Photo by Caitlin Olfano

UR’s on-campus construction efforts have been so ravenous that a group of alumni could not identify a single building while on a post-Commencement tour.

“What’s the Advanced Experiential Learning GigaHub?” asked Erica Jarvis ‘18, still in her cap and gown. “Did they put that up during the ceremony or?”

Ramon O’Donnell ‘18, walking alongside Jarvis, pointed to a pile of brick rubble cordoned off by traffic cones and yellow tape.

“I remember when me and my buddy Craig climbed on top of that building and smoked a couple Black & Milds that we rolled with resin scraped from his piece,” he said, his face glowing with nostalgia. “Last Thursday seems so far away.”

As they made their way around campus, the beat of a backhoe in reverse pulsed.



This is not a joke.

This is not a joke. This is no laughing matter. It’s not intended to be funny or perhaps even humorous. I’m serious in everything that I’m saying right now.

The very hungry (brain)worm

So, in other words, I deal with the understanding of language, and boy, do I like to fiddle. I’m what makes you read “I scream” as “ice cream,” “I see cream” as “ice cream,” “onion beans” as “ice cream.”

In Memoriam, Freddy D.

Months went by. Freddy D. seemingly disappeared from the minds and memories of many. Then one day, I had a Carrie Bradshaw moment.