March 31, 2020

Ferdinand Magellan. Vasco de Gama. Sir Francis Drake. Leif Erickson. These are all names of so-called explorers whose exploits will seem like meagre trifles compared to my greatest accomplishment. My correspondences, dear editor, have been sparse over these cold winter months. It is not from some hardship, but from a desire to present to you hard evidence that a ‘squatch stalks among the silent sentries of College Woods. This mild winter has been both a blessing and a curse for a truth seeker such as myself. The lack of snow has made my more frequent trips to the woods more palatable. However, the lack of snow has made it difficult for me to effectively track the beast’s movements. And since that fateful night passed in the woods, my quarry has eluded me.

It started, as most interesting stories seem to, at the stroke of midnight. At the twelfth toll of the twelfth hour, my companions and I became aware that something e...

New Hampshire has a long history with skiing and in its heyday was the epicenter of skiing in America. Small ski areas popped up all over New Hampshire’s glacial carved notches, but few last to this day. Tenney Mountain is a rare survivor and a secret to everyone but the few hundred folks that regularly ski there.

I visited Tenney Mountain this past February on a day where most other resorts would have a lift line to the parking lot. But instead, I strapped on my boots, clicked into my bindings and slid onto an open chair. The lift appeared to have me by a few years, but the 10 minute or so ride up made for some extremely long runs down. This winter has been disappointing for the ski industry to say the least. There have been very few storms and most of the ski mountains in New Hampshire are coated in classic northeastern hardpack ice.

But, Tenney didn’t seem to have one patch of ice and I didn’t ski around a singl...

I hated him as a player.

Growing up I always held resentment toward the Los Angeles Lakers. Even before I became a real basketball fan, I was aware of the infamous rivalry. East Coast vs. West Coast, Bird vs. Magic. One thing about growing up in New England: there is no avoiding the passionate fan base. It wasn’t until 2008, when I was 8 years old, that I really paid attention to NBA basketball and had a vested interest in it. By basketball I really just mean the Celtics—my fandom did not reach much further than that. I worshiped the original “Big 3” in Paul Pierce, Ray Allen and Kevin Garnett To this day, it’s my favorite Celtics team, and the best one I’ve seen play.

I remember watching them run through that season up until the Finals, where they met Kobe Bryant. I obviously knew who Kobe was and that he was one of the best scorers in the league. I yelled Kobe’s name every time I threw something in the garbage, like e...

Realization flooded over me as my body slammed into a wall of my own idiocy. The polls were 100 feet away, and my license was laid in my top desk drawer, back in my dorm. My teeth clenched and my face felt warm as I rolled my eyes and turned around. I knew damn well the two older ladies that were speed walking past me eyed me; they even recognized my pure stupidity. Who forgets their license on their way to vote? I began the trek back to my dorm with slumped shoulders and furrowed brows. The gentle, cold breeze of the day accelerated to whip me in the face and taunt me with arctic ferocity. Why should I even make this walk again? Why even waste more time to turn back around and fill a pointless bubble in? It’s only the primaries anyways. I slammed my feet into the asphalt and the bland neighborhood around me faded from my attention as I became lost in my own mind.

Why vote when politics don’t even affect me? I crossed...

I had the privilege of traveling to Italy during January 2020. I spent the majority of my time in Rome and made some stops in places like Pompeii and Gaeta before returning to the United States. Once I was settled back into the New Hampshire lifestyle after having been immersed in Italian culture for almost two weeks, I had a chance to reflect on this life-changing experience.

Before this trip, I had never been abroad. My vacations growing up were spent at Disney World, so I did not consider myself cultured in the slightest. But, going into this abroad experience, I did have one skill that truly enhanced my time in Italy that many of my traveling companions did not: the ability to speak Italian.

I’m not 100% fluent, but I’m almost finished with the intermediate level of Italian language courses through UNH’s Italian Department. That being said, the Italian Department deserves a major shout out, because the faculty that...

There’s something about the car ride to Newmarket from Durham that never fails to feel magical. It makes no sense -- there is literally nothing special about this 13 minute drive, yet it always manages to move my soul in some sort of funky way. Upon rolling down Main Street in Newmarket there is the typical debate about which side street we’re supposed to take. But once the car begins audibly struggling to chug up the steep hill we know that we’re close to the Stone Church.

Excitement builds as the slams of our car doors are mutilated by the escaped sounds of bands warming up from inside the building. Winning free tickets to the show makes this night even better, something I thought wasn’t possible. A $5 admission fee may seem like no big deal, but this is simply representative of the night. It feels like everything in the universe wants me to be right here, right now.

The Stone Church is a not-so-secret hidden gem, tuc...

So it’s spring semester. UNH Instagram has reminded us every chance they get that graduation is approaching. Your family began asking questions long ago about what your post-grad plans were, but they’ve become so frequent that you might as well just tattoo your elevator speech on your forehead. Hopefully you’ve applied for graduation by now; if not, I’m pretty sure you accidentally extended your stay here another semester. Either way you probably feel an anxiety-inducing slew of sadness, fear, nostalgia and excitement on the daily. Here’s how to work through those feelings and, more or less, survive.

Absolute optimism. Misery loves company and a lot of people have happened into a life they don’t necessarily want. They’ve been manipulated into valuing certain things that aren’t actually what they as individuals value. But here’s the thing: just because something is true of someone else’s life, doesn’t mean it will...

Dining hall fatigue—you know it, I know it. At the beginning of the year, you enter HoCo or Philly every day hungry and ready to dig into the seemingly infinite array of food laid out in front of you. By the end of the month, though, the stainless steel starts to lose its shine. It feels like you’ve had every menu item a thousand times. You don’t want to buy food elsewhere and waste that expensive meal plan, but you can only eat so many waffles in a week. That’s where a little bit of creativity comes in handy.

Nearly everyone I’ve talked to has their own go-to creation, ranging from a simple unconventional combination to something approaching actual cooking. The tips and recipes below have been collected from others’ and my own experiments, and are of course only a small jumping-off point for those of you itching for something new and willing to put in the little bit of extra effort to spice up your next trip to the ca...

There I was, crawling around on the floor backstage in the Hennessy Theatre, desperately attempting to pick all of my

drumsticks up without missing my cue for the next song. The glint of my two antennae-like stand lights, far up on my

music stand, was all that illuminated my way. As I scrambled to collect my sticks and mallets, organizing them as best as I could with my limited time and light, I silently slithered back onto the drum stool and grabbed the glockenspiel off of the stand. Flipping a page ahead in my music, I flicked on my mini light, snatched up my mallets and was ready when our music director, Lauren Craven, raised her hands to cue us in for the song.

Sound like a lot? That’s the life of a pit musician—at least during a show. Although usually your instruments are right by your side and don’t fall all over the floor during a performance, there’s still a lot to keep track of. But there’s nothing lik...

Neil Diamond’s famous song “Sweet Caroline,” which celebrated its 50th anniversary in August 2019, has transcended through the generations with its easy-breezy melody and ability to bring out immense camaraderie amongst its audience. The song has become a monumental aspect to the Fenway Park experience, with fans rising on their feet to sway and sing the song in the middle of the eighth inning before the Red Sox come to bat. Most commonly associated with the team, oftentimes baseball fans, Bostonians and curious minds alike have wondered why Diamond’s song is automatically synonymous with the thought of the Red Sox and “America’s Most Beloved Ballpark.”

Where it began? To begin to know, you must start in the Fenway Park music department during the 1999 Boston Red Sox season.

The story of “Sweet Caroline” as a staple of the Boston Red Sox franchise is most often linked to former music department employee Amy Tobey. In nu...

Please reload

  • Black Instagram Icon
  • Black Facebook Icon
  • Black Twitter Icon