I waited in line for my morning brew as Conn students gossiped about the night before and the strong aroma of coffee beans flooded the room of Washington Street Café. The downtown coffee shops of New London are a staple for a Sunday morning.
Three men sipping espresso gestured their hands from left to right as their voices boomed over the sizzling espresso machine. A fragile woman, with her white hair tied back in a floral bonnet, approached the counter behind me.
Halloween is great. Ever since I was a child, it’s been one of my favorite times of year. There are fun costumes, pumpkin-carving and the ridiculously amazing consumption of large quantities of candy. What’s not to love? And since Halloween was on a Saturday this year, I got to have a weekend full of festivities.
Friday evening, my friends and I went in search of the perfect pumpkin to carve. We found one at a nearby patch and returned to my room. Using an odd variety of utensils we managed to find, we commenced a pumpkin-carving competition. I may be slightly biased, but I’m pretty sure mine won. I mean, it’s Gengar from Pokemon and I’m pretty proud of my rendition. I lit it and kept it in my window for the evening. Afterward, we baked the pumpkin seeds in Earth House and watched “Sweeney Todd.” As a person who is not a fan of horror movies, “Sweeney Todd” was the scariest my friends could get me to watch. It was definitely creepy, but interestingly full of social commentary. And thankfully, I didn’t have any nightmares!
33 Gallows Lane is a confusing, sprawling space. To get there, you have to make your way down a winding side road of Williams Street and look to your right. The building has a boxy exterior and, once you enter, you see it is made up of many large, interconnecting rooms joined by narrow hallways. The inherently convoluted nature of this location made it perfect for hosting an event on intersectional feminism.
Scholar Kimberlé Crenshaw coined the term “intersectional feminism” in 1989. It is defined as “the view that women experience oppression in varying configurations and in varying degrees of intensity. Cultural patterns of oppression are not only interrelated, but are bound together and influenced by the intersectional systems of society. Examples of this include race, gender, class, ability and ethnicity.” There are many people on our campus that need a place to acknowledge and advocate for their intersecting oppressions, and others that need to understand those experiences.
This Fall Break, instead of going home, I took a little vacation with eight of my friends to my friend Claire’s family cabin in Harrisville, N.H. I realized on the two-hour drive up that other than a hike I did at age 14, I had never spent any extended period of time in New Hampshire. Needless to say, I am definitely going to go back soon.
I arrived on Saturday afternoon and was greeted by my friends and a gorgeous fall day with the temperature hovering around 45 degrees. Claire showed me around the house, got me settled in the loft I was going to be sleeping in, and took me down to the lake beside her house. I spent the rest of the afternoon reading one of the two books I brought: “Remains of the Day” by Kazuo Ishiguro, eating French onion soup for dinner, playing Salad Bowl (a charades-based game) and watching “The Devil Wears Prada” until bed.
An avid cheese lover who enjoys wearing dark-colored lipstick and binge-watching Kristen Stewart, Shannon Elizabeth Keating ’13 had one of the top trending articles on Buzzfeed, attracting more than 7,000 views in late September.
'Twas the week before All Hallows' Eve. The air echoed with the cry of wolves and the cackle of witches. The clock struck midnight and many students took shelter, preparing spells for the spooky night to come. Deep within the hallowed halls of Connecticut College, however, those brave enough embraced the Halloween terror with PUMPKIN PAINTING. It was a scary night indeed, punctuated by the cry of, “My pumpkin looks like Donald Trump!” from my friend Emma.
I love trains—relaxing in the passenger seat, the ever-changing scenery right outside my window, the sense of adventure as I approach a new destination. And coming home.
I was thrilled when I found out, upon my first visit to Conn, there was an Amtrak station in downtown New London. Now that I’m a junior, I’ve taken advantage of the train’s proximity countless times: escaping campus for breaks, traveling to Boston or New York, or enjoying an occasional, restful weekend at home.
When I registered for classes this semester, I was under the impression that I’d taken on a pretty nice schedule: I’m in a psychology class, film class, art class and acting class. I didn’t realize that with two jobs and each of these classes meeting for double the time of a regular class, I’d be pretty stressed. From 9:00 a.m. on Monday to 9:30 p.m. on Thursday, I have almost no free time. Luckily, I’ve discovered the perfect stress reliever: yoga.
On Friday night, my roommates and I planned to go to a concert in New London. However, two of us got sick and it was pouring rain outside, so we stayed in and had an awesome time. Two of us ordered pho (Vietnamese soup) from Groton and settled in to watch “Remember Me,” a romantic comedy that we randomly selected from Netflix. It was awful. The ending was so terrible we needed to watch something more lighthearted to cheer us up.
While scrolling through Netflix again, one of my roommates commented that she had never seen “High School Musical.”
Don’t worry; we made her watch it.
I love these nights. They’re what I call “classically college,” and while they don’t seem the most memorable, they’re what I remember the most and what I’m going to miss when I graduate — hanging out with my roommates, eating takeout and watching movies.
I peeked out of my window Friday morning to a crisp and sunny fall day — perfect running weather. Having run on Conn’s cross country team for two years, I know many of the wonderful trails around campus. Mamacoke Island, a 40-acre island on the Thames River, contains one of my favorite trails.
I set out from my dorm, lumbering downhill towards the Athletic Center. At the Athletic Center, I veered left onto a wooded trail towards Mamacoke. The trail comes to a marsh that leads to the island. Dashing across the brownish yellow-colored squishiness with mud splashing my ankles, I arrived to the island.