You asked for it: in which we graduate
Kent McDonald (Tar) and Annie Kiyonaga (Heel) are the writers of UNC’s premier (only!) satirical advice column. Results may vary.
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Kent McDonald (Tar) and Annie Kiyonaga (Heel) are the writers of UNC’s premier (only!) satirical advice column. Results may vary.
Kent (Paris, France) and Annie (Paris, Texas) are the writers of UNC’s premier (only!) satirical advice column. Results may vary.
Kent (Space) and Annie (Jam) are the writers of UNC’s premier (only!) satirical advice column. Results may vary.
It’s hard to express the depth of my disappointment with the Catholic Church in 500 words. I was raised in a staunchly Catholic family, and my parents are still my favorite types of Catholics: intellectually engaged with the Church’s long history of social justice work, and convinced that the grace of God can be found in art and literature and small acts of kindness. They work together as criminal defense attorneys, and their faith informs their shared belief that everyone deserves a good defense against incarceration. I went to an all-girls Catholic school, where I was taught to prize intellectual curiosity, personal faith and social action.
Kent (Salt) and Annie (Pepa) are the writers of UNC’s premier (only!) satirical advice column. Results may vary.
Kent McDonald (Zack) and Annie Kiyonaga (Cody) are the writers of UNC’s premier (only!) satirical advice column. Results may vary.
Kent McDonald (Japanese Breakfast) and Annie Kiyonaga (Full English Breakfast) are the writers of UNC’s premier (only!) satirical advice column. Results may vary.
On a whim, I decided to take a history class called “Race, Basketball and the American Dream” this semester. I’m a second semester senior! I’m fun! It’s taught by Matt Andrews, a figure who apparently has something of a cult following on campus: in my (almost entirely male) recitation on Friday, multiple students cited this as their third or fourth “Andrews class.”
Kent McDonald (searching for a boyfriend) and Annie Kiyonaga (searching for an LFIT) are UNC’s premier (only!) satirical advice columnists. Results may vary.
I spent this past Thanksgiving break at my grandma’s house in Pittsburgh. My grandma has lived in Pittsburgh her entire life, and I’ve been visiting her there for Thanksgiving for all of mine. While I was there, she taught me how to make her stuffing.
Kent McDonald (Mariah Carey’s “All I Want For Christmas is You”) and Annie Kiyonaga (Jimmy Buffet’s “All I Want For Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth”) are UNC’s premier (only!) satirical advice columnists. Results may vary.
I’m not really a math person. Nor am I a big-lecture-hall kind of person. My worst grade in college came from Astronomy 101, the so-called “science class for humanities majors.” That label is a misnomer: I am a humanities major, and I struggled. (And, honestly, all the physics and speed of light stuff was hard, ok? I can't be the only one who thinks so.) Anyway. All this is to say: I was not particularly excited to take my last General Education requirement, which was a Quantitative Reasoning credit. A QR credit necessitates a quantitative class. I know. Fellow English majors, I hear your collective gasp of dismay. This means a math class.
Dearest readers,
Halloweekend, in all of its glory, is upon us. Before we launch into our Halloween tips, you, reader, may be thinking: what qualifies these two extremely good-looking writers to give us tips about Halloween? To which we would respond: YAFI knows Halloween. We know it deep in our collective bones. In fourth grade, Annie had bronchitis during Halloween, but DID SHE LET THAT STOP HER? No. She dressed up as the Bride of Frankenstein, cleverly using her existing pallor and scratchy voice to her advantage. Kent grew up in the Midwest, so, naturally, dressed up as corn on the cob for Halloween every year until he was 14. That kind of dedication? That kind of grit? You don’t see that every day. With that, we present:
Dear YAFI,
Dear YAFI,
What do I remember from my first middle school dance? I remember the fairy lights perfunctorily strung up around the St. Elizabeth’s gymnasium, and the crowds of sweating, rowdy Catholic school kids, ferried in from all corners of Montgomery County, Maryland to grind indiscriminately with each other. I remember an eighth grade boy from Mater Dei, an all-boys Catholic middle school in our area, walking up to me and asking me to give him a blowjob. And I distinctly remember telling him to go fuck himself. I remember the adrenaline rush of standing up for myself, and the concurrent swell of queasiness I felt when I thought about this random boy, with his adolescent swagger, feeling entitled enough to ask me for something that I didn’t even fully understand yet. I remember feeling small and ridiculed, despite my big, confident refusal. I was 12.
This past Sunday, after a nauseatingly large breakfast at The Root Cellar, I staggered over to Flyleaf Books. While there, I bought “Her Body and Other Parties” by Carmen Maria Machado, one of the books I’d been casually reading while standing in bookstores (read: stealing) since it came out.
In my introductory psychology class, we’ve been learning about exposure therapy. During our class discussion – in which we defined exposure therapy as continued confrontation of the thing causing a patient’s fear or anxiety – I could not stop thinking about the horrific ending to "1984": the scene in which Winston, the protagonist of the story, is tortured with a cage of rats. Specifically, his head is securely strapped in place, and a cage of rats is placed in front of it. If his torturer, O’Brien, opens the door to the cage, the rats will swarm Winston’s face and eat it. I’ll say it again: they will eat his face.
Of the eight nights that I was home for spring break, four were consumed by the appallingly and unbelievably long “Bachelor” finale. My parents, brother, sister and I watched, half-mocking and half-enthralled, as Arie Luyendyk Jr. – 36 years old, 6’2’’, conspicuously graying, son of two-time Indianapolis winner Arie Luyendyk – vacillated pathetically between his two remaining love interests. We studied Arie as he dumped Lauren, proposed to Becca, changed his mind, dumped Becca – stay with me here – and, ultimately, proposed to Lauren in front of a live studio audience.