Time to pop the cork and let the tears flow
by Claire Nunez
Something my friends, family, professors— really anyone that has ever met me-- has told me is that I am not the best with my emotions. It’s not like I am a sobbing mess all the time, or punching walls; I’m the complete opposite. I keep everything cloistered within me. The inside of my brain is just filled with bottles and bottles of emotions, just lined up against the wall. They have always been there, all neat and tidy—until now.
Good thing the paper won’t HUSH them up
by Reyna Wang
Ear Wax Editor
the film, I’ll recount this story how I saw it, and let’s be real--there is no way of presenting information.A day after the Fordham screening of the new documentary HUSH, which claims to be a “liberating conversation about abortion and women’s health,” this headline surfaces on studentsforlife.org: “Another Catholic University Fails its Pro-Life Students.” Unsurprisingly enough, it contains an email from the speaker at the screening, Eve Silver, that spews more than a few lies about what really happened at the documentary screening. As a participant in the peaceful demonstration organized by FSU, SAGES, and Women’s Empowerment as well as an attentive viewer of the film, I’ll recount this story how I saw it, and let’s be real--there is no way of presenting information.
Snapfilters reinforce unrealistic beauty standards
by Colleen Burns
Features & Lists Co-Editor
Since its creation in September 2011, I believed that Snapchat was the most revolutionary form of social media because it does not conform to the like-crazed, follower obsessive, fake happiness performing platforms of many other popular social media sites. For example, Snapchat does not instigate social competition over the number of friends, likes, views, retweets, or shares a user receives because it simply is not designed in the same way as Facebook, Instagram, or Twitter. As a user of Snapchat, only I know how many friends I have, and only I know how many people have viewed my Snapstory.
Binge drinking: always better in theory, also when no one is fighting
by Christopher Jeske
Staff Blue Goose
Weeks ago, I sat alone in my room, perusing Craigslist in search of a third roommate in hopes of lowering the housing fee on my tuition. In a startling burst, the door flew open, and my roommate Michael entered, visibly excited. “Yo, bro. We’re going out tonight.” I began to sweat profusely. I should say, I continued to sweat profusely. Since entering my air condition-less room on the first day, I had been as slick as the catastrophic 2010 BP oil spill. I was filled with dread.
No activity is too mundane or routine for street harrassment
by Meredith McLaughlin
Staff Marathon Winner
Every other day, the mid distance squad of the track team does a five mile run through the Bronx. A little while ago we took the “scenic” route through a park, and as we were heading back we had to go under this bridge. I’m not the best runner, so I was a few feet behind the rest of the group as we’re running, and as we passed under the bridge a guy who was walking past stopped and whistled at us. I turned to look at him (because I love taking the bait and being a moron) and to be honest there’s nothing more unsettling than a middle aged man whose face is cloaked in darkness whistling at you while you pass him under a bridge.
Guess what? Donald Trump is a pig but this isn't surprising
by Rachel Poe
Features and Lists Co-Editor
When I originally started writing this, I was going to compare Donald Trump to this kid who was in my biology class in 10th grade that would try to cheat off my labs and, when I called him out on it, told me to go make him a sandwich and that women only belonged in the kitchen. Back then I was disgusted that some boy thought that he was better than me even though I was clearly the more competent one in this situation. It was frustrating but luckily I had enough self-respect that I didn’t let it get to me, nor did I let him get away with it. I told him off then promptly ignored him for the rest of the year. (I’m pretty sure that he ended up failing the class and getting expelled so joke’s on him anyways.)
by Meghan Townsend
From the beginning of my time at Fordham I have been encouraged to participate in community and reflect on its meaning. Fordham has given me many creative, supportive communities, but I have also learned to ask this question: how full, natural, and life-giving can a community be if it is limited to members of a certain social class, or if it is fenced in by an iron gate?
by John Looby
Everyone in Walsh keeps bringing up their mini-fridge. Honestly I don’t see what the big deal is. Why is everyone so emotionally attached to their appliances? I didn’t cry nearly as much when the FAFSA demanded I turn over my first born son to them in order to have my loans processed. I actually sort of miss my little Joseph, my mini fridge though didn’t even have a name up until I tossed it from my tenth floor window and was overcome with the urge to scream out “Stella” by the ghost of Marlon Brando or some random off Broadway actor. I don’t know. He didn’t leave a card. I wasn’t even nearly prepared for the level of shrapnel that a fridge produces on impact and my god neither was that Toyota corolla. You have not truly lived until you see the door of a banned mini-fridge detonate a 2007 corolla like a god damned water balloon. My apologies to the owner, but admit it you were impressed that your license plate cleared the football field by over 30 feet.
by Christopher Jeske
Staff Who Am I
This first semester, I am enrolled in a sociology class that focuses on the topic of transitions to adulthood. I hold serious doubt that the powers that be here at Fordham University could have found a more topical course for a person of my age and place. However, I am fantastically overwhelmed by the way this class’s material seems to methodically bombard me. I was most notably taken aback by a recent lecture on Erik Erikson’s theory of life crises. In his examination of this theory, Erikson explored the concept of identity discernment -- hence the term identity crisis.
by Scott Saffran
Professional hockey in the United States often falls behind the likes of football, baseball, and basketball to the average sports fan, a defeating fact I (and many other fans alike) have had to endure throughout my life. While the NHL gets minimal attention, Olympic play during the Winter Games always seems to drum up substantial interest. As one of only three of the major American team sports contested on an Olympic level (at this time) and the only one contested during the Winter Games, the immediate draw is there for the casual sports fan often befuddled by curling and the biathlon. Ice hockey is also one of the few Olympic sports in which Americans do not dominate. Each game is a true test and every moment is one of terrible suspense. Olympic hockey is so attractive because it’s the gold medal least guaranteed. We know we’re not going to win the Nordic combined, and anything involving a halfpipe is pretty much a lock, but hockey has that thrill of the unpredictable. The World Cup of Hockey is the gift of additional international play, a supplementary opportunity to cheer on our national hockey heroes through a tournament of the world’s best.