When Donald Glover, better known as Childish Gambino, was called on stage to receive his Golden Globe on behalf of the show Atlanta for best TV series, people did not expect what he would say next. Donald did not take the conventional route of thanking his parents or making a political statement for unity and inclusion. Instead Donald said, “I really want to thank the Migos, not for being in the show, but for making ‘Bad and Boujee.’ Like that’s the best song…ever.” He would later go on to call the Migos “the Beatles of this generation,” high praise for the Atlanta rap trio who have been pioneering the new wave of trap music. To say that the Migos have been “hot”’ lately would be an understatement. In a matter of four months their chart-topping single “Bad and Boujee” has reached platinum status and the group has amassed a cult-like following that stretches from places like Atlanta, Georgia to Lagos, Nigeria.
No one other than James Baldwin could have ever hoped to deliver a proper eulogy to James Baldwin, but I find it incredibly ironic that my namesake ended up accepting the mantle. Amiri Baraka was an embattled and deeply flawed artist, and in reading his work, I have often found myself rapidly vacillating between vehement disapproval and mesmerized admiration. What he had to say about the man I aspire to be like, though, elicited neither of these responses. “Jimmy Baldwin created [contemporary American speech] so we could speak to each other at unimaginable intensities of feeling, so we could make sense to each other at higher and higher tempos,” wrote Baraka. For most anyone else, words like these would serve as poetic and profound excerpts from a worthy homage.
This past Friday, hypebeasts all around the world (including myself) collectively celebrated the much-anticipated release of Migos’ latest album, Culture. I could sit here and type up a description of Migos, but I’m sure you already have an idea. They bring life to your pregames and are probably the reason dabbing is still kind of cool. As their album title suggests, Migos have created a new culture in hip-hop and they’ll be the first to tell you that. Practically every major rapper has adapted the Migos flow in some way or another, but this column isn’t about how formally interesting Migos’ music is.
The other day, I ventured to Okenshields for what cowards call a “light” lunch. I picked up a take-out box, trusting this styrofoam container to control my appetite more effectively than my own power of will, and I stuffed it to the brim with fried rice and more cookies than socially acceptable — to get my swipe’s worth, of course. As is customary, I also got a pre-packaged set of plastic cutlery. With meal in hand and procrastination in heart, I set out on my merry way back to Olin Library. I wasn’t in a haste (though I ought to have been; that’s another story), but I was absent-minded anyway.
It has been many months since the end of Ramadan, the holy month of Islam. Here in Dubai, United Arab Emirates, expats who compose almost 90 percent of the population are left in despair as they face 120 degrees Fahrenheit heat, restaurants closed until 7 p.m. and roads filled with hasty drivers. During this month in which Muslims fast from sunrise to sunset in accordance with one of the five pillars of Islam, misunderstandings between Muslims and non-Muslims widen. Some Muslims get annoyed at some non-Muslims who disrespect their fasting by eating in front of them. Other non-Muslims are displeased by the fact that they are not to eat in public during Ramadan.
Nothing reminds me how disgusting I am like the common cold. When I get sick, both my entire body and everything I touch become covered in a thin layer of mucus in some really twisted and slimy version of the Midas Touch. I get breakouts from cold sweats. I put what little hair I have into what can only be described as a “man bun.” I am physically repulsed by the thought of putting on pants that are not pajamas. When my nose is runny, I have to carry around an entire box of Kleenex and a plastic bag.
Getting to India is the struggle. With each year that passes, my parents renew their interest in travelling back to the country they spent the first half of their lives in. They have nostalgia for practically everything they used to do; my mom missed sampling the seemingly endless supply of street food along MG road in Bangalore, and my dad missed playing cricket at his agricultural college he attended in Coimbatore, amongst a million other memories they formed during a time fondly recalled as ‘the days before the kids were born.’
India pleaded with my parents to make arrangements for a return every year, and without fail, the travel agent listing the hefty costs of such an endeavor as well as the complaints of how incredibly busy my sister and I were with middle and high school responsibilities answered. Excitement was always tempered, but never lost. A trip to the decent Indian buffet alleviated any case of home-homesickness, followed with what has now become a staple in my house: a viewing of a Bollywood film.
I’ve been spending a fair amount of time in the Green Dragon lately. If you’re unfamiliar with this on campus café, it’s located under Sibley and is where all the ~cool kids~ hang out. By cool, I don’t mean Cornell cool. These people don’t talk signing bonuses and bottom lines, whatever those two things are. Located where the fine arts building meets the architecture building, the Green Dragon embodies all that is interesting about Cornell.
Feeling way too cold for the month of April, locked out of Greta’s room, we cuddled on the couch to exchange spring break tales, or rather, spring adventures. Greta traveled a grueling 20 hours to Hoi An, Vietnam; meanwhile, Eleni went without wifi (gasp!) for a week in Havana, Cuba. Of course, after a play-by-play about how much pho Greta consumed and Eleni’s evenings spent salsa dancing, we naturally shifted to a more serious discussion about fashion. GO: I think people, myself included, forget that the fashion industry exists everywhere. Fashion and clothes are a part of every culture: it extends past the Core Four: New York City, London, Milan and Paris.
Students from over 50 organizations shared traditional food, performed musical and dance routines and showcased Asian culture at the 11th annual Asia Night in Duffield Saturday evening. The event, organized by the Cornell Asian Pacific Islander Student Union, consisted of numerous booths lined up and down the hall that allowed the over 1,200 attendees to learn about campus clubs and participate in a wide array of activities. Linda He ’16, facilitator of CAPSU, said the goal of the annual event is to enable different student organizations to share a part of their mission, whether it be cultural, social or advocacy-related, with fellow Cornellians. “This is our chance as part of the Cornell Asian Pacific Islander Student Union to showcase everything our community has to offer and to showcase how big and vibrant our community is,” she said. Emily Chei ’19, a member of Cornell Bhangra, said that she appreciated the opportunity to learn more about Cornell organizations on campus.