Troye Sivan Takes On Coachella

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The incredibly talented Australian pop star, Troye Sivan, surprised his fans with a surprise performance at the 2017 Coachella music festival.

Sivan joined DJ Martin Garrix on the Sahara Stage during his set to drop their new song together, “There For You.

This is the first piece of new music that we have gotten from Sivan since his 2015 debut album, Blue Neighbourhood, and we couldn’t be more excited about it.

Sivan has been hinting on his Twitter that a new album is in the works, and new music will be coming our way in the, hopefully, near future.

There For You” is a brilliant song with a beautiful message. It’s pop heavy and radio-ready, and while it may be a great song to bop to, the lyrics hold a lot in them.

“I got you, I promise

Let me be honest

Love is a road that goes both ways

When your tears roll down your pillow like a river

I’ll be there for you

But you gotta be there for me too”

Communication is the most important thing in any relationship. You cannot expect someone to always be there for you, if you cannot be there for them. Communication, and as stated in the song, love, goes both ways. One sided relationships are toxic and unfair and I cannot stress this enough.

There For You” is a song I feel like everyone can relate to at some point in life, and songs like this are perfect to find comfort in. Sweet and soft.

With that being said, I cannot wait to hear what Sivan has planned for his sophomore album.

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As a longtime fan of Troye Sivan (and a fan of music and talent in general,) it’s been an emotional ride watching Sivan go from posting quirky videos on YouTube, to preforming on the iconic Coachella stage.

It just goes to show that if you’re passionate about something, and you want your dream bad enough, hard work and dedication pays off, and living the life you’ve always dreamed of, is possible.

I Won’t Apologize, Regret Or Change This

Whenever I get a new tattoo, the most common question I get is, “what does that mean?” When I answer this question with an explanation of a band name, or something related to music I always get, “wow you must really love that band,” “what if they break up?” “you’re going to regret that” and of course the unavoidable lectures from family members about having too many tattoos and how I will eventually need to cover them up for work. Nah, I think to myself every time I hear these. Although, this picture isn’t me, this would probably be a tattoo I’d regret… just a little bit.

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Tattoos are a passion. Writing these blogs help me express myself, well the writing on my body is a creative form of expression as well. The tattoos I have and plan to get will tell a small story of who I am, who I was and who I’m becoming.

My Simple Plan tattoo, although I’m still a huge SP fan, is more for 12 year old Cathy. The band was an important part of my childhood and I wanted this representation on my body forever, yes FOREVER. I know what forever means, yes I’m aware these will be on my skin when I’m old and wrinkly and that’s 100% fine.

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Kid Cudi’s quote I have on my forearm “Never Feel Alone, We Are Always Here Even In Death,” was taken from his third studio album, WZRD. This quote isn’t just because I love Kid Cudi, but because this is the best way I could describe how his music makes me feel. I searched for a long time trying to find the perfect lyric in his songs that would sum up what he has meant to me and what his music has helped me through. Finally, I landed on this quote, although not a lyric it describes how his music and him have made me feel like I’m not alone, despite struggling with this on a daily basis.

My “MCA” tattoo is to honor Adam Yauch from the Beastie Boys. I’ve looked up to him since the day I started listening to the Beastie Boys. I used to write essays and create projects based on his life, he fascinated me with the way he become so caring, stopped doing drugs, and become a feminist, an activist and changed his life around. I try not to think of famous musicians as role models or heroes but, Adam Yauch was all those things for me.

Eventually, I want a large Green Day tattoo on my arm of their third album, Dookie. But, for now all I have is a green rose from their first album artwork, 1,039/Smoothed Out Slappy Hours. I do love bands like Simple Plan, the Beastie Boys etc. but Green Day will always be the most important and my favorite band. It’s only right to tattoo an album cover on my arm.

Continue reading “I Won’t Apologize, Regret Or Change This”

Generic Is The New Basic

Trumpcare/Ryancare making you nauseated? Me too.

A short one this week, as (let’s be real) we gear up to take on more hours at work next week. That’s how we spring-break UIC style. This means I write about something I’m fascinated by, and don’t need to research, as I usually would. My main game is healthcare, so my odd interest this week is drug policy, e.g. the laws that govern our prescription drugs.

Ready for that nausea to lurch to full-on heaving? Let’s get to it.

-A drug patent in the US lasts ten years. The company of origin has a decade to market the absolute hell out of it before the recipe (ingredients AND quantity) are released. This is how generic drugs exist, usually comprised entirely of the active ingredient of the “designer drug.”
For example, Tylenol’s active ingredient is acetaminophen. You can buy Tylenol for 15$ a bottle, or get much larger bottle of just acetaminophen for about 6$ at Jewel or CVS. Benadryl’s active ingredient is diphenhydramine. It’s a mouthful, but you can just buy a generic “allergy relief” box of pills for $4, with the only ingredient being diphenhydramine–it’ll serve the exact same purpose with the same quality. Read your labels!

-“I did read the labels! And the drug I saw on TV has more ingredients, not just the active ingredient! That makes it better than its generic version!”
This accusation is half-right. Brands put more things in their pills, but these ingredients are usually inactive. It’s essentially to make people believe that their drug is more comprehensive.

-“Then why do branded drugs cost so much more?” Because they can. And because they spend billions of dollars on marketing. The US and New Zealand are the only developed countries that allow direct-to-consumer marketing by pharmaceutical companies. Those wacky ads featuring 60-year-old white couples fishing and going to a ball game? They’re illegal practically everywhere else, because they divert pharmaceutic money away from research and development, and the ads are often misleading. Just think of the super-fast disclaimer at the end.

But back to the “because they can” part. Ahem. IT IS ILLEGAL IN THE US FOR THE GOVERNMENT TO EVEN TRY TO NEGOTIATE DRUG PRICES WITH PHARMACEUTICAL COMPANIES. Not difficult; not uncommon; illegal. That’s why epi-pen prices were allowed to rocket to hundreds of dollars a year ago. Because the CEOs had no opposition. And big surprise! People with life-threatening allergies need eip-pens to live, so they’ll pay whatever the cost.

-“OH GOD, why can’t we stop this?” Because designer drug brands make lots of money this way. The more money they make, the more powerful their lobby is in DC. I’m sure you’ve heard of “Big Pharma.” They’ve got more lobbyists, more cash, and more power than the National Rifle Association.
It took one meeting with Big Pharma lobbyists to turn Donald Trump’s view from “hey people should be able to afford their drugs” to “more money for Pharma means more innovation and more jobs or something.”

Oh man, here I said that’d be short, and yet here we are. Next time you’re in CVS looking for allergy meds, headache relief, or researching a new birth control pill, look at the ingredients. Then find the generic that boasts the brand-name’s active ingredient on its box. If you’re curious about all the other ingredients, you’ve got a smart phone. Look ’em up! If the generic’s package says “Compare with [Brand Name Drug]” that means it’s identical, except the pills might be a different shade of blue, or come in a bottle rather than a box.

The only difference is marketing. Be an educated consumer. The only way these kind of lobbyists will back off is if we stop feeding them.

Have a Scien-tastic Day!

 

Music Ratings are Nothing More than Opinion: Artists Done Dirty by Pitchfork

 

IMG_1433Judging music is merely an illusion. No one can actually quantify what the people like because the people, after all, are all unique. What one person thinks is crap, another will consider a masterpiece, and a small group of people can’t decide for the masses what is good and what is not in such a subjective field. Music is purely preference. My prime example has to be Pitchfork. I appreciate Pitchfork news and updates and being exposed to new music, along with the music festival they host in Chicago, but many of the ratings are far from what the populace would consider correct. Unless you’re Radiohead or someone who follows the “uncommercial” pitchfork aesthetic, don’t expect to find an album someone makes in the pitchfork perfect tens category. In fact, there are more than a handful of albums that I don’t believe deserved a perfect 10 in general or by genre. I implore you, the reader, to take any review with a grain of salt and listen to an album before you write it off. You might end up missing a diamond in the rough and hate yourself when you finally get into an artist and find out their concert was 3 weeks ago in your hometown.

1.  The Airborne Toxic Event  (1.6/10)
An old rating but a good album, the self-titled The Airborne Toxic Event is a popular indie band from the mid-2000s. While this band received praise on this album, pitchfork decided the album was not worth their time. It didn’t phase this band much, they even wrote an open letter sarcastically inviting pitchfork to watch one of their “moody and dramatic” concerts.

2.  Mumford & Sons- 1st and 3rd albums. (2.1/10-2.0/10)
This is an example band that doesn’t fit the mold the raters are looking for. I’ll admit, you either love them or you hate them, but in the end, Mumford and his band didn’t deserve the low ratings. The reasoning for the low rating was due to Pitchfork thinking that they are a Fleet Foxes knock off (Every rated Fleet Foxes album has received an 8.7 or higher), along with alluding to them being phony or fake artists ([They] are in the costume business.They’re playing dress-up in threadbare clothes.). Either way, after 2+ World tours, 3 albums, and 2 EPs, I don’t think M&S cares much for their ratings in the first place.

3. Hamilton The Mixtape (4.8/10)
Hamilton, the Tony Award-winning musical, received less than a 5 on the mixtape version, which consisted of many well-known artists collaborating on the rap tracks that the world has been learning history through all of 2016. The reason for the low rating? Basically, It wasn’t the same as the original and it lacks the narrative of a musical. Crazy. I invite pitchfork to find any musical soundtrack that has the same narrative as the onstage production, excluding operas and operettas, which tend to have no dialogue outside of their songs.

4. Nine Inch Nails- The Fragile (2/10-10)
Nine Inch Nails in 2017 received a 8.7 on their reissued album The Fragile, but in 1999 NIN received a 2/10 on the same album. After some digging, I found the original review. It still exists, but any linking to the page does not. Almost 20 years later after their review was deemed futile, and NIN popular, and the original deleted. The lead singer Trent Reznor had no nice words for pitchfork, which a lot of artists seem to agree with these days.

5. Childish Gambino- Camp (1.6/10)
Pitchfork basically said Gambino was too conceited for rap and should stick to comedy. Camp definitely isn’t Because the Internet or any of his other works, but it is a quality album that Pitchfork didn’t give the time of day. Find Gambino on any “Certified Bangers” playlist at your local college campus. Email me if you genuinely honestly believe this album didn’t deserve better.

6. The Killers- Any of their albums (5.2-6.4)
The Killers are known for their amazing songs. To this day I know every word off of Sam’s Town and any of their singles including Mr. Brightside and Somebody Told Me, which were both on Hot Fuss, The Killers’ first album. Pitchfork has never liked The Killers and basically say their sound is too generic or their albums aren’t cohesive enough, wanting every track to be the screaming your head off in the car with your friends while people stare at you masterpiece that Mr. Brightside ended up being (Hot Fuss deserves at least an 8.5 in my opinion). Even the greatest hits album received a low score, which means that Pitchfork just really does not like this band.

7. Ed Sheeran- Divide (2.8/10)
The initial Artist that inspired this article. Sheeran probably doesn’t care what an American music rating website has to say about his new album when it has no effect on whether or not he’s going to sell out his next stadium (to be clear; the stadium is going to sell out even if he released 50 minutes of straight fart noises). A short summary of this album review is that Ed’s music is that Ed shouldn’t rap and the shallow album has no real worth.

8. Travis Morrison- Travistan (0/10)
Fans of Travis Morrison will proudly say that Travistan is worth a listen. Lead singer of the indie band The Dismemberment Plan decided to come out with an album and got a crushing review from Pitchfork in 2004. If you are able to write, produce, and sell an album, anything written definitely does not deserve a 0/10 even if the content is poor. Not saying this album is poor, many people enjoy this album. The review mildly hurt Morrison’s career but he still made more music after this review came and out and for that, we thank him for proving his naysayers wrong.

 

Say what you must about these albums, but I can assure you that they are all pretty decent listens, even if they aren’t my musical preference. Take a second to listen to an album, even if you’re weary of what everyone says about it. It might end up being your favorite. If you have any artists you think were done dirty, comment below and I’ll add them to the list.

Going Through Gay Puberty in a Conservative Community

This is the first installment of a multi-part series detailing my experiences during the initial realization of my sexuality at twelve years old and the subsequent struggles I endured because of it. Capturing these moments is a difficult and extremely emotional process for me. I hope at least some of you will read along and find something worthwhile. – Trev


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Part I: Sitting on the Edge of Heaven

Self discovery can be a tremendously beautiful and illuminating experience. It is a time when a young person chisels the brilliantly unique sculpture that is their identity, sharing characteristics with many others yet somehow amalgamating into one that is wholly its own. I remember the initial joy I felt: pure, unreserved. An abundance of internal confetti rained down as all the various parts of my self united for a toast over a grand celebration of realized soul. Recognizing a personal talent, experiencing a first kiss, discovering a taste in music or a sense of fashion; there are few processes on this Earth as manifestly beautiful and natural as this. Left to its default, this time can contain some of the most glorious experiences in a person’s life. For some, this is exactly the case. For others, such as myself, the party gets busted. This is more in the sense of a malicious raid conducted by abusers of authority rather than justice being brought upon some obstreperous breakers of law. It didn’t start out awful, however.

My development began like anyone else’s. Eighth grade was the year I discovered a significant amount of myself, especially the sexual components, while the previous three were mainly focused on basic survival. Middle school was a mostly dark and treacherous tunnel of an experience, but eighth grade would emerge as the beaming light at the end of it. It’s not that I was brutally shoved into lockers or stricken with abject poverty. Materially and externally, I recognize that I’ve lived a relatively fortunate life. My assaults have been almost exclusively emotional in nature. These, of course, range from the minor to the more substantial. For an example of the former, when it came time for the rather inclusive fifth grade Christmas play, yours truly was honored with the role of the most corpulent character in all the land: Santa Claus.

Getting stuck with the part of Crisco Kringle can be attributed to my being quite portly in those days. Upon receiving the role, I was distinctly told by my teacher that we would place, “… a pillow or something,” under the tawdry, red outfit when the time came, because of course I hadn’t been typecast for being the plumpest pupil in the room. Needless to say, come showtime, it became quite clear that my designation was based on fitting the costume more than the role. After getting dressed I asked about the proposed padding only to be met with a terse, “I think we’ll be okay.” Yep. So this festive Humpty Dumpty rolled his jolly, fat ass onto that stage and gave it his all, sans pillow or dignity. It’s worth noting that I don’t have much red in my wardrobe to this very day, as if the mere sight of it irritates me, like some kind of bulimic bull. This is still far less direct than the time my seventh grade history teacher recommended I try out for shot put because I was, ‘nice and stout,’ (to this day I get triggered when perusing selections of beer) followed by derisive chuckling by both he and my supposed “best friend” at the time. Both at home and within those halls, these sorts of minor aggressions would be consistent but trivial compared to the larger tribulations to come.

General body dysmorphia aside, by eighth grade I had started eating better and moving more. Turns out self-hatred can be somewhat of a motivator, at least temporarily. Point is, I was feelin’ myself. I had an unprecedented level of confidence and comfort towards school, in part because that prepubescent, transitional phase where kids are desperate to prove their maturity and value against increased competition had simmered down. People had on the whole chilled the f*ck out, at least until next year, when we’d once again be launched into the bottom of a feral, hormonal wilderness. It was at this time I also started to recognize my attraction to other boys. In the earliest stages, before feelings left the unnoticed, background hum of subconscious and entered the frontal realm of labels and suppositions, these feelings granted me nothing short of unadulterated bliss. Crushes developed, boners boned as my overly naive mind navigated itself through exciting, new territory. All of this culminated into a moment where I was taking care of the placement of teachers’ mail per my duties as an ‘office assistant.’ (This willingness to please and assist authority would come to plague my development more than anything else.) Staring into a name tag-covered wall of schlocky, wooden cubes, my internal monologue reached it’s breaking point. Just say it. Admit it to yourself. Aloud, alone, I resigned and whispered, “I’m gay.”

In this instant I actually smiled. There was no feeling of wickedness or vice. Once the word had materialized, however, it was a short amount of time before indoctrinated judgement cast its dark, unloving shadow. My party got busted. The scratching sound of needle being abruptly ripped from vinyl pierced through the room as men in uniform despotically kicked down my doors of self, barking and breaking as the joy was replaced with fear and the celebrating turned to living nightmare. Such is often the experience of being gay in rural America. Much like the figurative festivity, the risk of continued disruption is usually mitigated by relocation, ideally to places that honor the separation of foliage and fashion. I tabled the problem at hand for the time being.

Over the following weeks and months I endured internal warfare. Images of the scaly, smelly flesh of demons that had been taught to my obsessive compulsive mind since I was six flooded my spirit. Shrieks of anguished and aflame dis-obeyers served as the soundtrack to what was supposed to be a formative and wonderful period of my life. The invisible crusade raged on until, one night, I decided to call upon the One I had been taught to in times like this. I knew what I was feeling was wrong, but I didn’t actually feel wrong. I also knew that I loved God very, very much, and I wanted all of his love in return. So, amidst the backdrop of another unnervingly still, Midwestern night, feeling as small as I ever had, I seated my twelve year old self on the edge of my bed. With desperation and incertitude, I held my clammy, adolescent hands together and spoke to him, aloud, “God, if there is any way, any way at all for you to love me the way I am, please do. Please, show me that you do.” There was no response. I remained confused and alone, waiting for God to love me. Waiting for permission to love myself.


Trev Richards is host of the weekly talk program Trev on UIC Radio; Live, Wednesdays 8:30 – 10:30 PM Central Time. Follow/listen on Twitter, Facebook, YouTube, iTunes and SoundCloud

Albums Changing My Life Right Now

Last week I wrote about albums that helped shaped me when I was younger, but the less talked about topic is the albums that are important to me right now.

SWMRS – Drive North (2016)

Not only this album but this band has such an old school rock and roll vibe while still being new and unique. The lead singer and guitarist, Cole, reminds me of Kurt Cobain sometimes by the way he dresses or sings in a certain song. However, don’t be fooled, his voice is completely his own. His brother, Max who plays guitar, seems almost the opposite. His voice is unique as well, he serenades us in songs like “lose it” and “turn up” The bassist, Seb, and drummer, Joey, are just as awesome, (if not more – they’re my favorite). There isn’t a time I listen to their songs and I don’t bop my head, sing along and want to dance. I haven’t experienced this band live yet sadly, but I’m sure when I do they will be ten times better live. Their energy is already clear through my headphones. I also can’t think of any other band that has covered Boys Don’t Cry by The Cure so amazingly.

Favorite songs: “Miss Yer Kiss”, “Figuring It Out”, “Ruining My Pretending”, “Silver Bullet”, okay so maybe all of them are my favorite.

Simple Plan – Taking One For The Team (2016)

I’ve talked about this band and this album before, it may seem repetitive, but this album is as significant for me as the rest of Simple Plan’s albums. The last time they released an album I was 14 years old. I’m sure I can speak for everyone when I say I’m not the same person I was when I was 14, so this album reminded me of why I fell in love with them. After 5 years since the last studio album, the five members of Simple Plan still know how to perfectly describe why I shouldn’t let anyone tell me what to do, and their love songs will always be epic.

Favorite songs: “I Refuse”, “I Don’t Wanna Be Sad”, “Everything Sucks”, “P.S. I Hate You”

Twenty One Pilots – Blurryface (2015)

The only artist I don’t mind listening to on B96 while at work is Twenty One Pilots. I’ll admit at first I was like TOP? More annoying songs on B96 that will get overplayed but I don’t think I can ever overplay their songs. I fell in love with this album as quickly as I fell in love with lead singer Tyler Joseph and drummer Josh Dun. I love the truthfulness in not only the lyrics but Tyler’s voice. I also like that each song is its own. I found myself wondering if I was still listening to TOP because even Tyler’s voice can sound different, but maybe that’s the awesomeness of them. They have the ability to have a different sound while still remaining TOP. For example songs like, “Tear In My Heart” or “Car Radio”. I’m very disappointed in myself that I’ve missed the opportunity to see them live twice already.

Favorite songs: “Fairly Local, “Tear In My Heart”, “Message Man”

This video inspired me and my 10 year old sister to create an elaborate handshake of our own.

Continue reading “Albums Changing My Life Right Now”

Trump’s Presidency Is the Largest Terrorist Attack Since 9/11

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Inauguration Day was a tragedy of epic proportions. The largest attack on our nation’s soil since 9/11. This time, the terrorists are not operating planes or weaponry. They are grasping pens, sitting behind wooden desks, preparing to erode every last modicum of decency through detrimental legislation. This is a turning point. Do we succumb to evil? Or do we rise up and prove, once and for all, that this is a nation which values life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness for ALL of its citizens? Time will tell.

One thing is certain: we cannot passively sit on the sidelines. Not anymore. They’ll come for your food. They’ll come for your internet rates and access. Your clubs, alcohol, fashion, music; all of it. They’ll design everything to enrich themselves and their corporate brethren until you and I can no longer afford the distractions that we used to ignore the steady weathering of our rights. This is not to say distraction is inherently wrong, but opting for the more immediately convenient route of escapism is not a path towards prosperity.

In the past we’ve comforted ourselves with defeated cries of, “Nothing will ever change,” “There’s nothing I can do.” Ignored the news while we binge watched, drank, ate. Many people have long existed in this country without being afforded these distractions to mask their suffering. We didn’t care. Now? It’s caught up to us. Sad that it took personal stake to galvanize the general population, but here we are. Joining them in the ranks. Gasping on our sandy islands of privilege as a tidal wave rises against a bright orange sky and washes away the false sense of security and paradise we once relished in.

The time for action is now. These are the days they will teach to generations. Where were you? What did you do? What side did you align yourself with? When your relatives flip through the photo album, will they embarrassingly hide the nature of your character? Or will they be proud of their heritage, proud of the legacy you left behind and proud to be Americans? The choice is ours.


Trev Richards is host of the weekly talk program Trev on UIC Radio; Live, Wednesdays 8:30 – 10:30 PM Central Time. Follow/listen on Twitter, Facebook, YouTube, iTunes and SoundCloud

Why It’s Okay To Be A Little (Or A Lot) Lost

I don’t mean lost like your mom was just in front of you at Target but you saw something shiny that looked cool and went to check it out. Now you can’t find her and you’re wondering if you’ll ever get home to finish the food you left in your fridge and start thinking about how much you’d miss your mom. Then you realize you’re lost and hey where are those nice ladies that help you find your parents at stores or hey where’s the lost and found? You’re wandering around Target realizing there is no lost and found. Damn, your mom is gonna be pissed that her 12 year old still gets distracted by shiny things and can’t keep up with her because we just came to Target for one thing and have to get home so she doesn’t miss her show. *exhales*

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I mean lost like you’re uncertain with what you plan to do in the upcoming years. I know in highschool around junior and senior year many of my classmates were asking how am I supposed to know what I want to do with my life at only 18 years old? Some knew the career path they’d choose in college, others weren’t so sure. At 17, being a senior I didn’t think about the future, I thought “let future Catherine worry about it” I didn’t even see myself in college. But when I got accepted to UIC I was excited, and felt like I had to automatically know what career I’d pursue.

At first I thought I’d go into the Business field because I knew I wanted to own a record store sometime in the future. However, after a semester in the business major I knew it wasn’t for me, I thought “what the hell am I doing here?” It was always clear to me that I loved English and writing, so I thought the obvious choice was to become a teacher. I went from a Business major to an English major and then Teaching of English major in only my first year at UIC. Finally I know what I’ll do for the rest of my life I thought.

But recently, I’ve found myself interested in other subjects like Psychology. I considered switching to a Psychology major but what if I don’t think that’s for me either? I’m told I have time to decide, I’m only 19 but it feels like the clock is ticking. I’ll be a junior soon, then a senior and before I can even catch my breathe I’ll be graduating. It doesn’t feel like there’s time to decide anymore. If I don’t put this degree to good use, it would have been a waste of time and money. It may not disappoint others that I chose a different career path than the one I spent so much time studying, but it’ll be a disappointment to me. All I know for certain at this moment is that I love writing and music. But, I don’t know what I want to do with these passions anymore. I was feeling really doubtful, and disappointed in myself. While also feeling a bit lost and scared. I thought I was the only one who wasn’t 100% sure anymore.

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Ofcourse this feeling doesn’t just apply to highschool or college students. To those working 2 jobs, full time, part time – props to you. Similarly, we might be feeling like we’re at a stand still, a routine; this happens many times in our lives. When I get bored with routine, I take it as a sign I need to do something for me: dye my hair, get a new piercing or new tattoo, a complete day off with my friends. If you don’t feel like walking around with blue hair, just know that 5 or 6 months from now, a year from now, this lousy feeling may be nothing but a memory. You’ll look back and wonder why you were so down on yourself. As cheesy as it may sound hard work really does pays off.

But you know what? I’m 19, a sophomore in college and I’m not 100% sure what I want to do with the rest of my life and that’s more common than we think. What we need to remind ourselves when this happens is that: IT’S OKAY. As a good friend reassured me, “Honey, all you have to be by the age of 23 is yourself.”

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Blahsmopolitan No. 7: “No Crying in the Uber” AKA “Help! I’m Stalling and I Can’t Get Up!”

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This is Blahsmopolitan, a weekly column about one freshman’s misfortune as he navigates his New Adult Life in Chicago, and the songs that soundtracked it. New stories are posted every Thursday, alongside a curated Blahsmo playlist available on Apple Music and Spotify to complement your reading and get you through the week with some new music. (Not this week, though!) This week, our columnist breaks his leg, breaks the same leg again, and considers a conspiracy theory in hopes you can learn from his mistakes.

The first week of my first semester, I did a celebratory kick at my first college party, tore a ligament, and fell in blinding, screaming agony in front of everybody. Within seconds, a circle of staring sorority girls had cleared around me as I frantically tried to pull myself off the ground to no avail. In retrospect, I probably looked hilarious, but at the time, it was no joke. I could straight up not stop screaming. Not, like, cute groaning and embarrassed smiling. No performance- dead eyes, and full-bodied shrieking. Water on the Wicked Witch of the West. Not kidding.

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Blahsmopolitan No. 6: “Love, Contractually” AKA “Queer’d Science”

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This is Blahsmopolitan, a weekly column about one freshman’s misfortune as he navigates his New Adult Life in Chicago, and the songs that soundtracked it. New stories are posted every Thursday, alongside a curated Blahsmo playlist available on Apple Music and Spotify to complement your reading and get you through the week with some new music. This week, our columnist deals with a close friend coming out of the closet, speaks to a Lobster Demon, and turns into a goldfish in hopes you can learn from his mistakes.

Stream this week’s playlist on Apple Music or Spotify.

My sophomore year of high school, I got a Facebook message from a guy who once made himself hard during AP European History and showed me the outline through his sweats.

He was shorter than me, but with absolutely shredded abs and an attitude that was incredibly easy to fantasize about. Someone who hates every single person in school except for me? Someone who despite being sixteen told me he knew how to finish a guy without even touching their dick? I asked him for advice on how to get a body like his and he delivered anecdotes of sprinting shirtless in the coldest hours of the morning. A Katy Perry song played in my heart for him.

Continue reading “Blahsmopolitan No. 6: “Love, Contractually” AKA “Queer’d Science””