For as long as I’ve known how to, I’ve loved reading. In middle school, I always joined my school’s annual competition to see who could read the most books over the summer. The last week of school, I would roam the Barnes and Nobles in my neighborhood, accumulating a pile of books taller than I was and paying for them with the B&N gift cards I received every Christmas from my relatives. In September, after a long summer of reading, I was always crowned one of the winners.
The first thing I noticed without my headphones was how dependent I am on the distraction of music. I live in a quaint and homey Mod, and even something as simple as walking to the Walsh laundry room—a one-and-a-half minute journey, at most—always required my AirPods. I grew uncomfortable doing so without them. The walk was shorter than the length of a song, yet I loved the reassurance that I would not have to talk to anyone I ran into.
I have always been a planner. My notes app is filled with to-do lists, reminders, and anecdotes—a tangible, terrifyingly disorganized snapshot of the inside of my brain. I came to college with a set plan—a political science major on a pre-medical track, setting myself up to go to medical school.
After Boston College football pulled out an exciting, well-fought victory against Syracuse, about a quarter of the BC student section finally trickled out of their place in Alumni Stadium. Where were the rest? Already gone, and had been gone for a while. Those empty stands were antithetical to the turnout at the previous night’s hockey game against Maine, featuring a line wrapping around the back of Conte Forum and a student section that was full and rowdy until the very end of the game.
Stop whatever you’re doing—we are in a crisis. America has a housing crisis. The Western world has a well-documented mental health crisis. Microplastics are creating a new physical health crisis.
“Welcome to Milwaukee, The Bloody Mary Capital of the World” greets me like a familiar hug each time I arrive at General Mitchell Airport in Milwaukee. Green Bay Packers paraphernalia, Cheeseheads, and Drink Wisconsinbly shirts adorn the vendor stations lining the central walkway to baggage claim.
Two summers ago, I had one of the best nights of college I can recall. My buddy Seamus and I were invited to our friend’s 21st birthday party. And—full disclosure—we were the James Michael Tylers of the cast of Friends. We knew it and our friend knew it. We were the outside crew. But, knowing where we stood, we agreed it could be fun, so why not go?
Boston College track and field has been on a generational run. But somehow, nobody knows about it. On a campus with a fan culture dominated by revenue sports like football, basketball, and hockey, it’s unsurprising that track and field has been excluded from the hype.
It’s hard not to feel cynical in 2024, as digital alerts about climate change and wars and migrants and mental illness all pump into our brains like water against an unstable dam. Amid this doom and gloom, we ought to acknowledge we do not live in the “the Darkest Timeline,” as joked about by the cult classic NBC sitcom Community.
I have read The Hobbit so many times that I lost count of the rereads sometime around eighth grade. Even though I never use this as my fun-fact icebreaker (for fear of coming off a bit too nerdy a bit too soon), it is without a doubt my favorite truth about myself.
