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It took me longer than I care to admit to process the fact that I was done being up at Sarah Lawrence for the remainder of the semester and that my first year, as I knew it, was over. The separation has had me appreciating things that I took for granted while I was up there. I’m not going to miss the willfully ignorant Bernie Bros who start sentences by saying things like “Bernie Sanders should not have brought up Castro, but he actually made a really good point…” or the people who shamelessly air bomb the communal bathrooms as they watch youtube videos on the toilet. I won’t miss the copious amounts of work or the discomforts of dorm life, but I will miss many things, starting, of course, with the people. The level of character in the school and in the people is outstanding. But aside from them, there were many things that made my first year away from home really special. 

• The TeaHaus for keeping me warm through the winter

The Teahaus is an on-campus landmark known for it’s hot tea and for looking like Hagrid’s Hut in Harry Potter. Most of the time, I’d just grab lemon tea from the Barbara Walters Student Campus Center but the Teahaus is a cozy little hub where one can drink obnoxiously large mugs of tea. When it’s not there serving the students their tea it is serving up looks as one of the most aesthetically pleasing parts of campus.

• Sunsets like these

Some days the sunset would add in a pop of color at the end of the day and I still don’t know why the sky had to flex so hard by looking like a fresco.

• That transcendent swimming pool

While it might be overly-chlorinated, this pool can really hit the spot over the weekend whenever I felt like swimming. There’s not much else to say, except that I love taking laps in this uncrowded and criminally underused pool.  

• All of Bronxville  

For me, “Dumpling and Noodle” was that restaurant down the street that you could pop over to at any time, whenever you were sick of school food. “Slave to the Grind” was the altar for which many coffee addicts bowed in worship, though for me it was the place with the greatest chai tea in the world. “Topps Bakery” started my addiction to black and white cookies, thanks to a friend. “Taco project” has a healthy but still fast approach to Mexican food. “Bronxville Diner” is the place where I have gone for brunch and dinner with my friends, but I mostly only go for their patty melts and shakes. In other words, Bronxville has all the food a girl needs.

• The proximity to the city

It’s the next best thing to being there. I didn’t want to live directly in the city the first year I moved away, not wanting to have a baptism by fire. Thankfully, I have ample opportunities to enter into the city at will. The school provides shuttles from the local train station, into Grand Central. On weekends, the school has a bus that takes you to The Met and being a student in New York, you get in for free. 

• The immaculate winters  

Growing up in a sub-tropical climate, I was so looking forward to that satisfying crunch beneath your feet whenever you trek through the snow and this winter did not disappoint. I quickly learned that bright, glistening snow turns to sludge in a matter of days. Sometimes, however, when it really snows, the entire campus gets caked in ice and it looks like everything is sealed under glass, like in a museum. I was fed-ex’d a “Lands End” parka and snow boots by my dad, who knew that my fashion-forward, but ultimately thin coats, were not going to successfully keep me warm.

• Spring days on campus

Granted, I didn’t get to see many of these. Basically, on days when it’s really sunny, everybody gets the same idea. It seems like everybody on campus is lounging around on a blanket on the lawn, throwing a frisbee, having class outside, skateboarding, or even serenading people on the guitar. It looks as though someone put a beauty filter on the campus. People are playing soccer all over campus and sometimes even in the streets. These also are the days when the ice cream man decides to pull up curbside and feed us starving college kids. 

In summary and in summation, my first year at college was a success, thanks to these things and more. While I will forever wish I had been able to finish my first year on campus, I finished my work at home in Valdosta and will be looking forward to my next semester. I will however miss the cafeteria in the Barbara Walters Student Center where I ate the same things every day, so much so that the lady at the salad bar memorized my order. I’ll also miss the library where I went almost everyday for Italian class, and where I’d choke out Italian words that sounded exceedingly less romantic when I said them.

The Tragic Queen,

Raquel

After being steam rolled by my homework, I hunkered down, reviewed old powerpoints, watched language tutorials on YouTube, looked over my flashcards, reviewed my Italian verbs, and rewrote my notes, only for all of my classes to get cancelled due to the Coronavirus. Living 4 miles from New Rochelle, ground zero for the US cases of COVID-19, I wasn’t eager to hang around Bronxville any longer. Instead of running off like a thief in the night, I booked an $87 flight home for the next day, in an attempt to put some distance between me and the Coronavirus.  

Ignoring my generalized anxiety about flying, I was sardined in cabin two of a miniscule airplane, side eyeing the woman next to me every time the elderly gentleman behind us hacked up a lung. I thought that 2020 was going to be my year but then my mother, who met me at the airport, attacked me with lysol and then shoved me in the trunk of her car to change clothes. I was driven home by my mother, brother, and my brother’s girlfriend, who then, along with my father, became my quarantine buddies for the subsequent weeks.

I would just like to add that I have noticed no discernable difference between my regular anti-social, daily routine and my social-distancing, quarantine routine. I wake up whenever I want, don’t change out of my pajamas, turn on random TV shows and movies that I probably won’t finish watching, and just overall sit around waiting to heat up my next meal. My sleep schedule is unnecessarily off-balance and my diet has also been unnecessarily off-balance. I have eaten cake, crepes, brownies, and ice cream as legitimate meals. 

I have been home for the past two weeks. Here’s what I’ve been up to:

(See if you can spot the difference)

Week one:

1. Making chocolate crepes for the group because morale is high. 

2. Writing handwritten letters to my aunt and feeling like a character in a Jane Austen novel. 

3. Being literary in a hammock in a romper in my backyard, trying to maintain my school work. The book that I am reading is a nice companion whilst in quarantine because it is a collection of stories about people in DC getting lost in their own worlds; the perfect combination of communal responsibility and going through individual struggles and I am suddenly struck by the similarities in circumstance.

4. Making Chrissy Teigen pasta because it is the only recipe that I can make with any certainty.

5. Watching a series of Hitchcock films like intellectual film snobs.

Week two:

1. Listening to the Cranberries and doing an impossible, Christmas puzzle that has been laying on various surfaces throughout the house for weeks.

2. I have made Chrissy Teigen’s pasta three times, because it is still the only recipe I can make with any certainty. 

3. Disney plus has kept me occupied and by now I have watched “The Jungle Book,” “Inside Out,” “Coco,” “Zootopia,” and “Big Hero Six,”on repeat and cried throughout.

4. I had many expectations for college but doing yoga with my psychology class via zoom was not one of them. Listening to my teacher’s dog howl in unison with us as we do elongated breathing has been a nice change from attending regular class on campus.

5. I have watched several vine compilations, including “people vs slides,” but am dismayed by the fact that my favorite vines are no longer on the internet.  

6. After much deliberation, I have decided that the Derry Girls character that I identify with the most is Orla. She doesn’t talk very much, always gets food on her face, and is kind of just there.

7. I have contemplated faking technological difficulties at least once in class (if any of my teachers see this then your class is not the one I’m talking about)

8. My mother has commandeered her bathrobe again so I am wearing my stained, two-sizes too big sweatshirt from summer camp when I was 12 as a substitute. 

9. I go for a walk with my mother and father in our neighborhood. We hear a low growling sound and my mother and I take off running, thinking that it’s a dog growling. My mother nearly dislocated my thumb because that’s what she decided to grab me by. As it turns out, it was just someone closing a metal door, not a dog growling, because we’re that out of touch with nature.

In conclusion, if you read in the paper that I have turned towards a life of crime and/or alcoholism, then mind ya business. Overall, that is the riveting tale of how my quaranting has been going. We’ve all played Clue but I have yet to win. Yet despite all of this, I don’t actually mind being in quarantine, deep down in my heart of hearts. If there ever was a time to have a quarantine, this would be it. The technology that we have allows us to still attend school and work, all the while we sit at home reading books and binge-watching television; the things we like to do anyway.

The Tragic Queen,

Raquel

A week or so ago, my friends Theo, Chiara, and Petra, invited me to go and see a play with them at an NYU theater. Naturally, I wouldn’t turn down an opportunity to see live theatre, so I only asked a few questions before saying yes. My initial plans for Saturday night were to eat an entire sleeve of Thin Mints alone in my dorm room while rabbit-holing on internet videos. Just a reminder that Girl Scouts of America support transgender youth and teach girls leadership values. I, therefore, show my love for them by eating their cookies by the box.

I postponed my cookie plans so that my friends could take me into the city to see experimental, post-traumatic theatre about the Japanese economy. Before the play, my friends and I went to a restaurant called “Tipsy Shanghai,” which, as their awning boasts, has been around for 100 years. The Chinese food could perfectly be described using the word “yummy,” filling me up with hot pork dumplings and noodles. 

Afterwards, we walked over to the theater at NYU. During the first act, I went cross-eyed trying to keep my eyes open. There were several lulls, I assume to make it seem pensive, and there were rows of tennis balls on stage despite having nothing to do with tennis. The play was entirely in Japanese, with the exception of subtitles projected onto the wooden panels hanging over the stage. The play did not consist of actual characters, scenes, or dialogue but instead was just people speaking in Japanese while touching the copious amount of objects on stage. Apparently, the play was supposed to be about the decline of the Japanese economy in the 90s and its ramifications. I could figure that out by the fact that the whole beginning part was about a washing machine that wouldn’t work, but then a time machine showed up that nobody used and that had something to do with immigration. I am unsure as to how it ended but it did seem like a fair amount of philosophizing happened in the final act but I was already too far gone to pay any attention. 

The underbelly of New York City theatre rears its ugly head. The play used “the emperor’s new clothes” model, meaning that it wasn’t good but no one will admit it out of fear of looking dumb. However, my friends did seem to like it and went on about what they thought the best parts of it were. My friends thought that I would like it the best, and quite frankly so did I, so you can imagine our disappointment when the play was done. 

I don’t think that it has anything to do with my imagination, education, or upbringing, but there are some things that I will never be able to wrap my head around, like abstract art, micro-food, extreme haute couture, and now conceptual fringe theatre. To some people, it might seem like I only like mediocrity, because I like more conventional media, such as, Hamilton, John Mulaney, and Fleabag. The truth is though that your average junk means everything to the person who likes it, despite whatever you might say about the “artist’s intentions” or “the underlying themes of the broken capitalist system” or what have you.

I like things that more closely resemble the human condition and the things that do show it deserve my love. I would rather give my money to profiles in humanity than participation-trophy-theatre. I don’t want to be the type of person who tells someone that there is something wrong with them for not understanding the meaning of art when in reality there was no meaning or art in the first place, nor do I want to be that liberal arts college student who annoyingly thinks that they have everything figured out and that they are artistic and deep because they once wrote rhyming couplets about breast milk. I do however want to be a great artist, since art is the spice of life. 

So go out into the world so that you might make good art and buy a box of Girl Scout cookies!

The Tragic Queen,

Raquel

Though I know that it’s not true, I feel like I have seen a touch of every TV show out there. Like many people, I feel as though I spend too much of my time watching TV, even though I never used to. Despite this, there are plenty of shows that I have not yet watched (I have not seen “Friends” for instance, nor do I intend to). 

I feel bombarded by all of the TV show options out there. Even good tv shows don’t feel that special, because there are so many well-made shows out there, that make it so that even great shows can’t stand out. But whenever I do see a show that I really like (or really loathe) you can count on me to have hard opinions on them.

Here is a list that I have compiled of current TV shows that are most likely in your Netflix queue. Glean from it what you will:

Criminally underrated: Bojack Horseman

“Bojack Horseman” is surprisingly gritty for an adult cartoon since it fleshes out the dark, depressed mind of a washed up celebrity from the 90s. The show starts off as a dark comedy but eventually evolves into a story about a guy (actually a horse) battling his inner demons. This Netflix original series takes place in a world that is half-human and half-animal. That might not appeal to you, but it does garner some praise for its accurate depiction of mental illness, something that Netflix previously failed at with its controversial, and irresponsibly negligent, show “13 Reasons Why.” The show has some zany characters but when it dives into more emotional terrain it does so with grace. Sometimes, it is a character going through a divorce or a character hitting rock bottom. Either way, it does show how soul-sucking these character’s lives can be in a way that can still be upbeat. 

Entirely overrated: Breaking Bad

I’m sorry but it’s true. I watched the pilot with the promise of being hooked from the start, and while the stakes were definitely high, I didn’t find it to be the thrill ride that others seemed to think it. I feel like one of the only reasons that people continued to watch this show was because each episode ended on a hook and they were curious to see where it lead, so they started the next episode. Otherwise, I wouldn’t feel very attached to the main character or his plights. I will however state that it had a great production value and the actors were great, it was just the overall story that I did not particularly enjoy. 

Guilty pleasure: Sex and the City/How to Get Away With Murder 

While it might be a bit of a cliche pick, “Sex and the City” redefined what could and couldn’t be considered guilty pleasure television. I watch the show, relate to the women, judge their outfits, agree with their commentary on male-female relationships and call it a day, but since calling “Sex and the City” my guilty pleasure is kind of a cop out, I’ve also added that “How To Get Away With Murder” is the best guilty-pleasure show I’ve seen in a while. Personally, I don’t really believe in guilty pleasures, I really only believe in pleasures; the shameless things that we like and the natural reasons why we like them. But since “guilty-pleasure” is a real concept, there are some pretty great shows out there that fit the profile. “How to Get Away With Murder” has all of the fixings of good guilty-pleasure TV: murder most foul, sex, courtroom drama, and unlikeable conniving characters. Watch and enjoy!

Go-to feel good: Arrested Development

If you enjoyed a family farce like “Modern Family” then you’ll love this show, since it is “Modern Family” but with the volume turned up. It’s a show about a wealthy, dysfunctional family of assholes, in which Jason Bateman’s character is the only sane one. When the patriarch of the family is arrested for his fraudulent business practices, Bateman’s character must run the family business as well as the family, and hilarity ensues. The storylines can get quite ridiculous, so be sure to suspend your disbelief. The show was cancelled after three seasons (a mark of its authenticity, in my opinion) only to be picked up by Netflix over a decade later. The show’s ability to wholeheartedly commit to a running joke is exceptional and part of what makes it so excellent. While it does have some subtle commentary on the American family that they heavy-handedly parody, this show does not need to be taken seriously and will induce some serious belly-laughs.

Good but not great: The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina

“The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina” is Netflix’s sleek and stylish revamp of “Sabrina the Teenage Witch.” The show does take its cues from other YA fictions out there: a teenager must live with her aunts after being orphaned in a tragic accident, learns to study magic, goes to school to study magic, and despite growing up in our human world, our character is special in her magical world for some reason (Harry Potter much). The show does have some good elements to it though. Kiernan Shipka was the perfect choice to play Sabrina Spellman, the action of the story keeps you engaged, this series’ version of magic is interesting since it blatantly involves satanism, and you’re always curious as to how the teenage heroine will balance her old world with her new world and all that entails. It could be a bit stronger and less derivative, but overall pretty entertaining. The series just entered its third season and is apparently still going strong. 

Show that is constantly recommended to you, but take it from me, isn’t really worth the watch:

Big Mouth

Since I love everything John Mulaney does, it breaks my heart to have to say that this show just isn’t cutting it. The show is an honest and introspective look into puberty, but unlike “The Wonder Years,” this show can get pretty gross, pretty fast. With it being animated, it gets away with its adult humor, but if it were live-action the show’s creators would be in some serious trouble for sexualizing children. Many of their running jokes long overstay their welcome, unlike “Arrested Development” where the running jokes are executed flawlessly, and often times it is difficult to understand the rules of the world that these characters live in. It has been renewed for three more seasons, but I would just skip it all together.

Dark and complicated: Russian Doll

“Russian Doll” is a Netflix original show in which a woman must relive her 36th birthday after continuously dying and restarting at her birthday party. It has a flawed character, who you might find unlikable, unless you’re like me and you like that sort of thing. Like many of the shows that I like, you get a glimpse into her emotional state and what it all means. Natasha Lyonne was born for this role and is a large part of what makes this show so good. The show is not super dramatic, but might fill you up with some existentialist dread. I have absolutely no idea how the ensemble of all-female writers intends to continue the series, but they do have plans in the works for a second season. 

Show that everybody needs to see a little bit of: The X-Files

It was recently brought back for a reboot, but the series was at its best when it first aired in the 90s. Mulder and Scully have been labeled the perfect duo, and quite rightfully so. The show even is credited with creating the “Scully Effect,” which is when women pursue careers in STEM after witnessing Agent Scully kill it on the X-Files. Being cool and spooky, it not only supplemented your lust for spectres and aliens, it also made it acceptable to have conspiracy theories against your government, and if it didn’t have all of that, it still would be an excellent piece of television.

Shows that I just want to recommend:

The West Wing (not current but still topically relevant). 

For those of you who don’t know, “The West Wing” is a fictional political show that depicts the lives of White House staffers working in the west wing and opened up the floodgates for every political show you know and love: “Veep,” “House of Cards,” and “Designated Survivor.” You can start this show and witness the characters discussing things that we are still being discussed today: statehood for Puerto Rico, abortion rights, gun control, the death penalty, prison reform, public school education, police brutality, college debt forgiveness, and a whole smattering of others. It might not be the escapism you’re looking for during an election cycle, but it still is a well-written and well-acted TV show for the ages. 

Fleabag

Fleabag pulled off the impossible task of garnering both critical acclaim and mainstream appeal.This might be because Phoebe Waller-Bridge adapted it from her one woman show, starred in it, wrote it, and created it. She also makes artistic choices such as constantly breaking the fourth wall, with reasoning behind it, which is something that critics ate up. Being a dark comedy, the show is both serious and light hearted, by swinging back and forth between the character’s grief and her amazing sense of humor. The show has mainstream popularity because it manages to never take itself too seriously, while being genuinely funny. The show also goes in depth with her sexual escapades but is not salacious just to be salacious.Overall, the show is an amazingly written look into a young woman’s life that may get to be too real at times. 

How do you feel about these shows? Be sure to discuss them in the comment section afterwards.

The Tragic Queen,

Raquel

So, Valentine’s Day is shaping up to be my favorite holiday. As a board certified single girl, Valentine’s Day could very easily become a day in which I face my own inadequacy or a day of inescapable hell. Thankfully, it was neither. Last year, my Valentine’s Day consisted of me eating chocolate cake and taking a hot bubble bath and if anything, I did nothing but double down on that energy this year. 

The day started as any good day should: with me being productive. I woke up and went to my restorative yoga session for my psychology class, as I do every Friday. At the end of class, my professor said “Happy Valentine’s day! How’s everybody feeling?” to which I jokingly replied, “Single.” Everybody laughed and my professor assured me that Valentine’s Day is about having more than just a date for the day, but I was already way ahead of her. Anyone who has studied the teachings of the prophet Lizzo knows: 

True love ain’t something you can buy yourself/ true love finally happens when you’re by yourself/ so if you’re by yourself then go and buy yourself/ another round from the bottle on the higher shelf.” 

Words to live by. 

It was in that spirit that I donned a ruby-red Valentine’s Day dress, white knee-high boots, a matching white leather jacket, and a white overcoat, and planned a perfect day for myself. I wanted to celebrate Galentine’s Day, where I hang out with, and subsequently spoil, my gal pals, most likely by taking them to my favorite coffee shop and bakery in town. Valentine’s Day is about love, and friendship is, of course, one of the best kinds of love. 

Unfortunately, my three friends had their own plans going on, (one was swamped with school work, one had class and one was in Los Angeles) so I exercised a different type of Valentine’s Day love: self love. I did everything all by myself.  As if more than an hour of yoga wasn’t productive enough, I went into town and registered to vote, making me eligible to cast my vote for the Democratic nominee in the upcoming New York primary. (Sleep tight America). 

Then, with that big dick energy fueling my every move, I pranced into Bronxville in my white go-go boots. For those of you who have never been to Bronxville, just know that it is a clean and cozy affluent nook of the north east. 

I started first at “Slave to the Grind,” the greatest coffee shop I have ever been to, and had their insanely divine chai tea. I worked my way down the street, dipping into every store and swiping my card in almost every one. I went into a bookstore, a shoe store, a candy store, a papyrus store, a florist shop, and a bakery. It did not take me long to buy $80 worth of jewelry for myself although if you’re looking for me to express any regret then you’ll be disappointed. 

I pressed on to the florist across the street and bought some gifts for my funny galentines. I bought them miniature plants; the idea being flowers for significant others and plants for significant friends, and unlike a long-stemmed rose with baby breath, their potted Echeveria succulent will last for as long as they let them; not unlike our friendship. 

As a final Galentine’s Day treat for myself, I stopped by “Topps Bakery,” another one of my favorite Bronxville landmarks and bought myself some of their black and white cookies, cleverly dyed to be black and pink for Valentine’s Day. With my arms draped in shopping bags, I strutted into campus, feeling like the epitome of the phrase “living my best life.” I dropped my stuff off at my dorm and began watching “To all the Boys: p.s. I love you,” since I was obsessed with the original. The sequel had all the things I loved about the original like it’s aerial shots and quirky soundtracks, as well as of course, the escapism of a wholesome teen romance. 

That night, my friend Anahat and I attended a party on campus that was so Sarah Lawrence that it was actually a fundraiser for Planned Parenthood. According to them sex/valentine’s day= planned parenthood. Since it was all going to a good cause, we both paid our fair share and partied hard. The whole place was so jammed packed that it felt like a mosh pit. We were all being pressed up against each other’s bodies and being jostled around so much that it honestly is the closest I have ever come to sex on Valentine’s Day. Afterwards, Anahat and I kicked it with some others of New York’s finest college students. Girls from Barnard, Columbia, and Pratt had come for the party and stuck around with us afterwards. 

Overall, I loved every part of my Valentine’s Day and although it put a dent in my bank account, my shopping spree felt amazing. There’s something about having disposable income and putting it towards whatever you want that just feels right, like when you open up your closet and put together a flawless outfit just for yourself. It’ll give you some newfound zeal. 

But Valentine’s Day did get me thinking about why I don’t treat myself like this on all the other 364 days of the year. Granted, I’d probably be broke if I shopped til I dropped on your average day, but going into town and buying myself some immaculate chai tea? That seems doable and I won’t have to break the bank trying.

Love always,

The Tragic Queen

Over winter break I took part in a painting class in my hometown Valdosta, entitled “The Painted Canvas.” It was being held at our local art gallery and my former place of employment “The Turner Center.” I love that place and attended an art show there the week prior. The art show was stellar, with several local artists showcasing their works for the town to see. 

The painting class was held in a vacant building across the street. Easels were laid out in a row up front, cups of water were placed in front of us for different functions, and hair dryers were at the ready in case we needed to dry a canvas. I was the youngest by far, since I will not be eligible for retirement anytime soon, and learned some valuable lessons that I would otherwise not have learned in my younger and more formative years, particularly when it comes to motherhood and alcohol. As it turns out, red wine is good for your heart and you should drink as much of it as you can in the aftermath of a heart attack. At least one woman there had previously had a heart attack, and knew what she was talking about. The more you know!

One woman was also pondering the reasons why she would have one paint brush in her mouth, one in her left hand, and one in her right hand that was actually doing the painting. The woman teaching the class said that it was because when you’re at home you’re used to multi-tasking. You’re beating one kid for their behavior, berating your other kid for raising hell, and folding all of the clothes in your house all at once. Multi-tasking.

More importantly from this seminar, I learned that the actual artist rarely likes their own artwork. We were all much harder critics towards ourselves than anybody else was, despite the fact that everybody’s looked fabulous. Starting over and over again until my painting had ten layers of paint on it and was starched and ironed to perfection was inevitable. 

It was surprisingly peaceful to paint my flower for four hours, even in the moments when it was frustrating. Staring so intensely at the contrasting colors made my head spin and I had to step back to see how it looked. I started by lathering the canvas in dark green paint and then free-handed my flower with a red colored pencil. Blending paint while still maintaining the finer details was trickier than I thought. 

I applied a few layers of paint and felt like Amy in “Little Women,” making me suddenly wish that I was painting and doing yoga all across the world. 

The finished product was a resplendent concoction of vibrant colors and, given its size and subject matter, I’m sure it will make a solid bathroom painting; the kind that you would set on the back of a toilet in a half-bath. According to my teacher, my flower was impressionistic with a leaning towards abstract and therefore, completely “New York” of me.

The class gave me a newfound zeal for painting and has me wanting to harken back to my old-school days of starting a new art project on a whim. Even though my dorm room is too cramped for full-fledged art projects, a girl can still dream.