We’re beyond the midpoint of the semester, the Stevens Course Scheduler is FINALLY up, and the Registrar has already informed me that I’m missing required courses despite having submitted a course substitution form— things are just about where I’d expect them to be.
Posts published in “Senioritis”
Senioritis is an Opinion column written by one or two Stevens student(s) in their last year of study to discuss life experiences during their final year at Stevens, and other related subject matter.
If you know me, you know that I’m an avid indoor cyclist. And if you really know me, you know that if it weren’t for my profound love for all things science, I’d most likely be rockin’ it on the podium of a SoulCycle studio.
Last week was a blur, as I’m sure it was for many of us. Let’s give ourselves a small pat on the back.
Midterms have arrived, meaning we’re knee-deep into the “Stevens squeeze,” as Dr. (“Doc”) Lombardi calls it. Yesterday, I was daydreaming of apple picking and brisk autumnal nights.
You know what I like? A good quote. I’ve heard brilliance uttered by three-year-olds and come across lines of text which conjure up those small, red “100” emojis in my mind.
As I reflect on last week, I am chuckling at myself. The essentially homework-less, stress-less, dare I say “fun” beginning to my year was not destined to continue past week four.
I entered senior year with an open mind, a few less credits, and a positive outlook for the future. It’s week four, and all has remained constant for the most part—the positivity remains intact, but I’m beginning to feel the mid-semester strain work against me, slowly and stealthily.
This week’s column is about the art of the deal. I’m not talking about half-priced libations during happy hour or the small bodega with very cheap (albeit overripe) produce on Washington Street — those are two things I very much enjoy and appreciate.
There are many things I wish to block out of my memory when I recall my times as a sixth-grader at Pequannock Valley Middle School: the highly exclusive cliques that instigated and perpetuated gossip, the incessant schvitzing due to the lack of air-conditioning in all of the classrooms, and, of course, the awkwardness and self-consciousness that is often attached to the 13-year-old experience.
Among other things, I’m a waitress back home at a restaurant called Pompton Queen Diner. You might have heard about it—it’s so good, even Khloe Kardashian came for dinner a few years ago.