It’s possible to find comfort in something intended to be perplexing. Filling out the symmetrical 15x15 crossword puzzle grid is a joy often experienced in the tranquility of a hammock or a cozy corner on the sofa, accompanied by a warm mug of tea. The clues, riddled with cryptic questions and demanding wordplay, offer a distinctly delicious satisfaction when solved. A small triumph with each answer.
At first glance, the empty grid is daunting. Next to it, a long list of clues designed to mislead await the solver. Yet the rhythm of the process is captivating. As patterns emerge and connections are made, the oncedaunting puzzle takes shape with each solved clue. The experience is both a test of knowledge and a playful exercise in lateral thinking.
The solver is patient, trusting that the labyrinth of complex clues will come together seamlessly after a bit of mental work and persistence. The clues are clever and often obscure, relying on outside-the-box thinking, arbitrary historical tidbits, and recognition of specific linguistic patterns. And every solver will finish a puzzle having learned something they did not know before. Oftentimes these new pieces of knowledge are
Letter from the Editor
Dear readers,
I deeply crave domestication. As the shame of relaxation hemorrhages and the pressures of higher education loom, I yearn for a repetitive, suburban lifestyle where “clocking out” often grants true respite. Leisurely trips to the grocery store, waving at my neighbors as I walk down the block, and blaring music on my drive to work appear as delicacies in these tireless moments. I just know I could pack a mean lunch and strut in carefully curated business casual. I look forward to upcoming holiday breaks to microdose a premature version of this peaceful lifestyle and refresh my stamina, but, in the meantime, I find solace in our writers’ pieces this week sharing simple moments and empathize with the not so simple ones. In Feature, Samira describes the soothing joys of
trivial facts, like the number of keys on a piano or the longest-running Broadway musical. Other times they may be more pragmatic, like capital cities or parts of the human body.
Crossword puzzles have a history of being a meditative practice. The debut puzzle, published in the New York World in 1913, came out as World War I loomed on the horizon. With one grim headline after another, the crossword was a small pocket of peace among the chaos. The puzzles quickly gained traction. The New York Times , previously committed to never combining games with news (a stance it has now famously reversed), began to publish crosswords for the same reason. The troubled state of the world brought about a plague of news fatigue—a source of relief was necessary.
Now, it’s impossible to sit in the back of a lecture hall without seeing a dozen screens doing the daily crossword puzzle. Perhaps this is an indication of boredom, or a need for little victories in overwhelming moments. With the skyrocketing craze of the online puzzle, it’s become a timeless tradition that blends challenge and comfort.
solving a crossword puzzle and a little bit about its history. In Narrative, Lynn recounts her endurance of allergic reactions to avoid missing out on sliced apples from her mom and grandma while Ben reflects on his accidental visit to Prospect Terrace during a time that was apparently a very popular time for dates. In A&C, Evan and Ellie conflict. Evan’s highly modern piece illuminates the theater kid to pop artist pipeline and Ellie’s historical piece describes the influence of ukiyo-e on European Impressionism art and their depictions of pleasure and leisure. In Lifestyle, Katherine writes about excellence, competition, and striving to be the first, while Daphne reflects on her dad’s love through generosity and attentiveness rather than words. Lastly, (because it’s his last crossword) Will created a Thayer St. themed crossword! Don’t get me wrong, I hope to never work a nine
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A question mark within a crossword clue sometimes signals inventive wordplay, sometimes a dad joke, but usually a divergence from the clue's literal meaning. For instance, the clue “Mobile home?” is not answered by TRAILER, but rather by PHONE CASE. Similarly, an astute solver will decode the clue “Fall accessory?” to PARACHUTE. It’s an unparalleled feeling to solve clues like these, whether on a lazy Sunday morning in bed or during a break from a seemingly endless study session in the library. Regardless of the setting, filling in the grid evokes a gratifying sense of fulfillment with every clue.
These types of clues—in which the answer doesn’t immediately come to mind—fortify the thrill of solving a crossword. The lightbulb moment when deciphering these clues is a delightful, difficult-to-replicate feeling, a moment in which the solver marvels at both the creator’s skillfulness and their own ability to see past a red herring.
There’s something else even more exhilarating than solving individual clues. Several puzzles have an overarching theme that ties a few clues together seamlessly. These additional layers of cleverness can take many forms: playing with the shape of the grid, the word form in the answer, the number of letters in each box, and so on. A famous example came from Isabel Walcott’s May 10, 1997 puzzle, in which the overarching theme was "No ifs, ands, or buts." So BUTCHERKNIFE became CHERKNE (with the letters IF and BUT removed), and the answer PEANUTBUTTERSANDWICH became PEANUTTERSWICH (the letters BUT and AND removed).
These themes showcase not only the artistry and originality of the creator, but also the effort put into creating memorable moments for solvers. Deciphering a good theme is akin to the thrill of discovering a movie’s unexpected plot twist, impossible to predict but making perfect sense once revealed. ~ ~ ~
Stress of any kind requires relief. Often this takes the form of a television show, exercise, a comfort meal, or perhaps an artistic activity like knitting or painting. It is imperative to seek methods that relax the brain and soothe the soul, as a way to unwind after a grueling week or perhaps to quell jitters before an upcoming exam or interview. Crosswords offer this relief in a special way, as a solver reaps the benefits of a mindless activity while exercising the mind. It’s meditative to immerse oneself in problems that are solvable—especially in a world so often overwhelmed by complexities that lack clear solutions.
You, the solver, have a small but meaningful sense of control, knowing the answer is within reach.
to five office job (unless it’s the post- office ofc). However, a bit of routine and compartmentalization is very appealing right now. Our writers grow my excitement to travel home and ground myself in familiarity by celebrating the same way I have since birth. One day I will have the chance to settle down and relish in the consistent comfort of simplicity and, hopefully, predicability. Until then, I wish us all the strength to power through the rest of the semester.
Clocking out,
Elijah Puente
Arts & Culture Managing Editor
a love letter to apples
yes, i’m allergic to apples. yes, i’ll still eat them.
by Lynn Nguyen Illustrated by Michelle Gong
With the pastel blue peeler—its slightly rusted metal speckled with black, remnants of the countless fruits and vegetables eaten, cooked, and shared by my mom and grandma—I shaved the ombrés of scarlet red and golden yellow off seemingly innumerable apples. The precise, crisp peels revealed a smooth, pale body, releasing pleasant scents. Once I found out that an hour had passed, I rushed to peel the rest of the apples— now covered in harsh ridges and lingering spots of red. When the apples were all peeled, I began to slice. The kitchen knife had a slightly brittle blade and loose handle from constant use by my mom and grandma. Moving my right hand forward and down with the knife, I entered a repetitive process of cutting half-inch slices over and over until another hour passed. I finally let go of the knife, the feeling of my hand returning only to bring a sharp cramp to my palm by the thumb and index finger. The sizeable metal bowl before me brimmed with slices of apples. My legs and feet needed to be constantly shifted so the pain only lasted a few seconds. It was one of those dewy mornings in my quiet yet full home.
My earliest memory revolving around apples— the first time I realized, “these are really good”— was at McDonald’s. I was so young that my parents ordered a Happy Meal for me. Before I opened the toy in the meal, I rubbed my fingers around the clear plastic bag of apples. The colorful print on the bag was a curious thing, showcasing an eccentric man with red hair, a white-painted face, overlined red lips, and a yellow suit. The skin of the apple slices was vibrant red, the smoothness of which I tried to feel through the plastic. I stretched the bag as wide as possible to open it, reached in for the smoothest piece that caught my eye, and crunched into it only halfway—a habit to see if the middle looked different from the outside. Bites of sweetness. Cool, crisp, juicy.
Another time, my aunt surprised me with McDonald’s. While I was hoping for the bag of apples, I instead found a warm cardboard container in the shape of a circular rectangle. I
opened it to uncover a mysterious fried pastry. To see what exactly this pastry was, I took a bite. Lush sweetness oozed into my mouth. Apple pie.
I made apple pie. The pecan pie I made afterward did not take nearly as much time. The chef in my high school culinary class recently showed us how to make pies, although I was only assigned to preparing the fillings. I wanted to apply what I learned in class to real life, and also be the most impressive in the family… I held on dearly to the two pies as I walked down my street to my aunt’s home. Our annual Thanksgiving dinner was the rare time of the year when my entire extended family came together, where I could expect to see my distant cousins with whom I maintained contact primarily online. When I presented my pies, impressive for a 14year old (especially in a family where the mothers cooked and the daughters did not), I refrained from disclosing that I did not make the pie crust from scratch—it was actually frozen Pillsbury crust I forgot to defrost and hurriedly warmed up. All that mattered was that I made the fillings myself. My parents showed off my creation, my uncles and aunts showered me with exaggerated compliments, and my cousins stared at the pies and (I imagined) drooled with their intense sweet tooths. When we finished the savory dishes, the younglings in the family devoured the apple pie while the adults ate some of the pecan pie. I went home with leftovers from the pecan pie
but nothing from the apple pie. Maybe that was a good thing.
I stopped eating whole apples after the second grade, after chipping my right front tooth. It was a long time before I touched apples again— until middle school, when my grandma and mom prepared apple slices to divert me from unhealthy sweets. They served me a bowl of them, whose sweet taste I can still recall on my tongue. After finishing the bowl, I thanked them and laid in bed watching TV.
Almost in an instant, my throat burnt with itchiness. Bumps surfaced around my mouth and, with my own curiosity itching, a slight touch upon them felt hot and tender. It was an odd event, but I did not pay much mind to it.
Later on, when I ate shrimp in my mom’s dish of noodles, I felt the same experience afterward. Concern sunk in me. Am I allergic ?
I made apple pie for the next Thanksgiving. This time, I invested in a Starfrit Electric Rotato Express , an appliance where I could spin an apple against a peeler and remove the skin in 30 seconds. While I still put myself through the painful process of slicing the apples, preparing the filling took much less time. Though a year had passed, I was still the only teenager in my entire family who prepared food.
My grandma and mom kept serving me apple
“How do you look hot as Mario, WTF?”
“I
woke up and found a zest for life.”
slices, and I kept eating them. When I eventually tired of enduring the irritation, I confided in my mom about my allergic reactions. Her eyes widened as she uttered, “T rời dất ơ i” (Oh my god).
The next day, she served me a bowl of apple slices. She removed the skin and soaked the apple slices in salt, hoping I could still enjoy apples with this “cleaning” method. I held a soaked apple slice to the tip of my tongue, tasting the salty water droplets. A crunchy bite. Salty at first, but then sweet. Only a little reaction afterward.
My mom later wanted me to try her own “apples.” Arriving home from middle school, she gestured for me to quickly follow her. By our stove, there was a small glass cup to place incense sticks in. Next to the cup was a small plate of China filled with big, green-yellow, apple-shaped pears. “Asian pears,” my mom pointed out, remarking that she bought them freshly imported at a local market. After using the apple pears for prayer, she, as always, served me a bowl of slices. A soft yet crisp bite. Perfectly sweet.
The next Thanksgiving, my dad served me a full plate with traditional dishes—turkey, mashed potatoes, greens. I ate with my brother, mom, dad, and grandma. No large gathering was wise during the pandemic.
While I cooked and baked all throughout the pandemic, I did not think to make apple pie. It was too much for just me and my brother to eat. I no longer gave something that was always given to me: the sweetness of apples.
I avoid eating apples now—though I will gladly accept a bowl of slices from my mom. Yet, I eagerly eat apple pie, apple strudels, apple turnovers, apple crisp, apple cider donuts, many things apple. Whether naturally or artificially flavored, they are the only means for me to taste its sweetness without its consequences. Though the women in my family who shaped my life would not know this, I savor a sweetness I cannot have in peace because of them, because I am thankful that they always thought to surround me in sweetness.
i wanted to see how far i could go halfway down the hill
by Benjamin Herdeg Illustrated by Tarini Malhotra
I was on a bike ride down the hill. It was finally getting colder. It felt like I had pennies in the back of my throat. I shivered in my unzipped coat and slowed as it parachuted larger. But the incline pitched steeper, and I kept pedaling. I wanted to see how fast I could go.
That morning, I had reached out to an old friend. I still hadn’t gotten a response. In recent summers, we planned to see each other in the winter, but now November was almost through and the chance of a reunion was slim. I shut off my phone.
It’s rare that I lose my bearings in Providence, or that I go somewhere unexpected. But Prospect Terrace caught me by surprise, even after passing the dome of the Christian Science church that shadows it just a few pedals before.
I stopped there for a beat. Heads, each one in a pair, turned to stare. I had gone where couples go on dates. It was a special night. There were two-person picnics, two-person blankets, two-person tubs of cold pasta salad—everything they did, they did in tandem.
A woman with wiry, sepia hair and a witty smile turned and frowned as if I had spoiled her night. I might have been panting loudly after biking for a bit—it had been a sedentary semester and this was my escape—but for all she knew, I was there meeting my other half. I could have been waiting patiently. Or I was single, making peace with a quiet life. After all, she was only with her partner, two pieces of one life.
With nowhere else to go—it’s really such a small park—I moved toward the Roger Williams statue, the state’s founder set in stone. He was so funny: standing there all pompous with his head craned back like the garish sun offended him, pushing out his palm before his belly as if to shush the city. Under the granite arch of the terrace, he stood still
as a mountain, as if I’d said don't move a muscle! and he wanted to make me laugh.
I moved closer to him, propping my bike against his stone encasing. I saw beyond the people making out on a caving bench. Apples, now rotten, had been thrown over the fence. Gnats pixelated the evening sky. The skyline blocked the sunset, but every time it passed behind a building’s floor with blinds furling on the windows of either side, the light shone through, and I felt it hot on my face.
The day got darker, though I didn’t realize it. People left, but I didn’t mind. I didn't check the time. Clouds blew over the hill; I stuck beside the city.
A man stood beside me, beside Roger Williams, but he didn’t seem to notice us. He wore a plaid flannel shirt with a baseball-capped skull and crossbones on the back. He hugged a woman from behind who wore tall cowboy boots and stared at the Omni’s pointed roofs. She counted the penthouse windows. They had two children—the smaller one walked their dog while searching for his sister. She hid behind a young, grimacing couple and wore long and fuzzy socks. Their parents paid them no mind.
“Can you step aside for me and my wife?” the man asked me in a bothered voice.
“Of course!” I said, choking on the smoke of his cigarette, smiling so he thought his messy love pleased me. I coughed so hard my eyes watered, making the sky glitter as it lost its color, coming back in purple, darker and darker. And every time I thought the light was gone, it came back. I kept coughing.
I moved to the other side of Roger.
I looked up at him: chiseled jawline, heavy hands, pebbles and freckles smooth on his gray stone face. What a guy. He was made here just to stand by himself.
My coughing was making a ruckus. I selfconsciously faced the people in the park. Only those who came with no one smiled forgivingly. Do people only go places to feel less alone?
I wasn’t there out of necessity—only by chance, I reminded myself. I spent five minutes looking downtown, nodding my head, tracing the buildings with a soft and steady gaze. Five minutes wasn’t long, but I thought it was enough. I took out my phone. The sun was gone. My friend still hadn’t gotten back to me. I don’t think my friend was going to get back to me.
Prospect Terrace—you’re sitting there watching a sunset that's blinding or half-hidden by a tree. Either way, you can’t see. Then the sunbeams fade to darkness, and the city, rippled and bright just a second ago, distorts entirely.
I was left with several others at the park, but, one by one, they left. I leaned against Roger’s weathered capsule. He has lived through so many sunsets, his head turned away from each one.
Maybe the things I would share with a dead man are the thoughts I should keep to myself. The couples stared at me as I peeled myself away.
I shot my empty coffee cup in a trash basket on the way out. I think I may have missed. Or it went in clean then bounced back out. I didn’t bother looking back. I biked as fast as I could back up the hill. It was a special night.
the rise of the theater kid pop star
Ariana Grande, Olivia Rodrigo, Reneé Rapp, and Sabrina Carpenter have one thing in common.
by Isabella Xu
Illustrated by Hyde Flanders
There’s a new crop of pop stars popping up among Gen Z, and don’t be surprised if they do a kick-ballchange at next year's Grammys.
Ariana Grande, whose recent album Eternal Sunshine went number one on Billboard in March, got her start on Broadway at 15. She also stars as Glinda in the movie musical Wicked, which will be in theaters this Friday. Olivia Rodrigo, the queen of teenage punkpop, took off after her feature in High School Musical: The Musical: The Series. Sabrina Carpenter, the “Espresso” singer who’s touched the top of the charts twice this season, played the lead role in Broadway’s Mean Girls opposite Reneé Rapp, another rising pop star.
Then, there’s the 26-year-old singer Chappell Roan. She’s not technically a theater kid, but she’s bringing mainstream music its biggest dose of theatricality since Lady Gaga’s meat dress. Her music is an electric mix of hyperpop and tragic rock, but she’s better known for her elaborate drag. She’s appeared as everything from a sexy Statue of Liberty to a Renaissance pig. From the wigs to the snout, Roan is acting out “what I wished my life could be,” as she told the L.A. Times.
The thing is that “theater kids” aren’t just people who participated in a musical or two in middle school. Theater kids make performing their whole personality. They go all in. Unlike the diaristic songs of Taylor Swift, or the high-art-inflected albums of Beyonce, or the sexier stylings of Megan Thee Stallion, theater kid pop stars are proudly dorky and far from bashful. Sabrina Carpenter told Vogue, “I keep my Harry Potter wand on display just in case I need to cast some spells real fast” before proudly showing off her baby grand piano.
How did the theater kids take over the world?
Blame Glee and its creator Ryan Murphy for mainlining theater kids to the masses. Fifteen years ago, the show saw jocks and cheerleaders transform into card-carrying musical theater heads. Before long, we all wanted to be Finn Hudson: quarterback by day, star of Rocky Horror Picture Show by night. Around the same time, Nick Jonas forged a path from Broadway boy (he played Gavroche in Les Mis and Tiny Tim in A Christmas Carol, among other roles) to boyband man, and Zac Efron was starting his own journey from High School Musical to Sexiest Man Alive. Musical theater
just kept getting hotter.
“We’ve had exponential growth around the country,” Rachel Reiner, Executive Director of the Jimmy Awards, a national high school musical theater prize, told me. “We started with 16 regional awards programs, and this year, we had 51.” Reiner estimates that there are over 140,000 students participating in Jimmy-affiliated high school musical programs across the country. Rapp was one of these students. She won the competition in 2018 with the song “All Falls Down” from the musical Chaplin
What’s so special about theater kids? Katherine Boyle, a partner at Andreessen Horowitz, recently wrote on X that the group excels because acting gives them gravitas and confidence. “Learning the embarrassment of forgetting a line or your notes as a kid—and moving on from it—is a valuable skill,” she wrote. “Sports won’t teach a kid this.” Theater shows you how to hold a gaze and it endows the bravado—or maybe overconfidence—to keep a pathologicallybored generation watching. Just take a look at some of our most powerful figures, and you’ll see the pattern: Supreme Court Justice Ketanji Brown-Jackson did improv in undergrad with Matt Damon; New Jersey Governor Phil Murphy once played King Arthur in Camelot; and Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau started his career as a high school drama teacher (a Will Schuester of the North, you might say).
Reiner described other skills honed in theater, from public speaking to “Your ability to work as a team, to take direction, to see moves ahead of the current situation, like in chess.” In other words, musical theater makes you a bold leader—but it also teaches you how to step back and listen to the ensemble. Perhaps it’s no surprise, then, that today’s theatrical pop stars have made careers out of a unique cocktail of fearless eccentricity and acute cultural savvy. Whether they’re in music or politics or anything else, theater kids are among the most capable of us all.
In 2024, it’s increasingly clear that, as Josh Groban put it at this year’s Jimmy Awards, “If you want to get something done, hire a theater kid.”
Pop music got the message.
exploring pleasure and leisure in ukiyo-e and impressionism the
cross-influence of Japanese and European art in the 18th and 19th centuries
.
by Ellie Kang
During the 18th and 19th centuries, Japanese art, Impressionism, and other European art styles were heavily linked. Ukiyo-e woodblock prints, created to depict “The Floating World of Edo” (modern-day Tokyo), were mass-produced for the enjoyment of commoners from the 17th century to the early 20th century. These prints show aspects of contemporary life and serve as Japanese culture ambassadors for the wider world. Their influence spread to later European art movements like Impressionism and Post-Impressionism.
In response to the modernization of Paris during this time, Monet and the Impressionists focused on exploring the celebration of the pleasures of middleclass life. He tended to explore these pleasures under different light and weather conditions to create his varying series depicting the atmosphere and environment.
Together, Japonisme and Western Art heavily influenced each other and tended to portray similar themes of pleasure and leisure during this turn to modernism in the 18th and 19th centuries.
In the bustling city of Edo, commoners would frequent the Yoshiwara pleasure quarters, watch kabuki theater, and spectate sumo competitions. Utagawa Hiroshige’s One Hundred Famous Views of Edo: Moon-Viewing Point shows one of many brothels or inns in the Shinagawa settlement. The serene interior looks out the open window at the rising moon during August, encapsulating the peaceful lifestyles of the Japanese geisha. The bonsai trees and pots of leaves in these prints of the interior also suggest a meditative atmosphere as the entertainers settle in for the night after work in the pleasure quarters. Another leisure activity, kabuki theater, is showcased in Torii Kiyotsune’s piece, The interior of a Kabuki theater. As it was one of the greatest delights of the commoners, men and women would actively engage in kabuki performances, responding to actors with praise and clapping. The levels and height of the theaters show the packed and lively nature of this form of entertainment.
Despite the strong contrast in the style of artwork, Impressionism also pioneered an idea of leisure and pleasure in the French countryside through the style of broken color and rapid fragmented brushstrokes. The similar idea of capturing middleclass life pleasures, la vie moderne (“modern life”), is prominent in works such as Woman Reading by Édouard Manet. In this scene, the free brushstrokes and light colors depict a cool, relaxing day at a Parisian café, where artists and writers would gather to observe the new urban setting. Similarly, Claude Monet’s famous Water Lilies series also portrays an atmosphere of serenity, peacefulness, and leisure of the middle classes through the implementation of open composition, with the large lotus pads and lilies
Illustrated by Coco Zhu
suspended as if in a space beyond the frame. This major piece of landscape art contributed to Monet’s exploration of a radical view of nature, focused on capturing this fleeting moment of pleasure and desire. Moreover, his private Japanese garden that he constructed in Giverny, the garden depicted in Water Lilies, was thought to be created for contemplation and relaxation.
As we discuss Monet’s work, the influence that Japanese art and culture had on him becomes evident. In the late 19th century, the popularity of ukiyo-e prints was seen as an indication of knowledge, taste, and wealth. Monet was heavily influenced by Japanese ukiyo-e artists, especially Katsushika Hokusai, who would shake up his creative process. He collected Japanese woodblock prints and would compile them in his home in Giverny. He first discovered Japanese prints in 1862, and the decorative, flat media had a strong influence on the development of modern painting in France. Japanese influence is directly reflected in his Water Lilies. The colossal size of the paintings and the inclusion of the Taiko-bashi Bridge, closely tied to Hiroshige’s In the Kameido Tenjin Shrine Compound, give off a sense of calm and purity characteristic of Japanese prints. Hokusai and Hiroshige's flower prints may have also been a factor in Monet's love for water lilies.
The impact of Japonisme is also seen in other art movements across Europe. The bright, vivid colors and the attention to the passing of time influenced Impressionism, and Hiroshige’s bold lines representing trees and flowers had a strong influence on Art Nouveau artists. Hiroshige's One Hundred Famous Views of Edo had a considerable impact in Europe because of the vivid colors and unconventional perspectives. Artists such as Vincent van Gogh were influenced as well, most obviously in his Almond Blossom derived from Hiroshige's Plum Garden at Kameido
On the other hand, Impressionism also heavily influenced Japanese art and Hiroshige. Japan allowed more Western imports after opening up in the mid19th century and also looked to incorporate Western styles such as atmospheric perspective and linear perspective, which Hiroshige famously uses in multiple of his works. The Japanese public’s taste also gradually changed. Knowledge of Western industry and the opportunities it offered became more widespread in Japan, so the public outcry for novel ideas grew. The Japanese were starting to produce and consume Western-style art in preference to traditional ukiyo-e art. An example was the artist Kuroda Seiki (1866-1924), who was known as the father of modern Western paintings in Japan. After studying in France with Raphaёl Collin (1850-1916) for 10 years, he brought home the techniques of Impressionism and plein-air painting to depict famous local sights, geisha, and neighborhoods. His work, By The Lake, showcases his attempts at fusing Impressionism with traditionally Japanese subjects. He brought about new attitudes towards landscape paintings, liberating the stereotyped famous scene landscapes that were key in Edo periods and instead creating vivid, lively depictions of ordinary scenes in nature. Another example is his work, Landscape (Chigasaki Seaside), that resonated with Impressionist artwork in France. Kuroda also introduced many other new techniques and materials to the Japanese art world and was one of the key figures in driving the public’s taste away from the traditional art of ukiyo-e in Japan during the late 19th century.
Thus, both Japanese art and European art heavily influenced each other, particularly evident when viewed through the lens of pleasure and leisure, which were both very prominent during the 18th and 19th centuries in their respective environments and cultures.
Manet, Édouard. Woman Reading, 1880-1882, 61.2 × 50.7 cm. Oil on canvas.
Hiroshige, Utagawa. One Hundred Famous Views of Edo: Moon-Viewing Point, 1857. Woodblock print.
Kuroda, Seiki. By the Lake (湖 畔), 1897, oil on canvas, 69 x 84.7 cm. Tokyo National Museum.
Kuroda, Seiki. Landscape (Chigasaki Seaside), 1907, oil on canvas, 25.5 x 34 cm.
Monet, Claude. The Water-Lily Pond, 1899. Oil on canvas.
love unspoken love has a thousand shapes.
by Daphne Cao
Illustrated by Chase Wu Insta: @cuubikl
When I was a kid, I used to marvel at families who said “I love you” as easily as they breathed. Wrapping it in a goodbye, casually saying it in passing—it shocked me that anyone could say such an emotionally charged sentence without a second thought.
Though my family is far from all the stereotypes surrounding Asian immigrant families, one does ring true: never saying “I love you” to each other.
I would see videos on YouTube of people— usually also from Asian immigrant families—calling their fathers to tell them “I love you” for the first time. They would all start the same: The producers would ask the person in frame if they and their father had ever said that they love each other. When the person said no, the producers always asked why, as if the concept was so foreign they couldn’t fathom the reasoning behind it.
The music would always swell and fall dramatically after the phone call, the camera zooming in on the person sitting in the chair, whether they were awkwardly smiling or their expression was strung tight to restrain their tears. The “I love you” was always framed as a turning point, as if there had been a shift in the person’s relationship with their father because of it. The love between them was supposed to be more real, now that it had been spoken into the world.
As a kid, I began to wonder what that meant for my relationship with my father, whom I had never told I loved, who had never told me. Casual “I love you”s and these videos that posited a verbal confirmation of love put into my head a specific notion of what fatherly love should be. Did never saying “I love you” mean there was a deficiency in our relationship?
On family weekend, my parents drove up from New York, and I showed them my decorated and
last-minute-cleaned dorm. My dad looked around, his eyes landing on the duffle bag where I had hastily stuffed half my clothes while waiting for the top drawer of my dresser to get fixed. I braced myself for a light scolding about keeping my dorm neat, but he just frowned and said, “You know, you have so little clothes. We need to buy you more.”
I frowned, about to object that I had plenty of clothes—leaning more towards having too many than too little, honestly—but I paused as I saw the look on his face. He didn’t really think I didn’t have enough clothes; he just missed me while I was away at college and wanted to go out of his way to buy me more things.
My parents took me to Providence Place, and my dad picked clothes (at random I suspect) and asked me if I liked them, offering to buy them without even a glance at the price tag. My dad, who was completely removed from the fashion world and even more removed from trendy, teenage fashion, was enthusiastically taking me shopping, practically begging me to get something. He was doing something foreign and probably uninteresting to him solely for my sake, solely for my happiness, and if that is not love, I do not know what is.
The lack of verbal “I love you”s within Asian immigrant families is always seen as a deficiency, but does something have to be said to be known? I know my father loves me not because he has told me, but because I have never had to wait even a minute after my train ride for him to greet me with a hug, because he has forgiven and guided me through every silly mistake I have made navigating living by myself, because he offers to help me review the notes for classes he knows I’m struggling with, because I can see love in the crinkled corners of his eyes as he smiles at me.
I don’t need to call my father and hear him say “I love you” through the crackle of phone static to know that he does. He cares for me with a generosity and attentiveness he reserves for few people; I know what that is.
And that’s enough for me; I don’t need anything more.
reboot, reset, recharge motivation for the impending dreary winter days
by Katherine Mao
Illustrated by lily engblom-stryker
What’s the longest word in the English language? Until a few moments ago when I looked up the answer (don’t do it yet), I would have said: “supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.” Because of the surge in its popularity in elementary school and my limited vocabulary at the time, I followed the sheep in believing that it was the longest word to exist. So, what actually is the longest word in the English language? I’ll give you 30 seconds to look it up. Recognize it? Yeah, me neither. It would be much easier to say “a lung disease caused by volcanic ashes” than to attempt to pronounce “pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis.”
It was never a matter of whether “supercalifragilisticexpialidocious” was truly the longest word. It was always about how fast you could say it without messing up and whether or not you could spell it correctly from memory. It was always a competition.
I remember going to the Scholastic Book Fair in the third grade and being captivated by the Guinness World Records books—the 2011 edition and its blazing sun cover, the 2012 edition with the holographic water droplets. Record-breaking facts! Fascinating human achievements! Unimaginable natural wonders! The content ranged from the generic (most career soccer goals scored), to the weird (most Jell-O eaten with chopsticks in one minute), to the absurd (largest Smurf meeting ever). Any title or topic you can think of, the Guinness World Records probably has covered it. Or, if it hasn’t, you can record it on your own and send in a submission—more competition.
Most activities can be turned into a competition: the annual Nathan’s Famous International Hot Dog Eating Contest on July 4th, competition reality
television shows (Dance Moms, Masterchef, Dancing with the Stars, Survivor), the Olympics. Although the stakes of a hot dog eating contest and a gold medal match in the Olympics may differ in scale, all forms of competition can be characterized by high intensity and a high-pressure environment.
There is an expectation that to be exceptional, you must be the first to accomplish something or to do something differently. The first to discover a breakthrough in CRISPR gene-editing therapy able to treat sickle cell disease. The first to launch a Cybertruck, unique in design and appearance from a traditional pick-up truck. If it’s already been done, it’s not interesting enough to repeat it. Everyone remembers first place, but few remember the runner-up. World records in track and field, swimming, and other sporting events are meant to be broken. The fastest man alive, Noah Lyles, might be the third or fourth fastest by 2028. At this rate, the qualifying time for the men’s 100-meter dash could possibly even be five seconds by 2048, precisely half of the current 10.05-second qualifying time.
How can we keep striving for more while preserving our sanity? What is the human limit? Is there a human limit?
Maybe there’s not a clear one. Automation has made our lives easier in many ways; maybe humans are now actually looking for more responsibilities to take on. In fact, it’s become simple and effortless to the point where I can have AI read and summarize a 90-page historical document for me in five seconds rather than spend five hours scrutinizing it myself. Our society is so enthralled by the idea of efficiency that the upcoming presidential administration has even proposed a Department of Government Efficiency. Oh, and they appointed two billionaires to lead
it! The dystopian worlds that we’ve read about in books like Brave New World and seen in shows like Black Mirror episodes have arrived.
But, perhaps this is exactly where we’re supposed to be, and this is the motivation we needed to take advantage of the now and pursue our goals before the apocalypse takes over. Run your personal best in the mile, be a pioneer in computational intermolecular physio-biochemical engineering, do it all before the record books are inundated with names that look like “%&(*$(01001110)!>>” because there might come a day when a robot can say “supercalifragilisticexpialidocious” faster than you.
***
During my time at Brown and as a computer science concentrator, I’ve taken some machine learning, deep learning, and natural language processing classes. The basis for the ways these various AI programs have become so powerful is that they all undergo a structured regimen of training and learning to get better at the task they want to perform. In a way, we as humans have also been conditioned to perform certain tasks under similar discipline. We are told to follow the traditional path: go to primary and secondary school; then pursue higher education in university or further graduate and PhD programs; then get a job where the only “acceptable” and “profitable” industries are finance, technology, consulting, or some combination of the three; then if not immediately funneled into Corporate America after graduation, complete years of medical school or law school to become particularly trained (and fine-tuned) on specialized tasks within those fields. Even so, unless you are an expert in a specific niche, you are at risk of having your job automated by AI. All of those laborious hours spent writing an 80-
page thesis, preparing for multi-round interviews, and studying for the MCAT and LSAT will have culminated into unrealized dreams.
Perhaps it’s not that we’re competing with AI but rather, maybe the process of working towards our futures is ironically turning us into machinelike models. Routines in college can seem robotic, especially as finals season approaches and there’s nothing to do but study for exams, write 10-20 page papers, and code elaborate final projects. To improve on a goal or to become better at a task requires repetition. It also involves competition, whether with ourselves or with others.
It’s mid-November and the heaters across campus have turned on. The temperature outside is colder. The trees are bare. The plague has begun to run through campus, literally in the form of sickness and, figuratively, as burnout. Attendance in lectures is dwindling, and assignments are piling up. It might feel like you’re behind on schoolwork and, just generally, in life. However, despite the sun setting at 4:30 p.m., we still have plenty of hours of daylight to allocate towards our daily tasks. Set realistic and achievable goals, switch up your study spots for a change of scenery. Take breaks in between. Some researchers have reported that, scientifically, humans need more sleep in the winter months, roughly an additional two hours compared to summer months, so give your body grace if you oversleep for a few hours or if you wake up from your “power nap” to complete darkness around you. It’s all about balance. It’s easy to lose motivation when the end is near, but let the end be a motivator in itself. Sometimes the only way to fix a crashing system is to reboot it. Let Thanksgiving break be the rest we all deserve, and we’ll come back in December with our bodies and minds recharged.
Titans of Thayer
by Will Hassett
“Declare your care for others, in all its forms—scream it so loudly from the top of College Hill that the ducks by the Pedestrian Bridge feel the water ripple beneath their feathers. Tell people you cherish them until your vocal chords get sore and your lips begin to ache from words of love.”
—Indigo Mudbhary, “On Being Cringe” 12.07.23
“In a world where practically everything is dictated by logic, I view superstitions as a way to keep the magic in our everyday lives.”
