Sunspots (https://sunspots.cornellsun.com/category/life/page/16/)
Hello, world! I am the iPhone 7.* You might have heard about me. Apple—my divine maker, God of contemporary consumer electronics as ordained by the capitalist super-state—released me into the free market a few days ago. I am here to converse with you about—that’s right!—the dreaded “us.”
You and me. We need to talk.
I was in New York City for the sole purpose of visiting some indie second-hand bookstores so I could get some best deal in town to justify spending a hundred dollars traveling here from Ithaca. I got a tote that says “If you go home with somebody & they don’t have books, don’t f**k ‘em” and loaded it with as many books as it would fit. L let out a loud breath and asked if I wanted a photo of myself since I looked ridiculous with all these books and I probably would want this on my Instagram; hence I handed over my brand new camera and smiled hysterically at the ground to follow the rubrics of a candid photo—I also defended that I was currently on a spiritual journey of searching for inspirations. L proposed that inspirations would come through if we could go eat sashimi right now. The sashimi were aligned according to their color schemes and the mystical glow diffused by their texture had transformed them into iridescent exotic gems. L started explaining which ones are so highly regarded in Japan that they used to be served only to the royals, and which ones have to be prepared at a certain temperature to preserve texture—perfectly-pronounced Japanese words and gastronomic terms flowed from his lips.
As an Asian male, it’s quite safe to say that my peers and I get the shortest end of the recruitment stick. It’s no secret that we’re perceived as the meek and subservient types that belong in the professional friend-zone. I’m not complaining — simply framing. What I mean by this, is that based on what I face when it comes to finding jobs, I should be incredibly angry at the world of diversity programs. When thinking of white males getting the inherent recruitment benefits stemming back from the pilgrimage days and women and underrepresented minorities getting the recruitment benefits of decades worth of guilt, I was formerly angry. Amidst my mound of salt, I never really stopped to empathize and examine the other side of things.
I know how to commit the perfect crime. Or at least I should, given the countless nights I spent watching Court TV (which has since been renamed truTV) and Lifetime with my mom. The true crime documentaries buzzed in the background as I did my homework and my mom ironed every miscellaneous piece of clothing in each of my family member’s wardrobes, but there was no denying that we were hooked. We spoke at length about Lyle and Erik Menendez, the two young brothers who shot and killed their wealthy parents for reducing their allowances. How spoiled they were to kill the people that gave them everything and – even more incredulous – how idiotic they were to go on a shopping spree a mere few days after they “found” their parents dead.
This week, I bring you all another event I attended through the charity of West Campus: Kitchen Theatre’s new play, Hand to God. For those of you (most of us), who aren’t familiar with this company, Kitchen Theatre is an organization in downtown Ithaca that performs plays in a small ninety-nine seat theater. Here’s an external view of Kitchen Theater, which you may recognize if you frequently ramble around the Commons:
I found this to be pretty cool because the smaller capacity ensures that everyone gets a good view of what’s happening onstage and produces a more informal atmosphere. Furthermore, before the play begins, the audience can help itself to an array of food that is provided by the company, an arrangement that encourages people to socialize with each other. You’re also actually allowed to bring the food into the theater with you, so you can chew while you view.
“He knew his heart’s core was a fat, awful worm. His dread was lest anyone else should know. His anguish of hate was against anyone who knew, and recoiled.” -D.H. Lawrence, “The Virgin and the Gipsy”
(p.t. = personal translation)
Adolf Hitler was never brought before any court of law after ’45; a dead man, albeit living-dead, can sit on no bench. There was not even the sliver of posthumous glee which was afforded the anti-Cromwellians, who dug up that Puritan’s corpse and gave it an ad hoc hanging in retribution for King Charles’ beheading. He was soaked in gasoline post mortem and burnt by his adherents and retainers in the open air of the Führerhauptquartiere complex near the Reichskanzlei.
A truck blocked my path. In the fading light of late afternoon, I could barely make out a group of white faces grinning at me through rolled-down windows. And then a voice called out:
“HEY PIKACHU!”
By the time I’d registered the words and bristled in preface to formulating an appropriate retort, the
A few days ago, I experienced the nth-to-last first day of school. Cornell was stunning on that Tuesday, Ho Plaza was crowded and the clock tower immortalized, the sun shone and the green was so bright it seemed to defy any memory or expectation of snow and white ice. I have quite a taste for goodbyes, but others I like to keep short. And now I am writing about beginnings – mine started with an end. I will have things to say when I look back on these years, I will have things still to check off from my list, and our campus will be giving back the light it is absorbing now.
Long lines and empty shelves plague Venezuela’s grocery stores as its economic crisis shows no signs of stopping. Pets are also feeling the effects of the prolonged food shortages as residents are struggling to spare a single morsel, according to a report by CBS. The South American nation traditionally relies on foreign goods to stock its stores, but imports are down 40% from last year, according to a report by NPR. The reason for such a sharp cut is simple: the government is running out of money. It is easy to blame the problem on a worldwide slump in oil prices.
I have always had a dumbfounded expression whenever a Star Trek reference has been made around me; I am not the most avid sci-fi fan, nor do I even understand what the Star Trek craze is all about (yes, I have received questioning looks). When my Residence Hall Director, Eric, announced we would be watching an episode at our RA staff meeting, I didn’t qute understand how this related to the usual theme of our discussions, which usually revolve around raging social debates and issues. He mentioned the series turning fifty this year, and I assumed this meeting would be a tiny break from our usual motif. We watched “Let That Be Your Last Battlefield”, where the ship encounters two duo-chromatic aliens who bring their own conflict onboard. The overly theatrical acting and lack of fancy special effects aside, the subtle social and political connotations that still hold for the present day political scenario quite frankly, left me astonished.