Author Archives: Michelle Taylor

Don’t let yourself go stale.

With apologies to Penelope Laurans, who would expect better.

The Yale-Harvard game is a tragedy.

An idiot once told me that I’d only regret the things I never did. I was in the seventh grade, and I was being encouraged to confess love to my best friend’s older brother. To be fair, if I’d followed her misdirection and made said confession, I doubt by now I’d feel one way or »

If my life at Yale were adapted into a Road Trip movie, it would start somewhere in Siberia and end somewhere else in Siberia. It would be written in Croatian, and the characters would travel in circles via a sleigh drawn by a team of marsupials. Think “The Odyssey,” but without the beginning. Or the »

I knew in my heart that it would happen — that we, the class of 2013, were heading for something huge, something colossal and threatening. Not heading, even, but being thrown, mercilessly, tossed, buffeted by fate, captive on a wave hurtling towards, well — towards life. Real life. Life outside of college. And I have »

Okay, freshmen, listen up to the croaky old voice of reason: You need to break free of your long-distance relationship. It’s been four weeks. You’re not using your map to get around campus anymore. By now, you know your way to every building except TD, which with luck you’ll discover sometime during your sophomore year. »

What is it about Durfee’s that makes us all jerkwads? In theory, Durfee’s should be a pretty okay experience. Having slowly lost my standards over the course of my three years at Yale, I’m pretty excited by the prospect of trading my lunch swipe for a 5-hour Energy and a gigantic bar of chocolate. Or, »

I would like to begin with an apology to the members of my Thursday afternoon Shakespeare seminar, who, yesterday, undeservingly suffered the loudest, squeakiest, and most impassioned conniption fit I’ve had in at least three days. I try not to make a habit of yelling and gesticulating wildly at innocents, especially while being watched by »

Why am I here? It’s a question I have been asking myself a lot this semester. As in, why am I sitting in the back row of this gut QR lecture, picking at a Clif bar and obsessively checking my email? Put otherwise: Why does Yale have distributional requirements? I’m pretty sure I am going »