hannah fleming


It is Thursday night on the University of Southern California campus. My friend Caroline, a member of Kappa Alpha Theta, accompanies me down Greek Row, telling me what the strange symbols mean as I point to each house like a toddler at a new playground. I can’t tell you much about the rest of the night except that I jumped into a grocery cart filled with ice at a frat house.

Beer and Loathing

I am sitting with a rare specimen on a Saturday afternoon—Coll Junior Tompson (CJ), a first-year Las Vegas native. We are perusing the Buzzfeed list “28 Signs You Grew Up in Las Vegas,” which CJ claims he’s never read. After a few halfhearted chuckles at jokes about rain in the Mojave Desert and stripper schools, we stop scrolling at #20: 


20. You were taught all the words to “Home Means Nevada” in elementary school and could probably recite the whole thing right now. 

Letter from the editor - Bones

For now, I treat death the same way as Woody Allen’s nervous-wreck-of-a character in Manhattan: slightly aloof with a touch of dark humor. In one classic scene, Isaac (Allen) stands next to a skeleton in a classroom, describing its life as one of the “beautiful people dancing and playing tennis.” He follows this with a healthy dose of fear: “It’s very important to have some kind of personal integrity. I’ll be hanging in a classroom one day. And I wanna make sure when I thin out that I’m…well thought of.” 

Letter from the editor - Daddy

Dear daddy,

There’s a poem by Philip Larkin I’d like to share with you (he wrote it back when people still read poems, so you might have heard of it). It sounds the battle cry for those of us who suffer from “daddy issues:”

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.

They may not mean to, but they do.

They fill you with the faults they had

And add some extra, just for you…