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SINCE 1891




City Council to vote on Hope Point Tower Dining Services raises wages Council to vote on for all student workers zoning change for height restrictions for proposed Hope Point Tower

After student concerns over hours, pay, Dining Services also abolishes oncall, forms working group



Following two public hearings on the proposed Hope Point Tower project, the Providence Committee on Ordinances voted Thursday night to open the project to a full City Council vote. The Hope Point Tower is a 600-foottall luxury apartment complex slated to be built on former I-195 land downtown. If the tower receives the necessary zoning approval from the City Council, it will be the tallest building in Providence and the tallest residential tower in New England. As early as next Thursday, the City Council could vote on whether to approve the proposal. Out-of-state developer Jason Fane hopes to build the tower on a parcel of land zoned for 100-foot-tall buildings — a restriction created three years ago under a citywide, comprehensive zoning plan. The ordinances committee’s recommendation to approve the plan came down to a three-to-one vote.



Throughout the meeting, Ward 13 Councilperson Bryan Principe — who voted against the zoning change — voiced frustration with the proposal, saying that it did not comply with the comprehensive plan’s guidelines. “We’re sticking it to developers,” Principe said, explaining that other development projects have had to follow the comprehensive zoning rules. “We’re saying to everybody else, ‘We’re for sale.’” Ward 5 Councilperson Jo-Ann Ryan, who voted to move the proposal

Protesters call for Senate to protect Mueller probe Appointment of Whitaker as acting attorney general met with protests across United States By DYLAN MAJSIAK SENIOR STAFF WRITER

Community members surrounded the R.I. State House late Thursday afternoon to denounce President Trump’s appointment of Matthew Whitaker as acting attorney general. Over 900 other demonstrations took place across the country to protest the appointment as an obstruction to the investigation of Trump’s relationship with Russia, said rally organizer and IndivisibleRI founder Andy Acciaioli. In collaboration with national progressive advocacy group MoveOn, Indivisible — a volunteer collective with over 6,000 chapters — planned the Providence rally late Wednesday after former Attorney General Jeff Sessions accepted Trump’s request to resign, Acciaioli told The Herald. Following Sessions’ resignation, Whitaker is now in charge of Robert Mueller’s investigation of the Trump campaign’s potential ties to Russia. In


a CNN op-ed originally published Aug. 6, 2017, Whitaker publicly criticized the probe for “going too far.” As acting attorney general, Whitaker will likely either stop the investigation or defund it, said Assistant Executive Director of IndivisibleRI Shawna Rihani. Whitaker’s public defense of Trump demonstrates that he is a “Trump loyalist,” she added. “Mueller could get fired tomorrow,” Rihani said from the steps of the State House. “We are on the cusp of a national emergency, and it is our responsibility to make our voices heard.” Rally attendees shouted “Lock him up” — a jab at Trump’s 2016 campaign chant about then-presidential candidate Hillary Clinton — and thrust signs into the air, some of which read “No One is Above The Law” and “Innocent Presidents Don’t Act This Way! PROTECT MUELLER INVESTIGATION.” IndivisibleRI Area Director Kamila Barzykowkski called for Whitaker to recuse himself from the investigation to keep Deputy Attorney General Rod Rosenstein in control of the probe. She also demanded that the Senate pass special protections to safeguard the investigation, such as the one Sens. Jeff » See RALLY, page 2

forward, disagreed. “We need to say to other developers, ‘We’re here, and we’re open for business,’” Ryan said, calling the project a “once-in-a-decade opportunity.” Ryan voiced support for the tower because of its potential to create jobs, a proposition that drew laughter from some in the audience. Thursday night’s meeting was not a public hearing but an opportunity for the ordinance committee to discuss the tower and vote on whether » See TOWER, page 2

Following discussions between Brown Dining Services and the BuDS student management team, Dining Services raised student workers’ wages for all positions, wrote Director of Dining Services Peter Rossi in an email to The Herald. As of Nov. 2, workers’ starting rate increased from $10.60 to $11.00 an hour. Supervisors, assistant unit managers and unit managers’ pay differentials increased to $2.00, $4.50 and $5.50 above the base worker rate respectively, Rossi wrote in a separate email to the student management team. The starting wages for junior and senior supervisors were previously $1.50 and $1.75 over the base wage, respectively, The Herald previously reported. Assistant unit managers previously earned $2.25 over the base wage and unit managers earned a flat rate of $14.35 an hour, wrote Savanna

Rilatos ’20, general manager of BuDS, in an email to The Herald. Discussions about wage increases have been in progress since August, Rilatos said. Supervisors and unit managers have reported feeling overworked and underpaid, The Herald previously reported. Since mid-October, “staffing has gotten so much better,” Rilatos said, adding that several new supervisors have been hired in the past week. In addition to implementing these wage increases, Dining Services has eliminated on-call hours for carts, cashiers and Blue Room workers, Rilatos said. To fill these hours, Dining Services “added shifts for nonstudent employees” and continues to “review operational adjustments to further support this change,” Rossi wrote. Carts Unit Manager Katherine Jimenez ’20 and Assistant Director of Retail Dining for Dining Services Bobby Noyes were instrumental in redesigning the on-call system for carts, Rilatos said. Under the new system, units “will have the direct support of retail professionals … to help with subbing, no-shows and other day-to-day » See DINING, page 2

Watson panel extols virtues of marriage


Professor W. Brad Wilcox (left), Ethan Shire ’19 (middle) and Professor Glenn Loury (right) discussed the impact of marriage on adults, children and society as a whole through a sociological and economic lens.

Profs point to social, economic benefits of marriage, some audience members raise concerns By SPENCER SCHULTZ CONTRIBUTING WRITER

Professor of Economics Glenn Loury and Professor W. Brad Wilcox, a sociology professor at the University of Virginia, engaged in a discussion titled

“Perspectives on Family Structure, Marriage, and Inequality” last night. The two professors examined how marriage can affect social and economic trends, and Wilcox ultimately offered a defense of the institution of marriage. Wilcox began by contextualizing the state of marriage in the United States: “Since the 1960s, we have seen a retreat from marriage that has impacted less educated, less affluent and minority Americans much more than it has affected upper-middle-class and

college-educated Americans.” He cited data indicating that 77 percent of teens in college-educated homes live with both parents, compared to only about half of teens from less educated homes. This decline in marriage poses a great risk to the economic and social well-being of future generations, Wilcox said. With links to higher income, greater economic stability and social benefits, raising a child in a twoparent household is the “gold standard” » See PANEL, page 3



NEWS UFB to release first budget report Nov. 21 after working with SAO to better understand available data

SPORTS Carchio ’20 finishes season with one goal, two assists in Senior Day match against Yale

COMMENTARY Klein ’20: Duke basketball is unmatched in skill, performance due to several top-rated players

COMMENTARY Anthony ’22: To make most of Brown experience, make peace with learning at your own pace







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» DINING, from page 1


Protesters gathered at the R.I. State House yesterday to denounce the appointment of Matthew Whitaker as acting attorney general, a move they believe puts Robert Mueller’s investigation in jeopardy.

» RALLY, from page 1 Flake, R-AZ, and Chris Coons, D-DE, are planning to introduce. “We are here today to … tell the Republican Senate (that) to remain silent is no longer an option,” Barzykowkski said. “They must obey their oaths to protect our Constitution.” In between speeches, IndivisibleRI Advisory Board Member Steven Beleaus played the guitar and sang songs that underscored the rally’s focus, including “Heart of God” by Neil Young and a modified rendition of “Ohio” by Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young. “There’s an obstruction of justice comin’, we’re finally on our own. This feels a lot like Nixon,” Beleaus sang. “When Donald Trump moves to set himself above the rule of law, he is eroding our model of democratic governance,” said State Rep. Aaron Regunberg ’12. “Trump and the Republican party’s cabals of white supremacy and oligarchy are taking

» TOWER, from page 1 to move the proposal forward. The event drew supporters and protesters in smaller numbers than previous meetings had. Jeffrey Padwa, one of the Fane Organization’s lawyers, attempted to submit additional information for consideration by the committee. But Providence lawyer Nicole Martucci objected to Padwa’s prolonged speech

steps not just to drag us back further toward the oppression and inequality we’ve been fighting against since our founding, … but they’re actually moving to attack … the fundamental tools that we need to continue this American project.” Philip Graham, IndivisibleRI advisory board member, encouraged protesters to celebrate the results of the midterm elections — Democrats now have control of the House of Representatives — but urged Democrats to begin organizing to flip Senate seats in 2020, calling for voters to oust senators such as Sens. Susan Collins, R-ME, and Cory Gardner, R-CO. “We won one, but we’re not done, … 2020, here we come,” Graham chanted with the crowd. While R.I. residents may take to calling their senators, they should push constituents in red states to organize, since Sens. Jack Reed, D-RI, and Sheldon Whitehouse, D-RI, already support efforts to protect the Mueller

investigation, Acciaioli said. “Our democracy is in danger,” protester Walter Reice told The Herald. “The investigation should take its course, and the American people should be informed of what (Mueller) finds.” Other protesters pointed to the confirmation process of Supreme Court Justice Brett Kavanaugh, who was accused of sexual assault by Christine Blasey Ford and multiple other women, as evidence of a lack of integrity in public life. Rally attendee Ella Fitzgerald held a “BELIEVE SURVIVORS” sign and told The Herald, “I don’t know if I can have complete faith in the Federal Bureau of Investigation based on their interviewing process of Dr. Ford.” Looking forward, Acciaioli anticipates IndivisibleRI will join other Indivisible chapters around the country in calling senators and visiting Washington to fight Whitaker’s appointment. “We have so much work to do. I guess this is the beginning of 2020, right?” Rihani said.

since public hearings on the matter had already been closed. After the meeting, Ward 12 Councilperson Terence Hassett told The Herald that projects like the construction of Providence Place Mall and the renovation of the Masonic Lodge had faced similar opposition during their approval processes but had later proved successful. Hassett, who plans to retire in December, said that he wanted to

move the project forward before he left office. “I didn’t want to walk away from this,” he said, adding that he supported the proposal’s ability to create union jobs. The Fane Organization’s team was pleased by the results. “We’re gratified that we received the support of the Ordinance Committee,” Dante Bellini, Fane’s spokesperson said, adding that he is looking forward to next week’s vote.

necessities” on weekdays from 7 a.m. to 5 p.m, Jimenez wrote in an email to BuDS workers. After 5 p.m. or on weekends, carts supervisors may choose to take paid shifts where they cover for workers if needed, Jimenez told The Herald. A similar system has been implemented in both the cashiers and Blue Room units, she added. “So far, supervisors have loved” the new system, Jimenez said. “Not being on call during the day has taken off so much of the burden on them.” After hearing about Dining Service’s new policies, one supervisor who had quit even took her job back, Jimenez added. In the future, Dining Services will look “closer at hour caps to ensure our supervisors and managers are working manageable hours,” Rilatos wrote in an email to BuDS workers. Capping hours “shouldn’t be too hard, but it’s all a process,” Rilatos said. Dining Services has also “created a working group to explore longer-term improvements to the student-managed program,” Rossi wrote. Barbara Chernow, vice president for finance and administration, will chair this group, which plans to review current protocols

and recommend “changes to improve the overall program, strengthen communication among student managers and the Dining Services team and better support student needs,” Rossi wrote. Many students are still pushing the administration to make further changes. A group of former and current BuDS employees formed Brown Students for BDS Accountability, which is advocating for Dining Services to retroactively compensate workers for the hours they spent working on call in the past. Per University policy, students who worked on call were required to be paid, as The Herald previously reported. Though Jimenez is not involved with the group, she said she supports workers getting compensation for past on-call work. Overall, “people are really excited” about the wage increases, Rilatos said. She is grateful that Dining Services gave her and Assistant General Manager of BuDS Benjamin Potee ’19 “a lot of agency” in the wage discussions. “Now, we’re in a really good place,” Rilatos said. “I hope (higher wages) recruit us more workers and (make) us more competitive. I hope people feel really appreciated for the work they do.”


In This


Sydney Lo

Erin Lee Walden


YA Fantasy Meeting Reality

New Here

A Big King in Providence Johnathan Lovett

Why I Left New York Jennifer Osborne, Sydney Lo, Julian Towers 4 5

Nicole Fegan 6

Three Queens

postCover by Bella Carlos


VOL 23 —



New Here

Queer API Health and Feeling Together By Erin Lee Walden Illustrated by Rémy Poisson


am walking through a fluorescent hallway. It smells like new air conditioning and pharmacy and bleach. The floor is tiled beige and the sounds of people mumbling behind closed doors drift into the hallway, which looms narrow and empty except for a coffee machine. It is very cold. It is corporate. It is boring. My face is bright red, warmed from the muggy NYC air. My pores are filled with the dirt and grime stirred up by double-decker tour buses displaying the sights of Chinatown for tourists passing through. Inside, I am suddenly freezing. Air vents hum in

the background as I am led to the sole office in this basement hall. I’m following my boss—she has short hair and tells me she is a writer and a rapper and an activist and a friend. I distract myself from the anxiety I feel about my first day by focusing on the way her dress moves. The cotton blends with the linoleum floor; it ripples and snaps into place, holding its own like paper once wet, now dry. She interrupts my trance and says, “I’m so happy you’re here. I already feel like your auntie.” And I wonder what my life would have been if I had grown up around someone like her.

We enter a windowless room lined with cubicles, located down the hall from the pharmacy. About 15 people turn in their swivel chairs as I enter. Everyone smiles. Everyone says hello. They tell me that they think this will be a wonderful summer, that I will like working here, and I am comforted. My boss says we will do introductions later, after I have completed my trainings and orientation assignments. She sits at her desk and hands me a binder that says, “Welcome to Apicha, Erin Walden, Summer Intern.” There is a logo with a rainbow flag below the text and three pieces of paper in the two-inch binder.

Classes Offered Next Semester

Letter from the Editor This week, we have a (mostly) cheery

Thanksgiving is coming and we have only

lineup to help you out of those post-


daylight savings blues. The days may

you out, don’t worry: There is still plenty

be shortening, but O, to be young, alive,

of time left in the semester for a journey to

and able to fight the cholesterol-induced

self-discovery, or at the very least, one to

shock of a meal at Big King! Young adult


Marvel at the fact that when you go home for Thanksgiving, you could still be referred to as a boygenius. If the thought that

Toilets 2. (Victorian) Flesh 3. Fan Fiction 4. Organic Chemistry 5. The Awful German Language

literature technically remains ageappropriate—binge read it while you can!

1. The Private Life of the Privy: A Secret History of

Happy Friday,


editor-in-chief of post-

6. An Introduction to Pain and Suffering 7. Bleeding Heart Libertarianism 8. The Meaning of Life 9. Psychology and Philosophy of Happiness 10. Tobacco, Disease and the Industry: cigs, e-cigs and more


Orientation begins with an introduction to where exactly I am: Apicha Community Health Center. We talk about what happens at the center (affordable and affirmative healthcare) and the mission of Apicha (to serve underserved populations in New York City). I am the only intern in this department, which usually doesn’t have room or funding for temporary employees. The most important part of orientation is learning about my position: I will assist with Project Connect in the Community Health Education (CHE) department. Project Connect is a program specifically for API (Asian and/or Pacific Islander) LGBTQ+ youth that offers mentorship programs, workshops, leadership trainings, cultural competency trainings, and support for members of the community. My boss is the only person who works for Project Connect; she oversees all of the programs throughout the year. In the CHE department, there are SNAP (Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program) and health insurance enrollers who help people in Lower Manhattan obtain Medicare and Medicaid. There is also a Sexual Health Education department that provides HIV and STI testing as well as assistance with attaining PrEP and PEP, drugs that prevent the transmission of HIV. Apicha was founded in 1989 as the Asian and Pacific Islander Coalition on HIV/ AIDS (APICHA), a grassroots organization formed in response to the AIDS crisis and the unmet HIV/AIDS needs of API people in New York City. Today, one in five API people living with HIV in the United States are unaware of their status. Taboo and stigma around HIV and LGBTQ+ people are prominent in many API communities. In 2009, Apicha became a Community Health Center, broadening their range of services from HIV-focused practice to offer general primary care, STI testing, trans healthcare, and community outreach, among other services. I am in an incredible organization, focusing on all of the issues that I find most important—still, I am nervous. Of course, I knew from the start that I would be. I joked to a friend at the end of the school year that I was unsure if I could provide support to other people in the API LGBTQ+ community when I didn’t have any myself. Now the expected nervous feelings have arrived, the same ones that surface whenever I meet anyone new. There has always been the inevitable, “I couldn’t tell you were Chinese,” or “Do you have a boyfriend?” As someone who feels invisible by virtue of how I was raised and various other aspects of my life (gender, disposition, sexuality), it is always jarring to be thrust into the position of having to correct someone’s assumption, of having to assert an identity that can be uncomfortable to talk about. And even if the questions are never voiced, I can hear them. I can see them in the confused faces. Here at Apicha, though, something feels different. No one asks me personal questions. No one asks me why I want to work here: That is to say, no one asks me to prove anything. The head supervisor says my piercings are cool. My boss says we are just a bunch of queers sequestered into the basement. Mostly, people want to talk about their jobs; they

want to show me how I can do what they do. I listen, observe their work, and learn about healthcare. More importantly, I learn about discriminations in health and healthcare faced by API communities (language barriers, stigma, insurance and immigration status) and LGBTQ+ communities (lack of providers, high homelessness rates, risk factors including violence and harassment). I learn about the intersection of these conditions. The busiest month of the year for the CHE

We talk about having to make parents feel comfortable, about the guilt of not being able to. I hear people articulate feelings I have known but have not had the vocabulary to discuss (or anyone to discuss them with). department is June: Pride Month. I have the opportunity to attend pride parades and festivals throughout New York City. Although it is fun to march and hand out condoms and Apicha-branded giveaways, Manhattan Pride feels incredibly corporate. The event is heavily policed and regulated. Only people with wristbands can march, and each organization gets a limited number of wristbands. It is also a prime display of rainbow capitalism: the incorporation of the LGBTQ+ community into a neoliberal society only because corporations can profit off of targeting this demographic, not because there is real acceptance. This usually involves corporations that have no pro-LGBTQ+ practices showing up at pride festivals (which have historically been protests) to attract customers, sell pridethemed merchandise, and profit. Over the course of the summer, I go to many other events such as a NYC Department of Education conference for teachers on gender and sexuality, National HIV Testing Day, and Apicha workshops. I do outreach at community centers like the Charles B. Wang Center, Callen-Lorde, and The LGBT Center. I sit in on calls with The Network—a group of LGBT-specific and LGBT-supportive non-profit organizations that provide care to queer people in New York City. I spend most of my days reading, sitting in on phone calls with my boss, planning meetings, and researching. On a July night, I sit in a circle of 15 black chairs. There is Popeyes, water from the office water cooler, and instant coffee, already cold. My supervisor runs a group that pairs young members of the community with older ones. She says it is the only one of its kind in the country that has intentionally carved a space for API LGBTQ+ people, and I hate that I can so easily

believe this fact. A girl sits next to me and taps my shoulder. She asks me about the shirt I am wearing, I ask her about her tattoo. We start the meeting by introducing ourselves and talking about our weeks. My boss has us share our coming out stories, if we are comfortable doing so. People discuss their experiences in the workplace and in school, about how we act and present differently around our bosses, our family, our friends. We talk about feeling tokenized, about feeling isolated from our cultures and from our families. We talk about language barriers, generational differences, stigmas around sex (none of us had any type of “sex talk” from parents, and public school certainly does not offer queer sex education). We talk about having to make parents feel comfortable, about the guilt of not being able to. I hear people articulate feelings I have known but have not had the vocabulary to discuss (or anyone to discuss them with). I come out in front of a sizeable group for the first time, and no one says I have to tell my parents. No one says queer visibility is critical for my well-being or that to stay closeted is selfish. People just listen. That night, I return home tired. My daily commute is two hours each way. The good thing about that is I get to read. Sometimes all I can do is sit, make lists of the storefront signs I see through the foggy Long Island Railroad window. Sometimes I write poems, sometimes I take notes on what people are saying. The night creaks, but it is summer and warm, and my mom is there when I get home. She asks me if I had a good time at work, I say yes, and she says there is leftover dal in the fridge, the same one that she always makes in the big red pot, garnished with an excess of cilantro. There is ginger tofu too, if I want. My dad high-fives me when I walk through the door. I feel like the luckiest person. The summer continues, and I am full. I write a letter to my parents telling them I’m queer, telling them what they probably already knew. In response to the letter, my father sends a text message. I receive the text while at an Asian-American poetry reading, holding a warm glass of complimentary white wine. The poet on stage mentions that his husband and dogs are waiting for him to come home, and that’s all it takes for me to start crying. I find myself wiping tears from my eyes before the reading has even begun. A wave of relief floods over me. My mother says nothing in response to the letter, but still makes me dal. On Fridays, I go to the animal adoption center with my boss to pet dogs. We drink overpriced coffee and travel to community events. I learn what it means to live as part of a collective, what it means to be a just-turned-20-years-old-starting-to-feel-okaywith-life person. On my last day at the office I bake banana bread, and my boss reads a poem she wrote for me on the subway. Later in the summer, at a baseball game, my mom jokes that all the pride merchandise at the stadium has been put on sale and placed in the corner. She laughs and gives me a hat to try on. I am still overwhelmed. There is newness in everything, but sometimes I feel comfortable.

“Should I go and enrich myself?” “I like to compare myself to Jesus and George Washington.” “When I was young I thought college would be like the Vampire Weekend song where he’s talking about having sex with a sophomore. Instead, it’s like the gap between Vampire Weekend’s last album and the one that hasn’t come out yet.” November 9, 2018'3


YA Fantasy Meeting Reality Moving Past the Page


By Sydney Lo Illustrated by Rémy Poisson

he Brown University Bookstore smells of burnt espresso and cardboard boxes, half-emptied after the initial shopping period mayhem. With some free time before classes and nowhere better to be, I meander past the Bestsellers and the Newly Recommended, glancing out the windows at the metal scaffolding and orange plastic of Thayer Street’s recent construction. The recent rain has given the world outside a dull hue, incentivizing my reluctance to return to studying and stress. I turn around the stairs, hands trailing over the wooden railing, and find the store’s humble Young Adult section. When I was younger, I imagined that my teenage years would begin with a Young Adult Fantasy book cover, preferably one featuring some overphotoshopped teen holding a sword and staring off into the distance, and end with an “About the Author” section. Chapter One would begin in monotony, a justlike-any-other-day scenario: a 13-year-old girl lives a normal life in the small suburbia of Minnesota. From there, my life would suddenly turn into an endless, thrilling adventure—the best times of my life. Perhaps I’d discover a family secret, or learn that I was the chosen one, or maybe I’d get mutant powers from a government test site. I’d accumulate a scrappy group of friends to accompany me as I embarked upon an epic journey that would ultimately end in saving the known universe. We’d topple corrupt governments, explore magical realms, become legends. Reality sunk in slowly as my sense of disappointment escalated. I didn’t receive my Hogwarts letter like Harry Potter when I was 11. I never found out I was a demigod when I turned 12. When I was 13, I wasn’t recruited into a secret government experiment. I never learned that I was actually a mermaid, or a witch, or an alien. My life progressed, permanently in prologue phase, each day more or less the same, as I waited for something impossible to happen. At many points, I became so impatient to have my own adventure that I deliberately adopted the behavior of my favorite YA characters. I tried to take up the bow and arrow after Katniss from The Hunger Games, a four-month endeavor that ended with me still unable to hit a target more than 20 feet away from me. I got chunky blonde highlights in the fourth grade because Max did in the Maximum Ride Series. I pretended that I was clumsier than I was and that I just didn’t “get” other

people even though I did. I determined which boys in my class would be the members of my inevitable love triangle. This was not to say that I was ungrateful for my typical existence. In my head, I understood how lucky I was to not have to deal with life-or-death situations, to not have to worry about massive conspiracies or the survival of my loved ones. Instead, I went to school, worried about tests, took up silly hobbies, and spent time with friends. As I grew older, the Young Adult Novel fantasy slipped away quietly, first from reality, then from my thoughts. My friends and I stopped concocting conspiracy theories, stopped hoping that somehow our favorite novels were actually works of nonfiction. We stopped wondering about the existence of aliens and stopped thinking that the new kid in class was one. Aspirations to save the world were replaced with dream colleges, career ambitions, travel goals. We came to terms with, or perhaps simply ignored, the fact that we would never be given some paramount quest. We would have to construct our adventures with the simple, modest world we were given. By the time I came to Brown University, my Young Adult fantasy had shrunk to an affinity for Marvel movies and a habit of treating my coursework as if the fate of the world depended on its execution. Sometimes, often while studying for a midterm, I'll still wish I could escape; I’ll wonder what a younger version of myself would think of my life. There have been moments throughout the years reminiscent of the stories I’ve read, such as my decision to move across the country to attend a private university with a long, semimysterious history (I’m looking at you, Brown secret societies). In high school, I did have an intensely tightknit group of friends, although we bonded over classes and our exploration of video games instead of over defeating evil. I’d learned about my tumultuous family history from my father, how his family had immigrated to the United States from Laos after aiding US troops during the Vietnam War. I’d uncovered “powers” in writing, in mathematics, in cooking. There were events in my teenage years worthy of stories. I pick up the closest novel on the bookstore shelf, turning to its back cover. Glittery details adorn the edges of the shiny dust jacket, and reviews give the work five stars. The plot summary promises a familiar set of tropey teenage characters and escapades, and a small part of my mind lights up with intrigue. Mostly, though, it finds the synopsis startlingly dull. Now 20 years old, I’m venturing into a territory uncharted by my favorite fiction reads. After years of fantasy and science fiction filling out every aspect of my teenage years, I’m left without a baseline for what adult life should be like, barring the occasional epilogue and

the few time travel epics that I’ve read. I turn over the book again and put it back on the shelf with its other permutations. The chapter of my life that clung to YA tropes has concluded, but part of me will never cease to whisper, Maybe my real adventure is yet to come. I take a step backward and look around. I imagine blank pages, my future, extending beyond the wooden bookshelves, waiting to be written. I wonder where my story goes from here.

Why I Left New York

Love, Loss, and Thanksgiving By Jennifer Osborne, Sydney Lo, and Julian Towers Illustrated by Stephanie Wu hard-boiled romance My freshman year of college, I would schlep down to New York City once a month to see a boy from high school. We had a great time going to the Met and eating oversized pizza. By the start of sophomore year, however, my trips had become more of a chore than anything else. I booked two tickets for the first Saturday of the semester—one arriving in the city at 4 p.m., and one departing at 7 p.m., post-breakup. We met at a wafel stand, and I broke the news. He remained surprisingly stoic; instead of the usual “what, why, is there someone else, what will I do without you,” he asked me to walk with him to Central Park. We somehow ended up in Battery Park, the southern tip of Manhattan, where we had met for our first date. We walked by the Barnes & Noble and the Whole Foods, and I remembered that 16-year-old me had found the idea of eating a hodgepodge assortment of foods while browsing books to be the height of teen romance. I also began to suspect that this boy was trying to retrace our path from that first date in some eerie, morbid, and unnatural attempt at closure. When we finally made it through the gates of the park and took a seat by a fountain, he let out a sigh, said “that’s better,” and started crying. Instead of addressing this, I took some pictures of the pigeons at my feet. I offered to get him a hot dog. He said he should go home. I bought two hard-boiled eggs and an iced coffee from some soulless, stainless steel chain in the heart of corporate Manhattan, got back on the bus, listened to sad-girl musicTM, and cried for having made him cry. Then I cried about being a girl who eats hardboiled eggs with her hands while sobbing on a public bus. Since this was New York City, no one seemed surprised by any of this. I mourned the love affair for the 5 hours and 33 minutes it took to return to campus and promptly got over it during a walk to the lookout over Prospect Terrace with a supportive friend. The modest Providence skyline felt homey; the coffee milk we’d smuggled out of Andrews in the hood of my coat affirmed that New England was an infinitely better place to be than New York. Oversized pizza exists here too, along with a different Met and another art museum. There would be other boys to go to them with. a scene of grief in a midtown theater We arrived at the small theater, turning off Broadway onto one of the numbered streets. The theater’s entrance was wedged between a pub and a Jimmy John’s, and had a dark, cramped entryway with out-of-date posters hanging in a glass display. From her puse my mother pulled out our printed tickets, stained and soft from the rain, and we found our way


ARTS&CULTURE inside into the small elevator. The theater lobby was on the second floor, painted a pastel yellow with photos from different plays in wooden frames across the walls. It felt like a small-town theater, with only the noisy traffic from below tethering us to Midtown Manhattan. We found our seats, worn from use and surprisingly close to the stage, which was meticulously decorated to resemble someone’s home. The play was a drama, well-acted and comforting in the way watching Law and Order: Special Victims Unit reruns can be. Its plot wound circles around its actors, and my mother and I shared glances with every new twist. The theater was barely heated, so we were freezing, but it felt like that was part of the play, like we were meant to shiver through each scene. Afterwards, my mother and I were introduced to the actress, and we talked while sitting on the edge of the stage and examining the various stage fixtures. She spoke about what it felt like to perform in a play after so many years and about the significance of her character. She talked about her attachment to the play in the way that people talk about their romantic partners. The conversation moved to discuss life, which led us to discuss death, and my mother and I confided to actress about the loss of my brother nine months prior. The actress spoke about her loss too, and eventually we were all crying. The actress passed around tissues, and my mother apologized for making a scene even though she didn’t have to. Through the tears, the actress and my mother exchanged a few thoughts about the world that helped them cope. I fidgeted with a prop and felt like everything in my life was doomed to lead back to his death. In the days following spring break, while sharing experiences with other Brown students, I told people it was a decent play and acted like the moment had never happened. the shawthanks redemption A freshman at NYU’s Tisch School of Arts, I had recently come to loathe every aspect of my existence: the meaningless feedback I received in workshop, the professors who woke up after election day and declared that ALL ART WAS SUDDENLY MORE IMPORTANT, and most of all, New York herself— the grime and dread and chaos and good people never getting heard. All it took was an extra banana pepper in my Chipotle one day, and I knew I would be transferring schools. Suddenly, my grades were of crucial importance; since I was attending art school, this fact isolated me from everyone I knew. While my peers were out performing improv comedy, attending gallery openings, and generally saving the world from Donald Trump, I sacrificed myself upon the altar of common core education. When "The World of Antiquity" assigned a 12-page paper on Jesus Christ, due the day after Thanksgiving break, the biblical parallels could no longer be ignored. I had denied my body in order to free my captive soul, and now, here, was the final judgement. To fly home for a quiet family Thanksgiving, however tempting, would be to invite damnation. I called my parents and convinced them that all my friends were staying. As a byproduct of my argument, I also convinced them that I had friends. Alone, raised above the city in my towering Third Avenue dorm, I spent five holy days perfecting my thesis. Spoken human contact was nonexistent. If I exited my suite, it was to jog in the vast stairwell system or to eat at the only vendor still accepting meal credit: Dunkin’ Donuts. Like a true Christian, capable of mixing meat with cheese, I would subsist upon its breakfast sandwiches. Each night, after work was done, I would thank God for his harvest and pray for

escape. Finishing my paper, I relaxed and treated myself to a Thanksgiving dinner—two strawberry Pop-Tarts, a bag of SunChips, and some turkey jerky. That night, my grandmother emailed me a Youtube link to Simon & Garfunkle’s 1970 tearjerker, “The Only Living Boy in New York.” I listened to the song on repeat, thumbing my cursor over the “submit” button as I pondered the destiny of my hard work. Years later, I would trace my attendance at Brown University to the B+ I received.

tan beachwood with granite slabs of ice, chained apart for either the fish’s sake or the customer’s. Two set menus, A (four courses) and B (six), beckon to us. Scores of starters and sakes account for much of the menu, but we’re on a budget here. Telling each other we should probably do A, we choose B. Our savings weep. But this is the game of yes and that outsiders must play. As dishes pass by, we come to learn Big King boasts atomic qualities. Though invisible from the outside, the restaurant’s four walls contain enough nuclear potential energy to obliterate all of Rhode Island (or at least, all future dining experiences within the state). Only a dramatic format can do justice to this food. BIG KING A Triumph in Six Acts

A Big King in Providence

A Restaurant Review in Six Delicious Acts


By Johnathan lovett

omething ceremonial hangs in the air tonight. It’s in our voices, our selfies, the way the night feels: It permeates our conversation with Miguel, our Uber driver. We tell him we’re new here, transplants from California. We’re venturing off College Hill for the first time to dine at a restaurant apparently so good it’s theatrical. We want to get to know this city—and tonight, Providence cloaks us in the smile of a host putting guests to ease. We’re delivered at Luongo Square and Carpenter Street, which is tucked in Federal Hill’s breast pocket. The area is quaint and quiet, dotted with hip bars and eateries like the The Avery and Bucktown. We’re early for our 8:15 p.m. reservation at the restaurant Big King, so we check out The Avery. Immediately we’re plunged into the bar’s jazzy, black-and-gold Art Deco. We imagine ourselves as 1920s flappers, saying everything is jake or we oughta get zozzled off some jag juice—but we don’t. Not yet, anyway. We fork over seven bucks for a Mango En Fuego. The sweet Jarritos Mango Soda and piquant Ancho Reyes Chile Liqueur, dashed with lime and poured over ice makes you feel how Baz Luhrmann would if his Gatsby scored twice as much on Rotten Tomatoes. Yes, it tastes as if Monsieur Luhrmann directed each of our sips: The opulent sugar encounters the smoldering Ancho Reyes...they clash, then converge into a box office smash. There is no clock tower anywhere near Federal Hill, but we convince ourselves we hear one. It strikes 8:15. We snap to attention and hopscotch over to Big King: Big King, the elusive. Big King, the second child of chef James Mark (after his first Providence restaurant, North). Whatever imagery the restaurant’s name made us imagine, the actual Big King doesn’t match up. No bloated emperor’s palace or mattress store. Rather, Big King is the size of a bourgeois walk-in closet. It’s tiny, nonchalant, so indiscreet you have to double check on Maps that it’s the same place you spent 20 minutes talking about with your academic dean. Who is the Big King anyway? We sit along the chef’s counter. It’s a polished,

ACT ONE Dish one descends upon us: yellowtail sashimi with slivered cucumber and chives, paired with a pear sake sauce. Six opalescent, burgundy-mauve cuts of yellowtail lounge like chairs on the deck of a sailboat, yawning along the Baltic. Biting into one is diving into fresh morning ocean. We awaken. Things become lucid. We realize we’ve gotten into something bigger than ourselves. We’re fucked. And the pear sake sauce? This potion? We enter catatonia briefly, not realizing we’re drooling like fools. But there’s no way the pear sake sauce could have gotten us tipsy. Or was it the sashimi? It doesn’t matter. That yellowtail was nuts. ACT ONE AND A HALF Out of nowhere appear two more pieces of yellowtail, cuts from the belly. Glassy skin spirals in segments, strung together over the rice bed. Several pieces of chive resemble tiny green crowns. Have we found the Big King? We wonder if this was mistakenly brought to us. Then we realize this dish is the work of a generous sushi chef. The restaurant must have pitied us for making all those whale noises during Act One. Indulging in this fish was falling into a deep, deep couch. ACT TWO A green, yellow, and red tomato salad with fried tofu (marinated in green tomato vinegar), drizzled with sesame and holy basil buds arrives like a stark New Hampshire fall. Suspicious, we Google-image-search J. M. W. Turner to make sure he’s not our sushi chef. With this dish, our predilection for hyperbole soars up, up, up. More whale noises follow. ACT THREE At this point a tall, Paul Bunyan-looking chef comes out with our next dish. He softly sets down the porcelain and proceeds to describe its contents in a low, dulcet baritone (think the lead singer of The National, delivering a lullaby). The audiobook industry could make a killing with this man. Lying seductively upon the mountain of sweet corn and chives, sporting seaweed shavings hair, are two translucent cuts of judith, conditioned with more pear sake. Oh, Judith. You sassy fish. You didn’t stand a chance. ACT FOUR Two sets of skewered grilled chicken meatballs (tsukune) arrive. These babies are glazed with tare, a sweet and thick soy sauce with dashi vinegar and raw egg yolk served with a saucer filled with more tare and quail egg. Good lord. November 9, 2018'5


ACT FIVE Paired with dusk-colored crab head miso, a bowl of crab rice with fresh rock crab meat mingles with grilled scapes, itty bitty green tomatoes, and dashi. For some reason, we talk about this dish as if it were the child of our chef. “It certainly has a good head on its shoulders, you must be so proud,” we'd say to him. “Your dish sure seems like it’ll go far”—which it did, deep into our esophagi. ACT SIX Sadly, our sixth and final dish is upon us: a fried peach pie pocket with lava-flowing caramel, a sugar-dusted surface, and coffee ice cream plopped on top. We shovel the hot fried dough and gooey peaches down our gullets. Through Big King, we watch Providence open itself up, like a portal. Through this food, we are momentarily rid of our unfamiliarity and all of life’s ennui. We pay and leave, laughing into the night like two Big Kings, beginning to feel at home.

Three Queens Reckoning with Indie Supergroup boygenius


By Nicole Fegan illustrated by Cricket McNally

ooking at my Apple Music last month, I noticed that among my most played songs were six by indie artist Phoebe Bridgers and three by indie artist Julien Baker. Over the past few years, female-fronted indie music has become something of a specialty of mine. So when it was announced that Julien Baker, Phoebe Bridgers, and Lucy Dacus (yet another indie artist) were forming a supergroup called boygenius, all of my synapses fired at once. This was a dream come true. I had spent the past few years acquainting myself with Baker, Bridgers, and Dacus, and during that time, it became clear to me that the strength of these artists resides in their gifts for storytelling and mood cultivation. On both of her full-length albums, including her recent 2017 release Turn Out the Lights, Baker belts heart-wrenching lines about her mental illness and perceived inadequacies. Bridgers’s debut album, Stranger in the Alps, feels precisely like reliving your first heartbreak and returning to your hometown...maybe too precisely. Dacus, whose music I am admittedly much newer to, tracks all kinds of loss in her sophomore album Historian—loss of love, of faith, and of life. Any song by these artists feels entirely original and inimitable. Late in August, boygenius released three singles before unexpectedly dropping the self-titled EP in

October. Since I had recently developed an affinity for listening to albums or EPs as whole products, I had held off on listening to the singles until autumn. That way, I could understand the entire scope of the story and more accurately feel what boygenius wanted me to feel. Often, my opinions of songs change drastically depending on the vibe of the entire album. For example, a song like “The Sound of Settling” is so tonally unlike the rest of Death Cab for Cutie’s Transatlanticism that I automatically have a distaste for it, even though I may be apt to like it if it were on a different album. All of this is to say that it is very important to me how a release feels as a whole. boygenius did not deliver the holistic feeling I had anticipated. But rather felt more like a compilation of six brilliant songs, each embodying the style of one of the group’s members. “Bite the Hand” and “Salt in the Wound” contain Dacus’s deep vocals

One woman spilling her soul into her lyrics can be perceived as overly confessional, almost cheap if you do not have sentimental sensibilities. But a group of women being open about their experiences is a force—a declaration of presence and importance. and typical guitar tone—heavy and electric with a distinct emphasis on being indie rock. “Ketchum, ID” and “Me and My Dog” encapsulate Bridgers’s soft and ethereal style—the former, an understated and sparse piece featuring little more than allencompassing vocal harmonies, and the latter, my favorite of the EP. Atop an atmospheric, hazy, and layered blend of instruments and choral “oohs,” it employs an almost country-esque twang while undeniably staying in the folk tradition. Baker’s style is seen clearly in “Stay Down” and “Souvenir,” characterized by recognizable chord progressions strummed expertly on an acoustic guitar, piano sprinkled in the background, and Baker’s intimate and raw vocal performance. I have all six songs downloaded on my phone, so what’s missing here to keep me from wholeheartedly adoring this? Simply, I think it is the lack of cohesion that I so strongly yearn for in an album or EP. The formation of the supergroup loses much of the confessional, emotional power that all three artists otherwise cultivate. The EP tells disparate stories

“She found my Grindr,” he said, holding up his phone to show a series of increasingly lengthy texts from ‘MUM’.” Charles Stewart, The Fall of the Amazing Human Lobster 11.8.17

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through disparate tones: Baker’s otherworldly rasp, Dacus’s deep sense of bite, and Bridgers’s breezy atmosphere. boygenius feels like an attempt to turn earth, fire, and air into one element that never quite succeeds. But maybe that is okay. After all, the three artists did not come together to form a band—on the major streaming services, the EP is under the names of all three artists, as opposed to “boygenius.” I.e., this is a supergroup—a project intended to highlight the artists’ individual styles rather than create one anew. In that regard, the EP works flawlessly, since each song is enhanced by the harmony and grittiness and softness the other singers bring to the table. However, I still cannot seem to shake the idea that an EP should feel like more than just a collection of singles. I don’t expect this opinion to be universal. In fact, Pitchfork, a popular musicreviewing site, thinks the EP’s variance of styles is a strength and that it “succeeds because their individual work doesn’t share one unified musical genre.” Is it more important for songs to be good or for an album to have a consistent tone? As is always the case when regarding art, perhaps it’s a matter of personal preference. Beyond my slight disappointment about the lack of cohesion, this group represents something larger than the music it creates. The tongue-incheek title of boygenius pokes fun at the fact that the three artists are always framed first and foremost as women in indie music, as if it were an anomaly to have women artists at the forefront of a musical movement. One woman spilling her soul into her lyrics can be perceived as overly confessional, almost cheap if you do not have sentimental sensibilities. But a group of women being open about their experiences is a force—a declaration of presence and importance. Bridgers recalled the writing process to The FADER: “Literally, every day we said to each other, ‘I feel so seen and heard,’” she said. “It was very ‘therapy group.’ We needed each other’s energy. I needed that female energy. I could assert myself and no one questioned me.” In many ways, this project feels as if it was created for the creators themselves as opposed to the listeners. It is a giant middle finger to the music critics who still frame them as “women in music.” It is catharsis—a declaration that women have emotions and can and will write about them.

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Undergrad finance board to release budget report Nov. 21 Board to provide broad breakdown of approximately $2 million budget in first report By MELANIE PINCUS SENIOR STAFF WRITER

The Undergraduate Finance Board will release its first budget report Nov. 21, according to UFB Chair Lisa Schold ’19 and Vice Chair Julian De Georgia ’20. The report will break down UFB’s spending to give students “a good idea of where the bulk of our funding goes,” Schold said. Schold and De Georgia initially projected that UFB’s report would be completed by the end of September, The Herald previously reported. UFB is in charge of allocating the revenue raised through the student activities fee, a $286 annual charge that all undergraduates pay. UFB’s approximately $2 million budget funds around 250 student groups on campus along with programming at campus centers like the LGBTQ Center and the Brown Center for Students of Color, according to UFB’s website. In addition, the Board funds services such as event security and compensates an attorney to advise student groups, De Georgia said. The report will include information on how UFB distributes its budget through its three primary allocation procedures, De Georgia said. For budget allocation to student groups, the Board’s annual budgeting process occurs primarily in the spring. UFB also continues to distribute funds over the course of the next two semesters through its fall supplemental

and spring supplemental budgeting processes. “It’s not going to be so detailed as (to cover) how much each group got, because to be honest, it’s just a little bit too complicated,” Schold said. Nevertheless, the report will clarify how UFB allocates money. The report’s publication was delayed while Schold and De Georgia worked with the Student Activities Office to better understand OrgSync, “the accounting system that we use,” De Georgia said. “We’re just trying to make sure that the numbers that we present are completely accurate,” De Georgia added. UFB is “limited by the data set that (they) have” from OrgSync and cannot currently provide more detailed information on budget allocation, De Georgia said. But UFB hopes to “break the whole budget down into budget line items” in the future, De Georgia said. For instance, the report could evolve to disclose the amount of money set aside for honorariums, conferences and travel. Including these line items in the budget report “was our initial goal going into this, but we found that given that (a budget report) had never been done before, there was a lot more foundation work that needed to be done for that,” Schold said. Schold and De Georgia both committed to publishing budget reports in their respective campaigns for chair and vice chair last spring, The Herald previously reported. The budget report is part of UFB’s work to improve transparency this semester, an effort that also included the launch of a stand-alone website and a call for student feedback on UFB policy.

Carchio ’20 powers women’s soccer to 3-0 win over Yale parents, aunts and uncles watch the games, they know who I am on the field. Sunday was the team’s Senior Day (when players celebrate teammates who are about to graduate). Did that influence the way you and your team prepared for the game? We definitely went into the game playing with a lot more heart. You kind of brush everything off. Other games you play with the head, you think more about the opponent. That day was just about our team and playing for the seniors.


Abby Carchio ’20 finished her season by receiving All-Ivy Honors for the second consecutive year and leading the Ivy League in scoring.

Junior midfielder caps season with one goal, two assists in shutout victory on Senior Day By PATRICK NUGENT

Sunday with a goal and two assists. How did it feel to contribute so much to the win? Carchio: I was just thinking about the seniors, honestly. That’s what I wanted to do, was just let them have a good final game.


Abby Carchio ’20 scored one goal and notched two assists in the women’s soccer team’s 3-0 win over Yale last Sunday. Those four points on Senior Day raised her season total to 28 and helped her lead the Ivy League in scoring. A native of nearby Lakeville, Massachusetts, Carchio was awarded her second consecutive set of First Team All-Ivy honors Wednesday. For her impressive performance in the victory over Yale and her stellar season, Carchio has been named The Herald’s Athlete of the Week. Herald: You scored four points on

» PANEL, from page 1 of relationships, he said. “What marriage signals is a higher threshold of commitment, which engenders a sense of trust and emotional security and responsibility.” Wilcox also pointed to evidence showing the benefits that marriage affords to adults, children and the community. In research on male twins, those who married were likely to earn more money, he said. Additionally, children from two-parent families are more likely to “steer clear of drug and alcohol abuse.” Children raised in neighborhoods with more two-parent families are also more likely to experience “upper mobility and less incarceration,” Wilcox said. To counteract the decline of marriage in the United States, Wilcox suggested both a “cultural agenda and a policy and economic agenda” to make marriage more attainable for young Americans. Wilcox said that this must begin with reforms to Medicaid, food stamps, childcare and Pell Grants to “stop penalizing marriage” for working-class Americans. “Lower-income couples often will stand to lose access (to these programs) if they combine their

You finished the season scoring 28 points, the most of anyone in the Ivy League. What was it like to be able to produce that much? It felt pretty good. I just have to give credit to my teammates for setting me up. … It was a result of having some of our forwards injured in the beginning of the season, and I (kind of) had to step up into that role. You wear very distinctive bright green cleats. Is there anything behind that? It helps me when I’m watching film — it’s easier for me to pick out which player I am. And so when my grandincome, get married and report that joint income,” he said. Wilcox and Loury also discussed the racial disparity in marriage rates, noting the lower rate among black Americans in particular. Wilcox attributed this difference in rate to the lasting effects of practices that often separated families including “slavery (and) Jim Crow,” on top of discriminatory policies in the 1960s and 1970s. While discussing race is important, Loury emphasized that marriage should also be “taken into the context of the incredible social upheaval around sexuality, … gender identity and selfexpression.” In the case of same-sex relationships, Wilcox predicted that those who do marry would benefit economically. Wilcox said children of same sex couples may do “less well,” given current data on children raised in non-biological adoptive families. At a question-and-answer session following the event, one audience member agreed with the basic tenets of the discussion. But they raised concerns about Wilcox’s framework, which could minimize the validity of same-sex marriages and a woman’s agency to leave an abusive marriage.

The team managed a shutout in goalkeeper Christine Etzel’s ’19 final game. Did the team do anything differently defensively to try and keep the clean sheet? We definitely locked down the back in the last 20 minutes when we went up three nil. That was on everyone’s mind because Christine’s history and stats were relying on that shutout so we wanted to preserve that for her. You were named a First Team All-Ivy selection for the second year in a row. What does that award mean to you? I really try not to focus on the awards and stuff like that. Obviously, it feels good superficially, but ultimately to me it matters where we finish in the table. This season was slightly disappointing for us, so it’s back to the drawing board for next season. Going into your senior year next fall, what do you want the team to accomplish? I want a ring. A championship ring is what I want. I think we have a great group of returners — we were a young team this year. That should be helpful to have experienced players. This interview has been edited for length and clarity. Micah Bruning ’22 attended the event and appreciated the dialogue between Loury and Wilcox, given their differing areas of expertise. “It was interesting how Professor Loury reframed a lot of points into an economics perspective, whereas (Wilcox) offered a lot more empirical evidence in support of traditional marriage,” Bruning said. Still, he acknowledged that some students at Brown might find it hard to reconcile liberal or feminist views with Wilcox’s more traditional view of marriage. “The typical Brown student would ask if this idea of traditional marriage goes against the narrative of single woman empowerment.” Daniel Newman ’21 enjoyed the discussion on the interplay between marriage and the government, but he felt that the benefits of marriage were overstated. “I don’t really think marriage is necessarily better than remaining unmarried,” he said. “Cohabitation and dating aren’t so different from marriage.” The event, hosted by the American Enterprise Institute at Brown in conjunction with the Watson Institute for International and Public Affairs, was moderated by Ethan Shire ’19, chairman of the AEI at Brown Executive Council.



Duke hoops seem above any competition GEORGE KLEIN SPORTS COLUMNIST College basketball returned earlier this week. For teams hoping to win a national championship though, the season might as well be over already. The Duke Blue Devils are so far ahead of everyone else, it looks like they’re playing a different sport. Coach Mike Krzyzewski has perfected the one-and-done system, gathering the greatest collection of talent that we’ve seen in this era of college hoops. The Blue Devils came into this season only ranked fourth in the country for some unimaginable reason, but they put all doubts to rest on Tuesday night, defeating second-ranked Kentucky by 34 points. The socalled second best team in the country couldn’t compete with Duke for more than six minutes of gameplay. So how exactly does this happen? Having the consensus number one NBA prospect on the roster helps. R.J. Barrett lived up to all the hype on Tuesday, scoring 33 points on 13 of 26 shooting, adding an additional six assists and four rebounds. Barrett can score with ease at the college level. He’s long — 6’ 7” with a 6’ 10” wingspan — and crafty with his dribble, using long strides to get to the basket. Barrett’s shot isn’t the prettiest in the world, but the ball does go in; he shot three of seven from the perimeter against Kentucky. There’s a natural comparison to make with James Harden here, especially considering that both are lefties — at worst Barrett is a future top-25 NBA player. Another thing that helps with fielding a

championship college basketball team? Having the consensus number two NBA prospect as well. Zion Williamson is famous for his jawdropping dunking skills, but he is much more of a complete player than many predicted coming into the season. Williamson, and not Barrett, looked like the best player on the floor against Kentucky, with a mix of size, strength, speed and explosiveness we’ve rarely seen in basketball. The freshman scored 28 points on 11 of 13 shooting with seven rebounds, but his statistics

The Duke Blue Devils are so far ahead of everyone else, it looks like they’re playing a different sport.

(as incredible as they are) don’t convey what a force he truly is — Williamson jumped higher than anyone else while standing at 6’ 7” and 285 pounds. He’s Charles Barkley 2.0, a larger version of Draymond Green who can leap out of the gym. The rest of the country has no hope of defending him, since Williamson can jump over and push through any college player. Add another top-five NBA prospect to those two: Cam Reddish. This freshman has been a little left behind in all the buzz between Barrett and Williamson. But Reddish can take over the scoring load for Duke whenever it is necessary. He added 22 points to the Blue Devils’ onslaught

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Tre Jones, brother of Duke hero and NBA guard Tyus Jones, is another freshman who will have a starting role. A point guard, Jones won’t have to do too much and overextend his game (at times a problem for him in the past) thanks to his talented teammates. He can focus on playing a distributor role, and got off to a good start in his first game with seven assists. If Jones can get more shots to fall — he went 2 of 7 against Kentucky — then he’s the perfect role player to balance out Duke’s star power. There are veterans on this team who can step up and fill in when needed. Center Marques Bolden, another guy with size, should provide

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on Tuesday, and sparkled defensively with four steals. Reddish is long, 6’ 7” with a 7’ 1” wingspan, and has the potential to become an elite defensive player. He’s perfect for the modern NBA: A true two-way player with mobility up and down the floor. Reddish is widely projected to go third or fourth in the 2019 NBA draft. The first three players chosen might all be Blue Devils. To make matters worse for other teams, Duke has plenty of depth after its Big Three.

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some extra rim protection and shot blocking. The junior will see significantly more playing time than he did during his sophomore season, when he averaged 12.9 minutes per game. Sophomore Alex O’Connell impressed in spurts last year. He’s a three-point shooter extraordinaire, making 48.9 percent of his long-range shots his first year in Durham. O’Connell has a great opportunity to have a big season, moving without the ball and getting tons of open looks thanks to all the defensive attention focused on Barrett, Williamson and Reddish. To put it simply, Duke is the perfect college basketball team. The Blue Devils have top-tier talent no one else can match: The number one NBA prospect, the number two NBA prospect and potentially the number three NBA prospect. With all due respect to Udoka Azubuike and Kansas, or Rui Hachimura and Gonzaga, Duke has the best players of any contending team, no doubt about it. But to make things even easier come March, Coach K can also fall back on role players who fit in seamlessly with this roster. Enjoy the run, because few teams in the future will be able to match up to what we’re watching right now.

George Klein ’20 can be reached at Please send responses to this opinion to and op-eds to

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(Im)Patience in Providence AMELIA ANTHONY STAFF COLUMNIST I’ve never been a patient person. I often feel myself rushing: through tests in order to finish faster, through friendships by oversharing very early on, through books to get to the end. This impatience has permeated and defined several aspects of my life, especially my transition to college. I applied early decision to Brown, so I’ve been impatient about coming to Providence since December. Waiting for Aug. 31 made summer long and short. Most of my friends headed to college earlier than me, some several weeks before. Parties and new faces sprung up on their Snapchat stories right away. Little did I know that these first few months of my transition to Brown were going to put my impatience to the test. After flying to Boston, driving to Providence, spending an anxious night in an Airbnb, running to Target, rearranging all the furniture in the dorm, hanging up photos on the wall with Command tape, dining in a nice restaurant for the last time in a while and saying goodbye to my parents, I sizzled with dissatisfaction once orientation began when my roommate

and I were just chilling in our dorm, day after day. Freshman orientation was very good at overwhelming me and pretty bad at making me feel included. Intense individualism and a lack of effective icebreakers made making friends immediately a little tougher than I had expected. I was jealous of the people who went to A Day on College Hill and pre-orientation programs because they had found a niche

patience got louder and louder. Examining what made settling into Brown take longer than I expected has been kind of hard. Brown is incredibly decentralized, even past orientation. Students are expected to self-govern in all ways, from the open curriculum to ResLife’s rules to weekend nights. This adjustment from complete structure to almost none at all took more initiative than I thought it would. The school is big enough

rience to happen automatically. But I realized Brown isn’t like me. It doesn’t overshare or bare its soul at the beginning to get you in. Instead, Brown is kind of shy. You’ve got to do a little work to make its real heart show — the one the tour guides gush about. I always considered my impatience something that held me back, something that kept me from living in the moment. I’m thankful now, as first semester comes to a slippery

I’m thankful now, as first semester comes to a slippery close, that I wasn’t satisfied with being a passive recipient of a prepackaged college experience. and narrowed down the pool of people already. I was jealous of the people who knew seven-plus kids from their graduating class. I was especially jealous of people who could go home for a weekend. “What now?” my impatience seemed to ask me, wondering where all my lifelong friends, my laundry list of activities, my cool new internship and my hot college bae(s) were. As I finished the first few weeks of college without checking these boxes, my im-

that it’s hard to randomly run into certain people. (And small enough that you see the same randos everywhere.) I began to feel foolish for comparing myself to my other friends from home. No college experiences are comparable, across campuses or within them. Somewhere between orientation week and now, my impatience got busy. It had me join a club or two and do hours of homework and get a job. I had been waiting for my college expe-

close, that I wasn’t satisfied with being a passive recipient of a prepackaged college experience. Brown’s self-governance is overall extremely positive, and I’m incredibly grateful for the academic, personal and institutional freedom. Creating my own structure has been a necessary and slow trialand-error process involving lots of Ratty takeout boxes eaten hurriedly on the way to class. If you’ve found that Brown hasn’t immediately welcomed you, don’t be

scared off from its first semester impression. One needs to narrow everything here down to a manageable size. To get through the day I try to schedule in time with new friends. To get through the week I make complex todo lists. To get through the semester I just worry about each day. My impatience is finally satisfied by keeping busy. I know this school is perfect for me, and that I belong here. I feel this when I climb the stairs of the Granoff Center to nestle into the geometric cozy chairs to study, procrastinate by flipping through Courses@Brown for the millionth time and attend events like Housing Opportunities for People Everywhere’s eviction talk in the very same auditorium where I attended an info session while visiting. I’m still figuring this whole thing out, but these experiences each signal I’m on the right track.

Amelia Anthony ’22 can be reached at Please send responses to this opinion to and op-eds to




Art and Ecological Responsibility Usually translated as “landscaping,” “landscape design” or “landscape architecture,” paysagisme incorporates a wide range of land-use issues, including urban planning, public spaces, sustainable agriculture, land reclamation, and ecology; it has a pronounced aesthetic element in garden and park design, and overlaps with the important late 20th century and contemporary movement known as Land Art.

Friday, 9 November at 7 pm Martinos Auditorium, Granoff Center, 154 Angell Street Antoine Jacobsohn will discuss “Potager du Roi,” the king’s vegetable garden, established by Louis XIV at Versailles and currently run as an ongoing experiment in sustainable gardening. Sponsored by the French Center for Excellence in the Cogut Institute for the Humanities, the Brown Arts Initiative and Paris 1 Panthéon Sorbonne

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Friday, November 9, 2018  

The November 9, 2018 issue of The Brown Daily Herald

Friday, November 9, 2018  

The November 9, 2018 issue of The Brown Daily Herald