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As I'm writing this, it's been 45 days since I left Duke. That's not such a long time, but it already feels like a distant dream. I can hardly remember what my dorm room looked like, or my classmates' faces, or my favorite study carrel in Perkins.
My past LDOCs are something of a mixed bag, full of everything from early morning mixed drinks to wholesome movie nights. There have been sunburns and stubbed toes, naps taken directly on Abele Quad, lost Duke Cards, dropped cell phones and encounters with acquaintances I forgot or wished I could forget. It is a messy day; there’s no two ways about it. But it’s also a great day, and alas—I had the feeling that my last-ever last day of classes was going to be the best one yet.
Every year, the Chronicle’s Best of Duke provides a ranking of the restaurants, businesses and people that Duke has collectively voted on and decided are the best. It’s a good list, and covers most of our campus and Durham favorites, from Au Bon Pain to Zion. But I haven’t always agreed with Best of Duke.
This is not the senior spring anyone imagined or hoped for. Everything has changed so quickly, and continues to change every day. What I’m fixating on most at the moment is how much time I have now. Everything that takes up the greatest part of my regular schedule at Duke has disappeared. Meals are fifteen minutes instead of hours spent lazily chatting with friends. My walk to class is replaced with grabbing my laptop from my desk and getting back in bed. The hours I usually spend in meetings, extracurriculars and study groups are just... gone.
Graduation is just over two months away, and I couldn’t be more excited to leave. I want to no longer live, work, eat and sleep all in the same place. I want to not run into vague acquaintances on a Saturday morning when I’m disheveled and eating a cookie for breakfast. I want to never have to read or write another Sakai forum post in my life. I cannot wait to graduate.
By the end of this semester, I will have taken ten English classes at Duke, completing the major just in time to graduate (knocks on wood). Some might say this makes me an expert on the English major requirements; I agree. And my main takeaway is this:
I usually try to write about something meaningful and widely relevant that might apply to many of my peers on campus, but also something that I’m passionate about and feel qualified to discuss. And today I don’t want to write a hot take; I want to write about bread.
This year, I was looking forward to Greta Gerwig’s adaptation of Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women more than Christmas itself. It’s the sort of movie where I was in tears almost the whole time, but still left the theater with a full, happy heart. It checked every box in my mental list of what makes a perfect movie, including “Meryl Streep” and “Timothée Chalamet in billowy sleeves.”
For essentially all of 2019, I have been straight-up not having a good time. It seems everyone I care about has been hurting at some point, in more ways than I can list in this column. After my two best friends and I all lost a grandmother in the span of ten days, we half-jokingly began typing up a Google Doc to record the year’s catastrophes. The file is entitled “2019 curse” and is now three pages, single spaced. This year has simply not been an easy one.
I haven’t been home for Thanksgiving in four years. This isn’t a sob story: I am privileged to have a loving family that would welcome me home at any time, and I don’t take that for granted. Vermont is just really far from North Carolina.
It’s November, Mercury is in retrograde and I for one have mapped out the remaining weeks of the semester with a mild but steadily intensifying sense of dread. The semester is flying by, and it’s a good idea to check in with the Food Points Usage Chart. If the food point balance is at all in your favor, it is time for one thing: Nasher Brunch.
In case your parents aren’t as prompt in informing you of the happenings of the Duke Parents Facebook page as my mom is, this weekend is Family Weekend. It promises to be a full two to three days of awkward introductions, waiting in lines, and neglecting your homework. Exciting, no?
I would not have thought that a Daily Mail article about women’s Tinder profiles was evidence that “the entire modern world equates being well-behaved with being sheepishly reticent,” but this is the point Lizzie Bond makes in her column, “The case for well-behaved women (and men).” She argues that contrary to popular belief, good manners are not “arbitrary and antiquated—and even oppressive—standards of behavior,” but a path to virtuousness.
In January 2017, Tamar Adler, contributor to Vogue and author of An Everlasting Meal, wrote an online essay for Bon Appetit magazine called “Everyone Should Have a House Meal.” This article has since become a foundational and irreplaceable part of how I understand and value home cooking.
It’s Libra season, folks! You may not know—or care—but Libra season (September 23 to October 23) is traditionally seen as the “peak” of the year, when we enjoy the last days of summer sunshine and final fruits of the harvest. It is an exciting, critical time of year: the fall equinox kicks off the season, midterms are not far behind, and after Fall Break we will be blessed with Countdown just before passing into Scorpio season (and won’t that be a wild ride).
I had a good column planned out for this week. It was topical and Duke-specific and at least passably entertaining. And then, about seven minutes into the first quarter of the football game this Saturday, my mom called to tell me that my Nana had passed away in hospice care that afternoon. And suddenly, I couldn't write about anything but her.
Last year, my friends and I decided to shift our annual beach week from Myrtle Beach in South Carolina to the Outer Banks of North Carolina. Our 2018 visit to charming Dirty Myrtle included vicious sunburns, several parking ticket crises and more than enough awkward encounters with people we wished we could forget at Ye Olde Spanish Galleon.
I always tell people that my first concert was The All-American Rejects when I was fourteen, at Higher Ground in South Burlington, Vermont. That was a great show, but in truth my first concert was a different performance at the same venue a few years prior.
