Sweet T. and Biscuits

          Unemployment is the new black. Forget about your college friends who went into a really specific field like finance, medicine, or law. Forget about your friends whose families have awesome connections, or the money to let them do unpaid internships after graduation in the hopes that they'll turn into paying jobs. Look at the History, English, Psych, Anthro, Poly Sci, Journalism, or even  Engineering majors who aren't going to grad school and don't have those professional connections, and chances are they're probably either looking for work or doing something as a backup until their work falls into place. Yeah, post-graduation teaching programs, I'm looking at you. I seriously considered doing one of two teaching programs in New York after graduation for all the wrong reasons. It was a noble cause. It was a paying job. It would give me a Master's degree. I'd probably be good at it. Never mind that I had never intended to be a teacher and didn't

     Chances are that if you're reading this it's because you're taking the bribe I offered to get you to read my far less exciting blog on the Parents And Colleges website. Hi! Don't feel guilty. That's what adulthood is all about. I'd also like to apologize in advance for the weird spacing. Blogspot is having a fit right now over formatting. I'm doing the best I can.       As you probably know, I'm a huge admirer of the Cracked website , possibly even to a fault. I get most of my new information AND most of my laughs in the same articles...you tell me who's winning, Reddit posters. You tell me. Anyway, as a nod to my favorite website, I've decided to pay tribute to them by stealing their format to write about something that's been driving me absolutely nuts lately-romantic moments in songs, movies, and commercials that are actually horrible when you stop to pay attention (good to see my on-topic titling skills are top-notch, isn't i

            I remember the first time I cried with joy. I was eleven, sitting on a family friend’s porch with my parents when a sweet, sad-eyed hound dog puppy came up to me and put his head in my lap. Within seconds, he became my first love. My parents had already planned on taking him home with us, but wanted to see how we interacted first and when they told me he was mine, I felt it. There’s something about tears of joy. You’re overcome with happiness that’s so intense it almost feels like pain, and when the tears come out you feel a little embarrassed, crying like a little girl. But I was a little girl, and this was my first dog. An obsession with Lord of the Rings led to a serious discussion about whether Boromir was a reasonable name for a dog, and my parents finally convinced me to settle on Frodo.             Frodo was not an easy dog to handle. I’m pretty convinced he’d been beaten at some point before he either was abandoned or ran away, which is pretty common for hound

The word “feminism” seems like it’s always had trouble defining itself. Proud, Helen Reddy types were ready to be Woman and sound their roars all through the late sixties and seventies (I know this because I did a 60’s show in my high school chorus and we had to sing “I Am Woman Hear Me Roar” while throwing our bras into a coffin and burying them. I feel that this makes me an expert.), and the long, hard backlash against stay-at-home motherhood continued as the 80’s and 90’s boomed with more and more career women. Today, the trend of The Powerful Woman has continued and permeated our culture in a staggering amount of ways, from the massive volume of up-and-coming leading women in generally male-dominated movie and TV categories (Bridesmaids, Parks and Recreation, 30 Rock, Alias, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, anything Angelina Jolie has ever done…) to the insanely popular female music scene (Beyonce, Lady Gaga, Katy Perry) to the firm presence of women in politics (Pel

Title IX. The DKE incident. Patrick Witt. Rape culture. Hookup culture. Sex Week versus True Love Week. Just Say No (To Awful Sex). No matter the venue, no matter the cause, we love to talk about Yale’s sexual culture. We repost the articles we love, we criticize the articles we hate. We get offended. We argue. We ruin dinner with our overheated debates. Those who refuse to take part in Yale’s sex culture are often not above passing judgment on those who do, which in turn offends the sexually active, whose activities range from loving and committed to fun and casual (and possibly regretful). Regardless of our level of sexual activity, though, we all generally agree that sex should be between consenting adults who have all manner of control over their own situation (whatever their own definition of that may be). Rape is a terrible, ugly thing, and none of us want that for our fellow friends, loved ones, or classmates. The issues of consent and proper signaling, however, a