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Dear Readers,
Well, here we are, the end of the year has come. But more importantly, the last Binghamton Review issue of the semester has finally dropped. This year was definitely a year. One that at times was filled with whimsy and joy, and at other times filled with doom and despair. Or, if you’re just an even-keeled person, this was just another year in the books.
This last Review issue is dedicated to two very important things: Harvey Stenger and graduation (no, not the Kanye album). This academic year was Harvey’s last hurrah; the torch of his presidency has been extinguished, leaving a dark, empty, and presidentless void in the hearts of all Binghamton students. Whether you knew Harvey well or don’t know who I’m talking about, Harvey had a major impact on your academic life. He made the campus unwalkable with his construction projects, erected fences, refurbished floors of libraries, quelled protests, and walked around with his bald head. In all seriousness, being the president of anything is hard, let alone the Premier Public Ivy. So, let’s give a toast to Harvey! Thank you for your many years of dedication to the area and this college.
Now, it’s time to thank all of you out there graduating. You spent four years of your life in a rundown city in upstate New York trying to earn your bachelor’s degree… and you did it! I know many of you worked your asses off to get here, to stay here, and to graduate from here. And to that I say congratulations! Good luck in your future endeavors, whether that’s working, working, or working.
Finally, I want to say thank you to everyone who has read the Binghamton Review. We do this for you, and we really hope you enjoyed it. And for me, well, I’m not going anywhere. You’re gonna be stuck with me again next year! As a treat, I’ve made something for you:
binghamtonreview.org
Yep, we have a website again! By the beginning of next semester, you’ll be able to find all of your favorite Binghamton Review articles from the past and present. Again, thank you all for reading, thank you to all of our contributors, thank you to the E-board, and god bless the Binghamton Review!
Enjoy,
Aiden Miller
Our Mission
Binghamton Review is a non-partisan, student-run news magazine founded in 1987 at Binghamton University. A true liberal arts education expands a student’s horizons and opens one’s mind to a vast array of divergent perspectives. The mark of true maturity is being able to engage with these perspectives rationally while maintaining one’s own convictions. In that spirit, we seek to promote the free and open exchange of ideas and offer alternative viewpoints not normally found on campus. We stand against dogma in all of its forms, both on campus and beyond. We believe in the tenents of free expression and believe all sudents should have a voice on campus to convey their thoughts. Finally, we understand that mutual respect is a necessary component of any prosperous society. We strive to inform, engage with, and perhaps even amuse our readers in carrying out this mission.
Views expressed by writers do not necessarily represent the views of the publication as a whole.
Advice Column
I offered to give you all life advice. These were your questions.
The Supreme Pontiff has passed, any thoughts on ya boi Pope Francis?
He paid the ultimate sacrifice so that we may have the Oblivion Remaster. He is with God now.
What can we expect from the conclave’s decision to make Andrew Cuomo the new Pope?
Catholicism expert hereTM, Andrew Cuomo’s election as Pontifex Maximus will be unprecedented. It will be the first time since the 16th century pontificate of Pope Pius VIII that a non-Cardinal has been elected Pope. First, we can expect Mayor Cuomo to take the papal name “Pastor Andy I”, and will retire all ostentatious papal vestments for a humble gray blanket. We can also expect Pope “Pastor Andy” I to make moves to open the female seminaries. According to our sources, Cuomo desires to be the first Pope to perform “laying on of hands” for female bishops. He will also call Vatican V. It’ll be so intense that it skips over the other two.
I have nothing during finals week but I’m graduating. How can I pass the time after my last day of class?
Walk around campus staring at people since it’s the last time it’ll be appropriate to do so.
What’s the best betting strategy for the Semen Race?
10-leg parlay on Jerry’s sperm cell. Going all in.
How we celebrating graduation this year?
We partying like Joshua Block every night.
Did Harvey Stenger even do anything during his term as President?
He put the whole campus under construction… indefinitely.
Why don’t we just run over the salamanders? It’s not like they’re doing anything for the economy anyway.
Bezos? Is that you?
I’m undeclared and I wanna switch to psychology but my advisors told me it’ll take 12 years to get my degree. Do you think this is worth it? More importantly, how is that even possible?
It’s important to consider that a psychology degree can be
Written by our Staff
beneficial for personal and professional growth, offering valuable insights into human behavior, communication, and problem-solving. It can also lead to a wide range of career opportunities in fields like counseling, social work, education, and human resources. So, in summary, probably best to get the spatula out instead.
How do I avoid getting nominated for the USC ice bucket challenge?
You’re from South Carolina? How do you know about the Review?
What’s the best betting strategy for the Semen Race?
Jimmy Jorker may seem like the best competitor at first glance, but Gooner Gary’s been “training” pretty hard recently. My money is on his seed to win.
Where’s bapple at?
WHO CARES? WE NEED TO BRING BACK THE FUCKING QUAALUDES!
I heard Harvey is retiring? Who’s Harvey and why is that so important?
Freshmen…
What number would you be in the Bonnie Blue line?
I recall my boyfriend mentioning this name after his boys trip to Fort Lauderdale. Sounds like a nice lady!
Shannon Sharpe got the allegations?
She lied. She tried. Case denied. Lakers in five.
Did you know the Rizzler’s birthday is 4/20?
Oh no. I forgot to pay my respect to the Don!
I’m a high school student and I just got accepted to Binghamton. What dorm community should I sign up for?
Stay out of CIW. Unless ur chill like that.
My advisors forced me into the 8 AM section for every single class. How cooked am I?
It’s never too late to switch into SOM. Unlimited naptime there.
A Brief Retrospective: “Breaking the Sodexo Slop Cycle”
Here we are, the end of the academic year has finally come. Many friends were made, classes were taken, cases of food poisoning were acquired, and many Binghamton Review magazines were produced. As Editor-in-Chief, it would only be fitting for me to write a brief retrospective of a topic I’m very passionate about: food! You may ask, “What food?” and to that I say, “The DiMaggio!” Many millennia ago, in September of 2024, I wrote the article “Breaking the Sodexo Slop Cycle,” where I gushed, ooh’d and aah’d even, about the DiMaggio sandwich from NY Street Deli in the Marketplace. I think at one point you can find me saying that the sandwich “would have made Tony Soprano die in peace.” Well, I have two confessions to make: I actually don’t know if Tony died at the end of The Sopranos, and I think this statement is factually wrong. “Aiden, why the change of heart?” They say as I sit in the marketplace eating, unbeknownst to my adoring fans that I feel like I’m eating the shreds of a rubber tire between two slices of ciabatta bread (this is a “j,” I try not to be a pretentious asshole!).
Like a news analyst announcing the latest tragic news, I am here to report that the DiMaggio, once the greatest food item at Binghamton University, has fallen off. God, it brings a tear to my eye typing that statement. The DiMaggio sandwich cult (it exists) has most certainly conducted a mass unaliving event, similar to that of Jim Jones in the late 70s. Now, I didn’t come to this decision like Trump deciding his tariff policy. It actually came to me after a series of soap opera-esque twists and turns, similar to Days of Our Lives or your abuela’s favorite telenovela.
“I baby-birded whatever I was chewing into a napkin, got up, and threw out my eight-dollar sandwich and proclaimed to A-Dog, “Fuck this shitty food, I’m never eating this slop again.’”
However, there was one seminal moment that ultimately culminated in the transcription of this article. There I was, picking up a Rumble Ponies ticket in the Union, where I spotted a dear friend of the program, Arthur “A-dog” O’Sullivan. As any friend or, as he would say, “old shoe” would do, he suggested it was food time! So we trotted down that odd backrooms-esque hallway that leads into the Marketplace. And you know me, it was #DiMaggioTime!
So, as always, I waited in the long line that fed down the stairwell into the Union’s atrium. Then like a brainwashed zealot anathematizing the deli worker, I asked for the DiMaggio on wheat, waited for the toasting, got the usual on it (pesto mayo, pesto, and arugula because I’m a sicko and love that green gold), payed, and sat next to “A-Dog.” Ya know, we hammed it up, “how’s the wife and kids” type of talk. Then, like an unsuspecting fish about to bite the fisherman’s hook, I pecked the sandwich,
By Aiden Miller
but not all the way through, my teeth hitting a hard texture. After ripping off a piece of the sandwich like a dog with his chew toy, I gnawed on the DiMaggio, but questioned whether I was eating a sandwich or a steak that’d been left in the oven for two hours. After giving it the ol’ college try for about 10 minutes, I baby-birded whatever I was chewing into a napkin, got up, and threw out my eight-dollar sandwich and proclaimed to A-Dog, “Fuck this shitty food, I’m never eating this slop again.” Oh, what a fall from grace…
So what the hell happened? The listeria-hysteria. And just like the Muse song, I was “feeling my faith erode” and “my heart implode” after the only thing I enjoyed eating on campus was deliberately changed for the worse. Now, like all good writers do, it’s time for a total detour, maybe even an absolute derailment. If you were a Binghamton University student before the fall of 2024, you would have known that the NY Street Deli inside the Marketplace was always a great food source because they used Boar’s Head products. All that really meant was that you could trust that the deli meat you were eating was real in the sense that it came from an animal and wasn’t mystery meat from some black-market butcher Harvey Stenger contracted to save a quick buck. Now, I know it’s been a long and tough year mentally, but I’m gonna need everyone to put on their tinfoil thinking hats for this part. Do you even REMEMBER the fall of 2024? Well, if you do, you probably remember everyone’s favorite orange man getting elected president. Despite that bump in the road, there was another frenzy happening at the same time: the Boar’s Head listeria outbreak of 2024. You may ask yourself, “who the fuck cares,” well, we’ve reached the climax of the story, the crux of the issue, the peak, the apotheosis, [insert synonym that tickles your fancy]. In the fall of 2024, the NY Street Deli took prosciutto, the main meat in the DiMaggio, off the menu and REPLACED IT WITH A DIFFERENT BRAND. Bingo! We’ve found the culprit, unlike the British police in the Jack the Ripper cases (kinda hard to find a killer who’s been dead for over 150 years).
Reflecting back on the year that has been now and the countless numbers of DiMaggio’s I’ve had, I can safely say that the sandwich has just never been the same. Just like me! This year has been one of change and growth, maturation and finding oneself, new friendships, and the rekindling of others. As we wrap up the year, I just wanted to say thank you for reading! I wish good luck to those graduating, those finding new jobs, those just coming to Binghamton, and those of you stuck here with me. And just remember: work hard, have fun, and be kind!
Aiden Out (waves at you)
Liberalism in Chains
By Siddharth Gundapaneni
After four years with the Binghamton Review, I’ve learned a lot about how ideas shape our university experience. As I graduate, I want to offer some observations, reflect honestly on moments I wish I’d spoken up more, and perhaps inspire some of you to do better than I did.
When I first arrived on campus in 2021, COVID regulations were in full swing despite the virus itself being largely gone. I didn’t care too much at first, having been politically moderate at the time, but that quickly changed. Within two months of being on campus, I was sent to a decision-making course and told I was “two strikes away’ from academic probation, a pretty serious matter. One would think I committed some egregious offenses to get in such a situation. Instead, this came from being written up for not wearing a mask in a Dickinson study-room by myself. I questioned my RA about the logic behind this, but she explained to me that she was just doing her job. I don’t blame her at all, but I still was confused about the purpose of such a policy. It did not contribute to stopping the spread of the COVID; it did not lead to anyone getting less sick, yet it needed to be enforced with absolute certainty.
I began to pick up on this trend: policies were enforced with no prior discussion about the rationale (or lack thereof). Questioning was instantly taken as a sign of denialism. Consequently, I looked into what other odd policies were being enforced in this frenzy.
What I went on to find—and people’s apathy towards it— shocks me to this day. From August 2021 until at least September 2022 (it definitely longer, but unclear exactly how long), the entire SUNY system followed a clear set of instructions with respect to vaccine mandates. “This policy requires all students accessing SUNY Facilities in-person to receive a COVID-19 Vaccination, with limited exception. Though this New York State directive does not apply to faculty and staff, all SUNY faculty and staff are strongly encouraged to get vaccinated.”
The existing medical literature on COVID was very clear — elderly and immunocompromised populations were at risk, whereas younger people had extremely low likelihood of serious sickness. So what justification could there be for requiring students, the low-risk population, to be vaccinated, while only “encouraging” professors, the people actually at risk? That was the question which I asked administrators, and received one of two answers. Most said they did not know, while few told me that this was because faculty had their union to protect them from being subjected to these mandates.
I thought that when I informed my fellow classmates about this, they would be as appalled as I was. Instead, they didn’t even bother to question why faculty was exempted, and only felt “vaccines seem to help slow COVID, therefore mandates on students are good.” Even the campus leftists who claimed to care about “fighting tyranny,” “individual rights,” and “medical freedom” shrugged their shoulders at this.
And so the SUNY system was able to enact a policy without any real rationale, and no one ever questioned them further. I
realized then that this wasn’t just about one flawed policy. It was about the disappearance of discussion itself—the growing unwillingness to question, to dissent, to even debate ideas that deviate from the dominant script.
Universities were pitched to me as places where we test ideas and discuss them among other intellectually curious people. Where disagreement is healthy, not dangerous. But over the past four years, I’ve watched that ideal erode—slowly, quietly, and often with the best of intentions—and it wasn’t just about COVID.
In a class called Research Methods in Latin American and Caribbean Studies, my very apolitical friend was assigned Naomi Klein’s The Shock Doctrine as a core text. The professor, trained not in economics but in comparative literature, used the book to portray Nobel Prize-winning economist Milton Friedman as some kind of economic supervillain.
Never mind that Friedman’s work helped lay the foundation for modern monetary policy, or that he advocated ending the draft, legalizing marijuana, and supporting gay rights—decades before those ideas became “progressive”. None of this was mentioned.
Instead, students were told that Friedman’s economics amounted to “justifying torture”, and that the Chicago School’s contributions to development economics were a smokescreen for imperial control. No one read Friedman’s works, there was no effort to understand the economic logic behind his positions—just rehearsals of moral condemnation.
There’s plenty of reasons to disagree with Milton Friedman. I certainly have my gripes. But those critiques must start with understanding—and understanding Friedman requires serious engagement with the involved mathematics and economics, which this professor did not take.
That’s what makes this moment so disturbing: Students are (1) taught at length about the supposed evils of an economist, without ever engaging his actual economic ideas; (2) taught this in a class ostensibly about research methods; and (3) surrounded by peers who do not question any of it—because it flatters their priors.
The erosion of open dialogue was not limited to policy or pedagogy. Binghamton made national headlines when a sociology professor here instituted “progressive stacking”—the prioritizing of students’ voices based on race and gender. That moment exposed just how far the university had drifted from its commitment to equality of thought. No longer were students judged by the quality of their ideas, but by the identity of the speaker.
Many were frustrated. Many more stayed silent.
I don’t claim to have always spoken out when I should have. But if there’s one lesson I take from my time at Binghamton, it’s that institutions don’t maintain themselves—ideas do. And the only way to protect open discourse is to pra ctice it, loudly, even when it’s uncomfortable.
As Ludwig von Mises wrote: “Do not give in to evil, but proceed ever more boldly against it.”
The Binghamton Experience
By AJW
During my first year at Binghamton, I was desolate. I had few friends. Chemistry was destroying my sleep schedule. I had not quite mastered the art of keeping kosher and staying fed while living in the dorms, so I was hungry most of the time. And Binghamton seemed to me like nothing but the means to a parkway. It was bad, and I was desperate to transfer. I so badly wanted to go to Boston U and ended up getting in – with very little financial aid. Meanwhile, here I have my tuition covered by scholarships. It was a terrible position to be put in. Do I value my happiness or my future finances? It felt like an obvious decision, but the more I thought about it, the more muddled it all got. It was weeks of crying and pacing and going through my options while stuck in a never-ending loop of indecisiveness.
As this is published in my final year as an undergraduate, I’m sure you can imagine what won out.
Now, do I regret this decision? Yes. No. I’ll never know. I like the weather here; that’s always my response. “Do you like Binghamton?” “The weather’s nice. I hate the heat.” The response I get is always shocked, but it stops people from asking anything more specific.
I got a call the other week asking how my college experience has been, what my favorite class I’ve taken was, do I intend to do this or that? I sat there stuttering for ten seconds before blurting out about a 200-level psych class I took my very first semester here. How was I supposed to answer all that? I couldn’t give my usual answers. How I liked the snow, how pretty it can be sometimes. How it feels to walk out of a Target and see mountains. That I still like getting an A more than anything else. This person on the phone didn’t really care what I said at all, and they certainly didn’t care about any of those answers. They were paid to find out my thoughts on the school, not what gets me through being at the school. But the questions stuck with me – How has it been? More so, do I feel proud yet?
When my older brother graduated college, he was so proud. He made us go back on campus that weekend to walk around and take nice photos with my fancy camera. He even asked me to touch them up in Photoshop for him. I didn’t really understand, especially not how he was willing to stay and finish more than one degree. He also went to a state school, and not one so highly regarded as Binghamton. What was there to be so incredibly proud of? Of course I was proud of him, but this was more a reflection of how he was happy. This is not the answer I’m sure a lot of people are going to have. College graduation – it’s supposed to be some big celebration. I should feel like more of an adult. Quite honestly, I’m just tired. Idiots could get a degree; I’ve seen it happen. Everything that I thought would prove me smart as a kid has proven to be entirely underwhelming. Chem was a little rough, and perception could be a bit of a struggle, but none of it feels like it proves I am skilled. But, a bachelor’s is a way of becoming a generalist, I digress, and that I can see. So, where does that leave me?
The conclusion I’ve come to is that I spent two years here miserable, thinking I shouldn’t be here, and the last year simply riding the wave. I guess the misery and my personal life have left me too tired to fight with myself anymore. This year, despite the workload, has been much more enjoyable. It’s like the active fight just left my body, and I’m at peace. It has left the impression of a fine college experience. Certainly not the time of my life I’d been told, but fine. At times, even enjoyable. Don’t tell anyone, but I’m almost a little sad to leave these memories behind. It’s like that phenomenon where people who have given birth forget just how painful it is so that they’ll do it again – I almost considered riding out a full four years; that’s how melancholy I’ve gotten!
Truthfully, Binghamton has served its purpose in my life, and now I am ready to be done with it. I found the things that made it enjoyable, and will likely forget all these weeks after I leave. There’s no world in which I crave Tai Chi Bubble Tea poke over any other poke I can get or ache for Wednesday Review meetings. My apologies, I will likely forget everything about making covers the second I don’t legally have to anymore (did you know I was legally bound to do those? They locked me up, stole my totally legal Skam flash drive, and threatened to kill my harem of goldfish if I didn’t.) Maybe I’ll miss the snow. I can see myself missing the snow.
I feel like the end of The DUFF writing this, so if I may, let me be corny for a moment. If I can leave a few tips for surviving, I would say: join a club (ANY club). You don’t have to stay forever if you hate it, but go to a couple meetings even if you hate it. Find one good take-out meal you can treat yourself to on a bad day or a late study night. Get a caffeine addiction. Look at the hills from the end of the spine’s fountain. Find a new hobby. Fail an exam and get over it. Make out with someone. Don’t stay in your room whenever you’re not in class. Find your favorite study spot. Call your parents and text your friends even if it seems lame and you have nothing to say except you saw a fat squirrel. Good luck, I’m outie.
The Unscriptable World
By Angelo DiTocco
Whenthis article is published, there will be a mere two weeks and change until I receive my Bachelor of Science degree in computer engineering. I don’t consider this to be my real graduation, as I am merely in the fourth year of a 4+1 program. However, I am still compelled to share the most important lesson I’ve learned in my undergraduate years, which, if used correctly, can save you a lot of pain and frustration. Here’s how I learned to go with the flow.
It all started on one fateful afternoon in September 2022. I had just gotten back from my semiweekly torture session (8 AM class) and decided to take a nap. During said nap, much like the late, great Martin Luther King Jr., I had a dream. But this dream was not about racial equality or anything of the sort. Instead, my fictional self met a girl right by the University Union Dunkin’, and soon after asked for her number—a challenge I had not yet taken on in real life. She said yes! But rather than receiving the requested ten digits in their unencrypted form, I got a math puzzle instead! Despite my mathematical prowess, I could not solve the system of equations to obtain her contact information. And then I woke up.
Maybe not exactly like this, but you get the idea
Of course, this dream didn’t come true. Girls don’t actually have math puzzles on hand to give to interested guys—at least I think they don’t. But this dream did serve as sort of a wake-up call for me. You see, I’ve always been sort of the “awkward gamer” type, throughout my upbringing and beyond. Be this the result of genetics, environmental factors, or simply a skill issue, it resulted in a noticeable lack of confidence when it came to talking to the opposite sex. By the end of my sophomore year, this had become more apparent than ever. Nearly everyone I knew was seeing someone, or at least had been in the past, meanwhile I was yet to go on a single date. It seemed impossible to walk to class without seeing couples or to have a conversation without hearing about someone’s romantic endeavors.
The stage is now filled with song
All the cast of your play are now dancing You’re itching to dance along Now you can’t stop your feet from the tapping
On top of that, it dawned on me how uneventful my life really was. Everyone else seemed to be hanging out with their friends, going downtown, getting involved in clubs, and generally living the College Life™. Meanwhile, I was too busy speedrunning SpongeBob SquarePants: Battle for Bikini Bottom. (Now, this isn’t to say I had no friends at all, but my interactions with them seemed to be few and far between.) The cause of my mediocre social life and complete lack of a dating life seemed clear to me: I simply wasn’t trying hard enough.
Totally worth the social isolation
The following summer, between shifts at the concession stand, I formulated the plan for my redemption arc. I’d show up to my classes early and make a conscious effort to talk to those around me. I’d go to UFest and join any club that seemed even remotely interesting. Lastly, I’d keep a keen eye on the events calendar for even more opportunities to branch out and meet new people. Not only would this turn me into a social butterfly, but I’d finally have the romantic experiences I’d been missing out on my whole life. It was a foolproof plan, and I was excited to go back to school and put it into action.
Soon enough, you’ll start to think, “Perhaps I’ll write again” With your reasons indistinct: “A script may help this dance” You so easily forget
Exactly how this ends
Fast forward a few months and I was basically no further from where I started, at least on the romantic side of things. For one, I had forgotten to take into account that I was a computer engineering student, so there were basically no women to begin with. The clubs I joined were not much different in nature. Even a few former Editors-in-Chief have posited that the Review itself suffers from a lack of “bitches” (their words, not mine). Even when I did have opportunities to talk to girls, it felt like an obligation to do so, which guaranteed awkwardness. Unfortunately, this made things even worse. Instead of being loveless, I was now loveless and frustrated. I began to see my lack of “progress” as a reflection of who I was. I’d be reflecting on past weeks like, “Yeah, I got work done on my creative projects, did well in my classes, and had some fun times, but I didn’t talk to any girls this week, so it really wasn’t that good.” Don’t you see how ridiculous that is?
somewhere with this
It wasn’t until a frustrating February passed that I finally started to see another path forward. I reflected on the friends I had made that year. I had essentially gotten myself into two new friend groups. The first one was the result of a randomly assigned lab partner, and the second one was from the Review itself, a club I joined in the middle of the fall semester. Ironically, the friends that did stick with me were not those I had deliberately tried to meet, but were instead the result of happenstance.
The question’s in your eyes: “What’s the meaning of it all?”
To which your heart replies, “This is much less like a play And more like a grand ball”
The lyrics I’ve been sprinkling throughout this article are from a song called “Comfort in the Orchestration” by The Reign of Kindo. Coming across this song was one of the first steps to break me out of the toxic, defeatist mindset I found myself in. It presents an alternate take on life: that sometimes, planning things out to a T is futile, and you just have to let things fall into place instead. Applying this to my own circumstances, perhaps
looking for someone to date wasn’t such a good idea after all. This wasn’t the only time I made plans that fell apart. You may have noticed on a previous page that I will be occupying the humble Copy Desk Chief position of the e-board next year. But that wasn’t exactly the plan. In fact, I originally intended to go in the opposite direction and run for Editor-in-Chief. Imagine that: Angelo for EiC. Were I to win, it would be an inspirational story about how I made up for my uneventful first two years by climbing to the top of the “corporate ladder” of the e-board. I would be a beacon of hope for late bloomers across campus, proving that just because you’re “unc” doesn’t mean you can’t achieve greatness.
Of course, my delusions would be stopped right in their tracks by the Binghamton Review Constitution, which clearly states, “The positions of Treasurer, Editor-in-Chief, and Managing Editor… must be held by an undergraduate.”
Making rigid demands of your cast
They seem so unconcerned with the things you ask
Upon receiving this news that a second plan has gone awry, I began to examine whether being the club president would really be a good fit for me. After I’d had my first thoughts of running for EiC, I’d also decided to apply for a TA position for one of my favorite classes. Would I really be capable of running the Review while taking on the increased workload of a graduate student and possibly a TA as well? Or would I get overwhelmed by my more academic duties and be left watching helplessly as my own beloved publication sinks into the ground? Besides, Aiden’s already doing a great job running the show, and if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.
An even more important question is whether I even wanted to be the EiC in the first place. You might have noticed that the reasons I listed above for making my original plan convenient had nothing to do with the actual duties and responsibilities of the position. Indeed, social pressure and self-pressure had played a big role. I’d seen others who’d gotten a head start by joining clubs in their freshman year and immediately running for e-board. From there, they’d work their way up to being club president, even multiple times in some cases. I had felt the all-too-familiar fear of missing out and even deluded that my life would have a greater purpose or meaning with a more prestigious position. I was hung up on the idea of constant improvement and viewed going to a lower position as a downgrade. It didn’t occur to me until later that the humble Copy Desk Chief position would actually be a better fit for me,
Probably you right now, but I swear, I’m getting
as it allows my true strength to shine, which, of course, is going through article submissions at Mach speed.
In the same way, it may very well be the case that I didn’t even want a relationship, nor was I ready for one. Social pressure to find a partner can be seen pretty much everywhere. Movies, TV, music, social media, and even memes all seem to complain about singlehood, idolize relationships, and correlate the age at which you start dating with how much of a loser you are. Seeing my peers partner up and receiving occasional queries along the lines of “When are you getting a girlfriend?” probably didn’t help either. It can be hard not to view the taken person as being objectively cooler and better than the single person, as if to be eaten by the alligator’s mouth in the equation.
The things I got in lieu of a date are things I would never think to trade in for one. Over the past two years, I’ve made tons of new friends, learned new skills in both academics and extracurriculars, and even made some of my best videos yet—all objective improvements worth the “sacrifice” of staying single. To be clear, I am not talking about making lemonade when life gives you lemons. This is more like ordering a chicken tender meal at KFC and getting an entire bucket instead. At first, you might be disappointed that you didn’t get what you originally wanted, but sooner or later, you begin to realize that your end of the deal was way better than you could have imagined.
And still, they keep dancing on Just as though you don’t have a say In the choice of routine or song Isn’t it better that way?
Alright, enough cringe dating talk and delusions of EiCship. Here’s a speed round of a few more times my plans went awry, only for me to be completely fine in the end:
When I entered college, I had dreams of becoming some sort of inventor or entrepreneur and making various gizmos and gadgets to sell to the world. Thus, mechanical engineering seemed to be the obvious choice. But as I went through my first few pre-engineering classes, I realized that I didn’t really care about making CAD models or solving physics equations. I much preferred programming and working with microcontrollers. I made the decision to switch to computer engineering, and although this required abandoning the idea of making a fortune selling 3D-printed doohickeys, it was a decision I very much do not regret.
Later on, I was signing up for another intro to engineering class, and this was one where you couldn’t register yourself—you had to have an advisor do it for you. I went to Watson Advising to do exactly this, and the chill advisor there let me pick my own section. But I accidentally picked a section with a time conflict! On my second attempt, the advisor RNG was not as great, and so I got shoved into the one section I didn’t want: the 4:40–6:40 section. I THREW, I catastrophized as the semester approached. Then, on the first day of class, I instantly made friends with the guy sitting next to me, and we’ve been friends since.
Likewise, there was one class I really wanted to take this semester, and I was fairly confident that I would get into it. After all, my time ticket was only 4 hours after registration started. I
didn’t even have a backup plan at the time. But I was met with a harsh reality check when, you guessed it, the class was full. Apparently it had filled up in the first hour! I lamented and bitched and moaned and complained and whined, only to end up in a backup class that was 3 times easier and fit 5 times more neatly into my schedule. And as it turns out, I’ll be taking the class I originally wanted next semester with a more revised and polished curriculum.
Lastly, although it’s unrelated to school, I spent my entire first three years of college with a YouTube channel that sat at roughly 29,500 subscribers. The full story of the “Road to 30K” would be a two-pager on its own, but in short, I often made plans to grind out videos to get the last few hundred subscribers. Most of these didn’t work and just left me burnt out. But along the way, I experimented with new styles of content, improved my editing and storytelling skills, and even learned to commit 9 months straight to a single project. Hitting the big 3 right away would have been quite boring compared to this epic journey of trial and error.
I hope I’ve gotten the point across by now. No matter how tempting it is to plan exactly how things will go, you can never rely on it. From academics to clubs to spittin’ game, there are always going to be factors outside of your control, and you’ll often find that what you “want” isn’t really what you’d benefit from. It somehow took four long years for this idea to solidify in my head, and even then, my mindset isn’t perfect, as nothing ever is.
Despite all these “struggles” and “missed opportunities” and “failed plans,” I thoroughly enjoyed my undergraduate experience at Binghamton, especially the last two years. I don’t think I would be happier at any other school, in any other major, or with any other people. Again, I’m not leaving this place just yet, so I’ll refrain from shouting out any specific people until my real graduation, just to make sure I mention everyone. Nevertheless, I look forward to another epic year of learning, teaching (maybe), self-discovery, fun times, and of course, silly articles.
And maybe all that time spent in “social isolation” grinding BFBB and chasing 30K wasn’t really wasted. It did make for some epic content after all.
This is what happens when You realize you’re not in control Some days you’ll bear the load And others you won’t
Our Water Might Be Fucked
By Liam Steele
Recently, I represented my nonprofit group at this year’s convening of Freshwater Future in Rochester, NY, where advocates for water quality and security gathered to share their works and educate each other on the many issues facing America’s freshwater resources, and walked away with too much to not share. The coalition includes over 2000 advocacy organizations, including my organization, WICC (Water Insecurity Correction Coalition). Freshwater Future receives funding from generous donors to continue its work in supplying its many allied organizations in their respective projects with grants, rebrandable toolkits, and other resources they need to make a difference in their work.
I was able to take much from this experience, including reassurance that my 15% success rate in getting responses and collaboration from contacting community members was not a bad result at all, and encouragement from older advocate workers to continue my work in the midst of hardship. Though not told by my supervisors to network on WICC’s behalf, I made connections with a few speakers to connect them with my fellow advocates in the GIS mapping team for their work. I was the youngest person present, but was welcomed by a multitude of seasoned advocates for justice.
The highlight of this convening, however, was a presentation on water system management by Mary Grant of the Public Water For All Campaign under the Food and Water Watch. At the moment, 9/10 Americans not using their own private wells for water depend on public water works, noted as part of a trend from 2007 to 2014 where public water coverage increased by 4%. However, Grant alleged that this trend could soon be reversed amid the Trump administration’s recent gutting of government organizations.
Water privatisation is a spectrum, ranging from full government control and occasional outsourced operations, to DBFO (Design, Build, Finance, Operate. Basically everything besides overall management) and full private ownership. Grant’s main oppositions to privatization are the loss of transparency in the matters of the public’s water in the lack of regular mandatory water quality reports normally distributed by public utilities, and obfuscation of accountability and information, as state transparency laws such as FOIL and FOIA (Freedom of Information Law/ Act) cannot be applied to private companies, meaning they do not actually have to listen to public concerns. More obviously, there is the matter of private companies being geared towards for-profit actions. Grant’s organization’s research found that the average annual cost of water from private utilities was 59% higher than that of public utilities. In New York state specifically, water costs $260 more, and Pennsylvania had the most significant price difference at $323 more. Legislation around private water companies (PWCs) does not help these issues either; much of it, including the Water Accountability Act, does not actually require improvements to be made to water. Many communities have already begun taking stances against and even outright banning water privatization, including Gloucester, Pittsburgh, Chicago,
Baltimore, Edison, and others.
How does this connect to the Trump Administration? Much of their pursuits in “Government Efficiency” have involved illegally freezing bipartisan infrastructure funds (some of which were going towards lead pipe remediation), closing environmental justice offices, and firing staff. These firings have even reached the EPA, where even firings ruled illegal and reversed have left workers on administrative leave and unable to work. Furthermore, the proposed firings threaten to close the offices of the very same scientists, placing limits on water contaminants for water utilities to work towards in the water we drink on a daily basis. When public works feel the squeeze created by these actions, states will be pushed towards leaving the matter of water to PWCs.
Additionally, Trump’s executive order on deregulation, effectively telling organizations like the EPA to drop 10 regulations for every new one they place, as well as internal deregulation by Trump-appointed EPA Administrator Lee Zeldin will impact water quality for millions. Though Zeldin’s deregulations did not target water specifically, the ones focused on “Unleashing American Energy” would reconsider regulations “throttling the oil and gas industry,” including those involved with oil and gas industry wastewater. These have the potential to expand hydrofracking operations and even ease the safety regulations around their specific setup and waste management protocols, which affect people’s water, no matter who’s in charge of its management.
Science still does not fully grasp many contaminants and their effects on human health. In the case of PFA (Per and Polyfluoroalkyl) substances, an entirely synthetic organic group of compounds, thousands exist, and their effects on human health have only just begun to be understood. Broadly speaking, these substances can negatively impact fertility, development, immune system health, hormonal balance, and even increase the risk of some cancers. According to the ATSDR (Agency for Toxic Substances and Disease Registry), PFAS are present in the bloodstream of nearly all Americans. Though PFAS production, and in turn, presence in the average person’s bloodstream, have declined in recent years, the breadth of their presence remains cause for concern, with little understanding of their effects on health. The sheer number of these substances in existence and their presence in items from cookware, food packaging, and even clothing leave them a lasting cause for concern that we should be striving to understand.
That’s all not to mention the added lead contamination from the 9.2 million lead service lines still in use across the USA, carrying it to our homes with a garnish of brain-damaging heavy metals. With these issues facing our water, why should we allow Trump’s administration to start us on a path of backwards steps with the help of PWCs without the public’s best interests at heart?
Harvey Collage
Curated by our Staff
How the Other Half Lives: A Tour of UClub
While I am diligently working to complete my fuckass Roman history reading on some Jewish revolt, my lovely roommate comes crashing into the dorm with nothing but whimsy painted on his face. He struts over to my desk and looms over me, beckoning a conversation. I asked him what had harkened this giddy mood, to which he promptly responded that he had forgotten a vital mission. Furthermore, he inquired if I would be interested in joining him for the aforementioned mission. Curiosity had gotten the better of me. What could this task be? What does he plan on doing and to whom? My mind raced as I asked him what we were to do.
“Invade UClub…”
So there I was on the UClub bus in my wrinkled white dress shirt and a red tie around my neck, looking the part of an interested buyer. Why was I dressed this way and going to UClub to infiltrate their housing development? “Shits and giggles :)” Of course. Unbeknownst to me, my roommate had already taken the liberty of making a meeting for a tour of their establishment. We arrive and promptly locate their central office amidst a jungle of try-hard suburbanism. We check in, and lo and behold, my roommate tells the front desk that he and his “partner” are interested in having an apartment in UClub. It hits me. This bitch brought me here to act like his gay lover to alleviate suspicion. Why did he choose this route of espionage? “Shits and giggles :)” Of course. After filling out a very unnecessary and personally invasive survey, we begin the tour.
A surprisingly vertically gifted man with a beautiful carabiner on his hip proceeded to familiarize us with the establishment. We began exploring the common building. They possessed many a study room and rooms with oddly colored furniture that surround an adequate pool table, where you must ask the front desk for the pool balls. The tour guide brought us to a wonderfully moderate gym. It had a surprising amount of equipment that was not being used by a single soul. After the tumbleweed rolled out in front of us, we were promptly escorted to a model of a townhouse living facility.
“Enjoy your fucking dumbell-shaped pool, I guess.”
Standing over a welcome mat that read “You’re going to love it here”, we prepared for the highly anticipated display of UClub excellence. We walked into a surprisingly spacious apartment that felt like a millennial’s attempt at gentrification. The decoration was straight out of an assisted living facility, and I never felt more on edge. Yeah, I’m going to love it here. He shows us the included amenities of a fridge, oven, washer, dryer, and microwave. My personal favorite part of the tour was when he opened the fridge to a barrage of free samples. After completely ravaging the fridge and stuffing Snickers and Celsius in our pockets, we are taken up to the bedrooms.
By Bren Dover
Three wonderful copied-and-pasted bedrooms came with even more financially stable millennial decor, excessively pillowed full-sized beds, obnoxiously tiny desks, and wonderfully spacious closets (I’m actually serious about that; they had huge closets). Compared to campus living, this honestly felt like the life of luxury. At this point, it was time to get down to business and investigate the undisclosed parts of living here. We learned that the average rent prices ranged from $850 up to $1,250. On top of this, amenities such as heating, air, electricity, and water come in at a courteous $25-$50 bill. Finally, the price of parking is $75 a month, coming in at around $300 a semester. While the lovely tour guide tried to convince us that the fee was optional, the inconsistent bus schedule and the fuckery that is the walk to UClub made it seem quite the opposite. Additionally, our lovely tour guide attempted to sway us by explaining how other off-campus housing is much more expensive and much less luxurious..For reference, I am currently paying $700 in rent, amenities included, for a whole damn house. Try. The fuck. Again.
Perhaps if the facilities were adorned with gold or included a premier butler, then yeah, I would understand the price. But me personally, I don’t think I could indulge in a living area where the best thing about it is the walking distance to Insomnia. After a mostly awkward goodbye, explaining that we are “going to think about it,” we exited the building and withheld our laughter until we arrived at the very scenic Chipotle that sat right outside UClub’s doors. I was disappointed, to say the least. Enlightened, but disappointed. I wish not to shame those who take it upon themselves to live there. It is not their fault that their NPC coding drove them to sign a lease at UClub. Enjoy your fucking dumbell-shaped pool, I guess. But as I sat there eating a very mediocre bowl of honey chipotle chicken, I asked myself, how in the hell did I let myself get dragged into this? I gained nothing besides a warm Snickers bar and the experience of pretending to be in a gay relationship. So why, why, why did I say yes? “Shits and giggles :)”. Of course.
The Catholic Spirit of the University
While they remain and continue to remain critical institutions in scholastic, social, and political life in the West, universities as a whole have been the subject of a growing public skepticism in the past decade. Gallup research found that the percent of Americans who have “little/no confidence” in universities has increased drastically from 10% in 2015 to 36% in 2024, with political conservatives especially swinging against them. Beyond public opinion, however, there is today a deep cultural confusion about what universities are and what they are meant to do. Are they hubs for scholastic dialogue? Centers for research? Instruction for a new specialized job market? A place for that clunky transition from adolescence to adulthood? Perhaps some of these questions can be answered by tracing the modern university to its surprisingly prescient medieval roots.
Scholars generally agree that the modern scholastic institution we call a university has its roots in the European Middle Ages. While Western learning owes a great debt to the philosophical schools of Ancient Greece and the wondrous libraries of the Islamic world, the Catholic Church laid the early groundwork for the university with the monastic scriptorium. By about the sixth century, codexes (early books) had become the primary means for storing written knowledge in the west. The Catholic Church’s newly formalized system of monasteries was critical in the maintenance and production of codexes; entire communities devoted themselves to the task of copying (with great illumination and craftsmanship) old texts into new books. Alongside monastic scriptoriums and libraries, the church saw the usefulness of more formalized “Cathedral schools” for the training of clergy. After a couple hundred years of increasing lay and clerical demand for education, as well as the rise of medieval systems of trade unions or guilds, traveling scholars in Italy and France began to unionize in groups called “Universitas” (a general term for a collection of persons). Intriguingly, these scholars could be of any of the common medieval disciplines, but were united by their common occupation of studying a subject and the desire for guarantees of fair treatment by local institutions. When these “Universitas” became more grounded and merged with local schools called “Studium Generale,” the university, with the infant versions of all its quirks —professors, degrees, curriculums, even those silly graduation gowns (you dress like a medieval cleric at graduation!)— was born (Radcliffe-Umstead 1973).
“In a hyper-capitalist society, “knowledge for knowledge’s sake” seems like a terrible waste of resources.”
One of the earliest recognized universities is the University of Bologna (originally popular for ecclesiastical and civil law), and it was soon followed by Paris (logic, philosophy, theology) and Oxford (mathematics and natural science). Medieval scholarship was centered around scriptural exegesis but quickly
By John Marchiel
expanded into all kinds of new rational inquiries (Janin 2008). Fierce debates erupted with speculative theologians questioning orthodox thinking, and this eventually exploded into the amazing intellectual production of Catholic scholasticism, which used relational dialectics to help Christianity reconcile and contend with Aristotelian and Neoplatonic philosophies (Patte 2010). Thomas Aquinas, Catholic theologian and Saint, is remembered by many as the pinnacle figure of Catholic scholasticism, and one of his most consequential beliefs was that faith and reason never contradict each other and were, in fact, complementary ways of understanding the world. Over time, the university as a degree-offering community of higher learning scholars, outpaced every other method of higher education, and claimed the prominent seat it occupies in Western education today.
So, why is any of this relevant? Well, while the issue of unionization and the fair treatment of scholars is interesting, this article will focus on the deeper philosophy that motivated the creation of the university and the mission of learning itself. That philosophy, a Catholic one, is relevant to the recovery of university institutions public life. The Catholic Church supported Universities A — to have educated ministers and B — because it viewed God as ultimate truth and the pursuit/preservation of knowledge as an act of coming to know Him. Christians believe in one God who exists beyond space and time, created and ordered existence, and enters into the world to reveal certain truths to human beings. This belief is what allows Christians to accept both a natural and a supernatural understanding of reality and critically, to launch academic inquiries into all different subjects (physical and metaphysical). In short, Christians believe that the universe is “intelligible” (able to be understood). Scholars were able to work as interdisciplinary generalists or as specialists, but still exist in the same institution because both view one another as pursuers of universal knowledge or truth, and believe that truth is something objective and attainable.
In the modern age, where truth has been relegated to the personal sphere and institutions exist at the whims of capitalist
market forces, the university can start to feel rather out of place. If there are no objective truths behind disciples like theology, painting, or physics, students of these disciplines find themselves trapped, swirling around in their own speculations, endlessly meta-examining/critiquing themselves, never making concrete progress. In a hyper-capitalist society, “knowledge for knowledge’s sake” seems like a terrible waste of resources, and student demand is for the product of a degree and job skills rather than the process of study and becoming an intellectually “formed” person.
Contrary to the political stereotypes, universities often serve as implicit bastions of objective truth rather than its opponent. Beginning with the hard sciences, systems of standardized experimentation, data collection, and rigorous student examinations, ground these disciplines in a shared physical reality. Public opinion might veer into skepticism of certain scientific discoveries (think controversial topics like vaccines or global warming), but the Western scientific community has its own set standards for what is true and what is not, and how to objectively determine that. Perhaps things become a bit fuzzier in artistic subjects like literature, but even these have their own logic to them. While the idea of an objective literary canon of classic works has come under fire in academia, you will be hard pressed to find an English major who would deny that Shakespeare belongs in it. Why? Because traditions of interpretation, as well as certain formal qualities and innovations in Shakespeare’s work make it stand out as remarkable to any skilled reader. Perhaps painting provides a concrete example: college art students don’t just sit around in class complimenting each other’s work, they train in creative techniques and levy harsh (yet hopefully productive) critiques for their classmates.
“The idea of truth commonly pursued in the university can be frightening, but also liberating and beautiful.”
This is not to say however, that universities are perfect and all their knowledge is end-all be all. Scientists are still flawed human beings capable of corruption and error, and some liberal arts programs have had their understandings of beauty and craft more distorted than others. Perhaps the greatest error a modern university can make is the subjugation of its studies to a purpose other than objective inquiry (like the propagation of a political ideology or slapping degrees into student’s hands) or a general hesitancy around truth. The great 20th century Anglican writer C.S. Lewis plays with that second case in his novella The Great Divorce. The book contains a sequence where, in the afterlife, a rational Christian interrogates an extremely liberal theologian. The Christian is trying to convince the liberal theologian that “free enquiry” is not an end in itself and that truth is its final end. The theologian resists this idea stating:
“For me there is no such thing as a final answer … to travel hopefully is better than to arrive...you must feel yourself that there is something stifling about the idea of finality? Stagnation, my dear boy, what is more soul-destroying than stagnation?”
While this theologian character is written as almost laughable at times, he taps into a real silent fear of academics. Truth claims in a subject like theology too often trigger reprimands of childish “close-mindedness” or “anti-intellectualism,” and academics are afraid of offending, becoming part of an uncritical “traditional” body of knowledge. Yet if no truth claims can ever be accepted (or at the very least rated above others) then where is the train of rational inquiry even going!? The modern
and postmodern psyche is afraid of finality, absolutes, commitments, endings. It tries to contain them as much as it can to more compartmentalizable and fresh physical sciences and hide them away in those abstract yet inescapable realms of theology and philosophy, which are themselves necessary for justifying why we do anything in the first place.
The idea of truth commonly pursued in the university can be frightening, but also liberating and beautiful. Really embracing the idea can lead to a new child-like wonder at the world. It can lead to a more serious consideration of opposing ideas as well as a greater respect for different disciplines. This is the note I would like to end on. The modern university, for all its flaws, still gathers fresh minds from diverse backgrounds to study a wide range of disciplines. Outside of a university, or really a Catholic context, disciplines like literature and astrophysics have nothing to do with each other. Within that context, the pursuit of knowledge is no longer aimless; students are journeying to their degrees in a shared hope in truth.
The university provides an exceptional opportunity for students to learn alongside diverse peers who, despite navigating different challenges, face many of the same struggles and seek the same goals. In my five years at Binghamton, I have directly studied Economics and English literature, but became best friends with a mathematician, a biomedical engineer, a neuroscientist, and a classics-biology double major. We looked out for each other, traded bits of knowledge (I gave lectures on Dante and British literature to them whenever they let me), and learned as much about life as we did about our subjects. Our conversations and the time we spent together were worth every cent of my tuition, and I will confess that attending Binghamton University (with all its imperfections) showed me that a Catholic spirit is still alive wherever there is beauty, knowledge, and friendship, even if we don’t all have a habit of recognizing it.
