With the opening of the new Apple Store on Broadway, WEEKEND has been thinking about technology, and technology makes us think of: THE FUTURE. What will the Elm City look like in 100 years? Maybe it will be the Elmtronic City. Who knows? A technophilic cadre of WEEKEND seers investigates.
The amazing disappearing Lynwood Pl.
I live in a cute little house on Lynwood Place that’s been around for at least 100 years. You might think that the first 100 years would be the hard part — that the house’s survival over the next 100 would be pretty much guaranteed. But after Irene, I’m no longer so sure. Trees were toppled; power lines were felled. Walking along Lynwood, one wasn’t sure if he or she was looking at the residences of college students or some wartorn disaster zone. The storm was pretty tiny, yet our poor street was without lights for 8 days! Like reverse Hannukah! Considering that climate change means the weather will only get worse, I predict that Lynwood Place will simply cease to exist sometime in the next 100 years. It’ll wash away in a landslide, collapse into an undiscovered sink hole, or be transported to an alternate dimension by a tear in the fabric of space-time.
Either that, or, in the tradition of the new home of Chabad, different religions will pour millions of dollars into all of the houses, turning the street into the de facto center of religious life at Yale. But instead of wine as the ritual beverage, they’ll switch to PBR. — Erin Vanderhoof
The Douchey Males’ Center
In the year 2057, the most marginalized group at Yale will finally receive the support they so desperately need when a group of concerned alumni donate funds to establish the Douchey Males’ Center. The organization operates out of a building specially designed to resemble a fraternity (i.e. ‘frat’) house, now outdated institutions where the vast majority of the center’s members were once able to find a safe space. No expense was spared to make the space as welcoming as possible for douchey males — administrators even recommissioned the manufacture of watery classics such as Natural Ice and one of the primitive dispensary devices colloquially referred to as ‘kegs.’
The center advocates for the rights of douchey males, including the freedom to wear pink polo shirts and listen to Dave Matthews Band, and is best-known nationally for its highly successful campaign to reclaim the word ‘bro,’ a once innocuous term of camaraderie now best known as an epithet. — Akbar Ahmed
By the time your great-grandchildren attend your alma mater and are able to enjoy the school’s new pseudo-neo-neo-Gothic archways, the University will have ultimately succeeded in its tacit but masterful plan of taking over New Haven. Or, as it’s now known, Yale, Connecticut. “Off-campus” is a thing of the past.
Edgewood Avenue? More like Rick Levin College (the former Alpha Delta Pizza is their new buttery). A considerable chunk of Howe Street is now a two-story dining hall. With all of these new acquisitions, it might finally be time for a “female college” named after Dean Mary Miller, Jodie Foster or Rory Gilmore (whattup, Yale grads?). The Women’s Table is expanded into the Women’s Veranda Bar & Grill for good measure. — Jordi Gassó
The Long Wharf to freedom
The waterfront district will finally be revitalized, but not by humans. Instead, our new giant amphibious squid overlords will foot the bill! Say goodbye to our current post-industrial wasteland and hello to a handsome boardwalk dotted with arcades, gourmet chum shops, and shoe-shine stands. You’ll have to work very hard to shine all eight shoes, little human, lest Squidzor spray you with his ink! — Jordan Ascher
Letter from Yale-NUS Singapore, 2087
They tell me not to worry. They tell me to keep my chin up. (They tell me if I can’t they can also tuck it for me during surgery no problem.) They tell me that when this is all over I can ride a Bengalese Tiger up Warm Science Knoll to my heart’s desire. And the truth is, I’m not worried. I trust Yale SIS. Yale Singapore Information Systems is the best virtual-qua-virtuoso campus in Eurasia. I mean, there is free Swedish Fish every Sunday. And, as this century’s architectural lines have increasingly blurred, prison looks and feels just like my residential college anyway. But lately things have taken an oppressive turn for the worse.
When the Founding Fathers of YaleCorp IV traded Liberty for Security and Harold Bloom for the exclusive rights to “Do The Right Thing,” I knew they had my best interests in mind. Then, last week, they hand over ExComm to Model UN bots, who for the last two centuries have unsuccessfully tried to infiltrate Our Glorious City-State via ‘conference’.
So yesterday, when chewing a piece of approved scentless gum outside Thali Three, a dweeb in a suit comes and arrests me. Thing is, I gotta break loose of these chains, and fast: I’ve almost raised enough money (6800 Yen) to finish shopping The Idea of the Idea of Freedom and if I don’t reach my fund raising goal by the Year of the Rat, I’m screwed. — Ava Kofman
City by the sea
Along the muddy brick reef that forms a quadrangle just east of where the tip of Harkness Tower pokes above the sea, two attractive young horseshoe crabs watch squirrelfish bickering amongst the trunks of kelp. A stately octopus holds court in a wood-panelled grotto, occasionally helping smaller octopuses open particularly stubborn clam shells. Secretive groupers can sometimes be spotted slinking out the entrances of windowless sunken hulks. A gaggle of pipefish struggle with the dulcet tones of Eelish, knowing that only a trip to the Sargasso Sea will truly improve their pronunciation. A committee of sand sharks fret over appropriate mating behavior. Athletic salmon rub fins with trendy lionfish as they forage in the nutrient-rich waters where the long-defunct fryers of Yorkside, GHeav, and A1 release a steady trickle of grease into the currents. On a small boat anchored above them, a man in chili pepper pants threads a steaming burrito onto a hook, and lowers it into the waves. — Sam Lasman
Mobile me, mobile us
It’s hard to picture Yale even fifty years ago. Sure, the health facilities weren’t located between the cemetery and the police station (isn’t THAT depressing … ), but most of the other buildings were probably more or less the same. The really important recent development in my mind, and what it’s impossible to imagine Yale without is, you know, the tourists. This is perhaps one of the most exciting – although simultaneously incredibly annoying – aspects of our daily college experience. But what will happen to them in a hundred years? Will our descendants have the same experiences? Will they walk, run and skip around Old Campus, as we did, as eager visitors snap pictures? Will they also appear on the travel blogs of randos, captured for eternity in the middle of scratching their noses, biting their nails or closing their zippers? And what of the motley crew of Yale tour guides? Will they be replaced by holograms that will be projected on the walls of warehouses in random countries like Sweden, and England?
What will happen to the Yale we know and love? What will happen to GPSCY? What will happen to the Discovery Room? What will happen to us? — Katerina Karatzia