SAMILOW | Cornell is Betraying Its Students

Cornell students returned to campus last week for the fifth semester of the pandemic era. What’s different about spring 2022, though, is that it is the first semester in which the University has actually gone backward in its return to normal operations. The entirely in-person fall 2021 has given way to a virtual start to the semester. Classes that cost an arm and a leg have been reduced to an experience akin to watching Khan Academy videos on YouTube. Students pay thousands of dollars for the privilege of online school, take-out meals, zero extracurricular activities and half-empty hockey games. 

The University administration has sold these two weeks of remote instruction as a means of minimizing academic disruption for students returning to Ithaca (President Martha Pollack, you see, is really doing you a favor).

BETTEZ | The Death of the Acquaintance

An acquaintance was once someone who you could run into as you rush through Ho Plaza on your way to class and chat, or attempt to catch up with over the roar of a frat party’s Spotify playlist. Maybe they were even a friend of a friend, or an ally when you frantically needed help on your problem set the night it’s due. Without these relatively inconsequential interactions, Cornell’s campus is no longer a community of interconnections, but a set of isolated bubbles. An unfortunate, but not unexpected consequence of the COVID-19 pandemic lasting as long as it has is the death of an entire class of friends. The loss of the acquaintance is just another symptom of the loss of the campus space and sense of community we’ve experienced over the last year.

SEX ON THURSDAY | Masquerade of the Red Death

I couldn’t tell what caused it initially, but everyone was sexier when I came back to campus after an endless summer of quarantine. Certainly some of this was attributed to my pent-up isolation lust, but there was an added x-factor that really churned my butter. Never before have I thought such a vast number of people were attractive as I twiddled my thumbs, six-feet-apart, in the arrival test line. That is, until I recollected my childhood crushes: Zorro, the Phantom of the Opera, Mrs. Incredible, and Hannibal Lecter. All of them wore masks.