Blogs

WATCH ME IF YOU CAN | Cinematic Voyeurism

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By MARINA CAITLIN WATTS

Recently, I have finally come to accept the fact that I am addicted to people-watching. From viewing the great migrations to the Jurassic Park score (I mean, students commuting in between classes) to sitting in my dorm and watching everyone shuffle from place to place from far above, there is some therapeutic aspect to it that I enjoy. The desire to find out what people are doing without knowing they are being watched is a little creepy, yes, but the observer effect would completely ruin the organic scene unfolding before me.  

But why do we enjoy people-watching, posed on the outside of things, looking in? There in fact is a word for it: voyeurism.

Blogs

DENG | On “Belonging”

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By SOPHIA DENG

I find myself conflicted whenever I hear the word “belonging.” For a while, it used to conjure images of happy, fail-proof friend groups. Belonging meant that you had constant buddies to fall back on, no matter what. Belonging meant that these people would never shun you. Belonging, as a whole, gave off a sense of permanence and security.

Blogs

GOOD TASTE ALONE | Talk

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By SARAH CHANDLER

We need to talk about talking about not talking about stuff. We often talk about not talking about stuff. We talk about not talking about stuff like Donald Trump, the Kardashians (are they still a thing?) and the color of a Starbucks cup. These are the things that are being talked about that make rational human beings such as ourselves ask, “What the hell? Why is this even up for discussion?” and fantasize about swearing off the use of the Internet, period.

Blogs

AUDACIOUS | Censorship and Criticism

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By SUTHESHNA MANI

Ever since Donald Trump’s public endorsement of his candidacy in the 2016 Presidential elections, there hasn’t been a phrase that I have heard more often than “PC.”

PC, which stands for “politically correct” is the term used to describe language, rhetoric or actions that are not intended to offend specific groups of people, particularly disadvantaged groups. In recent years however, it has been used as a pejorative term to describe trigger-happy, thin-skinned, bleeding heart liberals who can’t take a joke. It has been the knee jerk reaction to many issues, namely, offensive Halloween costumes and accusations of racism. But recently, accused individuals who have committed acts of insensitivity have banded together to become a beleaguered class whose freedom of speech has been supposedly impinged upon. I, for one, am whole heartedly for the philosophy of Evelyn Beatrice Hall’s famous quote: “I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it.” Everyone should have the right to say what they want, good, bad or egregious.

Life

MOHAPATRA | Tea-Lights and Good Faith

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By TANISHA MOHAPATRA

Back in India, the air is freshly recuperating from the Diwali crackers. Half the globe across, I filled up my dorm room with tea-lights and sipped my pathetic rendition of masala chai to cope with being far from home at this time of the year. Scrolling through my social media feed, I noticed it was full of either photos of my friends and family from home beaming as bright as the Diwali lights or hashtags about the events at Yale and University of Missouri. This past Halloween weekend, I had the opportunity to attend Fall Utsav, an event hosted by the Cornell India Association to celebrate the festive season around Diwali in India. An odd thing to do, I know, but the promise of Indian food, music and Diwali celebrations seemed alluring in the middle of two painfully long prelim rounds.

Life

MARY’S MUSINGS | My Elephant

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By MARY BURGETT

Last Wednesday I gave a speech at the Every1 Campaign’s event, Cornell Cares. I talked about what happened to me: the sexual assault, my suicide attempt and my traumatic brain injury. Our purpose for the event was to educate and show that Cornell is a caring community and we support those who are survivors/victims of sexual assault/rape. In my speech I was brutally honest about how alone I felt even though I had friends and family around; I was alone because I felt humiliated and ashamed to talk about what happened to me. No one talked about the difficult issues, no one really spoke out, so I didn’t either.

Blogs

GUEST BLOG | Where Are You From?

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By RENE TSUKAWAKI

I cannot count the number of times I have been asked the question “Where are you from?” It’s a seemingly innocent question, one that’s in the list of questions people ask the first time they meet someone; along with “What’s your name?”, “Where are you from?” is a reasonable question to ask a stranger since both the question and the answer are simple and straightforward. Except they’re not. At least not for all of us. I personally am never quite sure how to respond to this question. Usually whenever people ask me, they do not actually want my full background story and desire a one-word response.

Life

THE E’ER INSCRUTABLE | The Weeping Meister: Stefan George and the Death of Maximilien Kronberger

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By GRIFFIN SMITH-NICHOLS

In a photo dated 1904, the German poet, translator par excellence of Shakespeare and Baudelaire and consummate “aesthetic fundamentalist” Stefan George poses with glowering magnetism in the midst of a spindly crop of German youths, as he was wont to do. This was an early incarnation of the later-dubbed “George-Kreis,” an inner circle of Philhellenists, Renaissance men and introspective esthetes which included the von Stauffenberg brothers, the future would-be assassins of Hitler and which fascinated and perplexed some of the highest names in German literature: Rilke, Thomas Mann and others all met (and occasionally sparred) with George and his acolytes. Like the central figure of a latter-day Pythagorean cult, obsessed with Hellenic and medieval pageantry, George dons a flowing, laurel-wreathed Dante costume; a fellow Kreis-member dressed as Homer stands beside him, and George himself has his arm wrapped tenderly about the shoulders of a pale-cheeked, milky-eyed youth in the garb of a Florentine squire, his hands gripped nervously at his hips. He was an unsuspecting München youth named Maximilian Kronberger, and he would die of meningitis a mere few months later. George was crushed; one passage from the Lieder included in Der Siebente Ring, published in 1907, reads:

“Nun muss ich gar

Um dein aug und haar

Alle tage

Im sehnen leben.”

George had first caught sight of Maximilian in 1902, and swiftly wormed a place for himself in the then 13-year-old boy’s family life.

Blogs

GUEST BLOG | The Sanctuary

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By TINA HE

A legend says that if a couple walks around the entire perimeter of Beebe Lake while holding hands, the two are destined to be engaged. It’s 7:00 and I am sliding my feet into my sneakers. Ferociously sleep deprived — a ubiquitous state of being for Cornell undergraduates — I choose the lake over my bed, and set out without telling my boyfriend. The air is still misty. Dew rests on the tips of the grass; the sun hasn’t started radiating heat.

Blogs

EMOTIONALLY STUNTIN’ | A Bad Depression Day

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By REBECCA KRUGER

Wake up two hours later than intended because in a fun ironic twist, while getting high to forget about how much you hate living, you forgot to set your alarm. Stare at the ceiling for approximately 30 minutes. Acceptable brainwave topics for your daily ceiling stare include but are not limited to: the schoolwork you avoided doing last night, the annoyed glare that one kid in your seminar shot at you when you asked a question two weeks ago, your lack of contributions to the world compared to Einstein or Barbara Streisand or the girl three doors down who really seems to have her shit together. Reach to your desk and unlock your phone. Stare at social media for another 10 minutes in order to compare every aspect of your physical and emotional being to your 1,000 closest friends, and, as usual, come up short in every category.