Nathan Tailleur looks at our definitions of love and sadness, and how they change as we age and ascribe meaning to our habits and desires. 

Becky Lee discusses the connection between nostalgia, music and our teenage punk years.

Kindle's convenience certainly can't be denied, but what are we missing when we abandon paper books in favor of new technology?

Story telling is representation and augmentation; it is reality and something beyond that. “Punk” Lawrence House stood in front of a group of about one hundred familiar faces on Mar. 22 to share his stories about a small town in Maine: his town, and my town. In an atypical start to my spring break, I sat in the basement of the Turner Public Library, among an audience in which I was the youngest, to listen to this man recount the history of our town in a series of personal stories.        

I am in my last semester at Cornell, so perhaps it’s not surprising that I find myself missing Cornell even before I have left with my coveted degree in hand. As I stroll across the Arts Quad under the watchful eyes of Ezra Cornell and A.D. White, I am fiercely proud to call myself a Cornellian. And yet, this sense of nostalgia raises a profound question: Do we share a common conception of what it means to be a Cornellian?

Quite frankly, the more I ponder the question, the more I’m convinced that it is overly simplistic and risks missing the point. Cornell is more than the sum of its parts, and its multifaceted nature ensures that each of us has a slightly different understanding of what it means to be a Cornellian.

I’ve always had — and always will have — a special spot in my heart for Limp Bizkit. Please, allow me to explain myself.

I would venture to say I have a pretty broad musical palette. Though some would challenge my claims of good taste — Sun Senior Editor Sammy Perlmutter ’10 discovered six months ago that I like Gym Class Heroes, and he still won’t talk to me — I feel comfortable suggesting I have a fairly respectable collection of songs on my iPod. Genres like indie and hip-hop appear in spades, along with some more accessible examples of electronic and experimental brands of music. Whether you have a hankering for Dem Franchize Boys or Suburban Kids With Biblical Names, I can probably find a song that you would be at least decently satisfied with.

It has recently come to my attention that not everyone makes playlists according to what their middle school physical education teacher played while they did lunges on the blacktop during third period.

While en route to Montreal this weekend, my compatriots in Canadian tomfoolery appeared to be visibly shaken by the sheer volume of Phil Collins tracks on my “in-case-the-iTrip-fails-us” mixes. Phil Collins, Seal, Fine Young Cannibals and Toto rounded out the six-hour journey to Backwardsville, where they speak French instead of English and walk their cats instead of their dogs. (Seriously, I have pictures.)