences and our college student misadventures on our sleeves. That’s why I’ll tell you straight up that the genesis for this article wasn’t fully original. It’s our version of The Cut’s “The New Rules,” which presents 140 etiquette guidelines for modern life post–COVID–19. The difference is our list was written with one specific group in mind: Penn’s graduating senior class. You might ask what business do a bunch of college students have giving other college students advice about the “real world?” To which I’d say you’re absolutely right, and…
Being a humanities major at Penn is harder than you’d expect. Even campus coffee shops—a haven for our kind—are buzzing with coffee chats for prestigious finance jobs and consulting clubs on any given afternoon.
Content warning: The following text describes addiction and graphic content and can be disturbing and/or triggering for some readers. Please find resources listed at the bottom of the article.
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