On Oct. 20, former President Donald Trump donned a yellow-and-gray McDonald’s apron, complete with golden cufflinks, no hairnet and slippery dress shoes, to salt fries and pose for photos with supporters. It seemed he would do anything to win more votes and troll Vice President Kamala Harris.
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“This is college; it is okay if you disagree,” my professor said inquisitively, prompting a long, awkward pause from the thirty students sitting in front…
In a Study of Women, Gender and Sexuality seminar, Gender and Violence, taught by Professor Carrie Baker during the fall of 2024, a discussion on self-defense classes highlighted the availability — or lack thereof — of such resources at Smith. As early as the turn of the twentieth century, self-defense, particularly physical training, emerged as a means of personal and political empowerment for women.
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Saturday night; raucous laughter and the clipped, rapid sound of footsteps, accompanied by a flash of headlights as the PVTA B43 passes by my first-floor window. It’s 9:30 p.m. and I am holed inside my room, blue light radiating from my computer screen and burning the words from my Gender, Law and Policy reading onto the backs of my retinas.
During my first week on the Smith College campus, I was struck by the absence of outdoor trash cans. When I had something to throw out, there was nowhere to put it. I began to look for them, and after three weeks of searching, I only found a singular trash can outside of the bookstore — one that, as far as I could tell, wasn’t affiliated with the college.
Last Saturday night, my friend and I had resigned to have a night in — typical for both of us these days. We had both had exhausting days of sleeping in and existing in the world, but, at around 9:00 p.m., we decided to not be lame and go out. We walked around campus for about half an hour.
A warm, 75-degree Friday in late September calls for only one thing: a fresh, crisp matcha latte, cold as ice, from my favorite cafe. With a recently sprained ankle, a fresh Smith College Board of Trustees direct deposit and a dream, I hobbled down to Familiars Coffee & Tea.
At the end of last year’s faculty budget presentation — featuring a meticulously crafted slide deck full of data, graphs and figures — a microphone…
Recently, I forced my girlfriend through the ordeal that any number of my friends, partners and casual acquaintances have been subjected to in the past — a showing of the 1982 classic “The Snowman.” Based on a picture book of the same name, “The Snowman” is a hand-illustrated silent short film accompanied by an original symphonic score. All aspects which my willing or unwilling viewers have no doubt found riveting. Not to mention that it inflicts more emotional damage than any children’s Christmas movie has a right to. Call it my artistic appreciation (or early onset depression) but its bittersweet mood is one of the many reasons it was my favorite film as a child.