Columns

RUSSELL | Hippies of Klarman

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I remember the first time I saw it: I was a few steps outside my townhouse, clamoring for something spontaneous to do when, as a godsend in response to my boredom, a girl I vaguely recognized invited me to join her and her friends in a trek to the forbidden lands of a new construction site on Cornell’s campus. Under the protective veil of a late Thursday night, we slipped into the bottom floor of what would soon be my home away from home: Klarman Hall. Back then, it was just stone and sawdust. Now, Klarman is the place where I do most of my work. Whether I’m lucky enough to earn my own chair or condemned to a spot on the floor, I usually find my way to somewhere in the building after my classes during the week.

Columns

RUSSELL | Gravity, Government and Google

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The final scene in the movie Gravity has always stuck with me. It’s beautiful: after 90 minutes of nail-biting space hullabaloo, viewers watch Sandra Bullock’s character swim out from the underwater wreckage of a spacecraft and gratifyingly tread up to the surface. It’s a long-awaited denouement, the moment when she finally reaches home. When her head rises from the water, you can hear mosquitoes and see the outlines of mountains in the distance. Her gargantuan breaths feel like a chorus of voices proclaiming the magnificence of earth and everything in it.

Columns

RUSSELL | The Wanderer’s Manifesto

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A couple weeks ago, I met my hero in my own living room. He was in his early 20s with a tacky outfit and and a cheap haircut, sitting in a chair by the window. After eavesdropping on his conversation, I gathered that he was from Texas, so I, having grown up in Dallas, decided to introduce myself. Half-an-hour or so into our talk, I was able to piece together the story of who he was and how he found his way into my house:

Months ago, he graduated from a small college in rural Texas but didn’t yet want to join the workforce and sell his soul to the highest bidder. Instead, he decided, he would sell everything he owned, change his phone number and travel the country until he ran out of money.

Columns

RUSSELL | Saviors Don’t Need Sick Days

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To this day, one of my greatest accomplishments is the fact that I was able to change my name in my eighth grade yearbook. To me, it was proof that I could reinvent myself whenever I wanted. The book just had so much finality to it — locked into history forever. If you journey into the depths of the hidden basement archives of Curtis Middle School right now, you’ll find a 2010 picture of a short and skinny black kid named Rusty Russell. Looking for Paul Russell?