Why Are There So Many Montgomery Counties?
It sounds pretty British so it could also be a colonial-era governor or a particularly favored royal hunting dog.
Christina Ribbens (’19) graduated with a major in history and minors in studio art and data science. After working in campus ministry for a few years, she’s getting her master’s in public humanities at Georgetown University in Washington, DC. She has a benevolent dependency on tea, is always down for a game of pick-up basketball, and would love to have you over for pancakes sometime.
Say Hi to the Little Guy Staring at Your Shin
No wonder your face shows such horror and such fatigue.
A Tedious Haunting. In Prose. Being a Ghost Story of Bad Organization Skills
I’m haunted by Things That People Who Have Their Lives Together Should Do.
We Sent Your Car to Live On a Farm
Last year, it got towed while I was in line at the DMV on my birthday.
The ‘24 Paris Games
Here’s to you, rugby.
Songs Ranked By Utility
Points against: The only time you need to know the names of Santa’s reindeer is to sing this song.
I’ll Just Be in the Parking Lot, Struggling
And if I had started to feel faint, I’m not sure I would have let her see.
Here’s What I Have to Say On the Church Mice in Disney’s Robin Hood
Cue the mournful organ. Cue the rain. Enter the church mice.
A Spring Mix
I have a new kind of energy, I feel good in my clothes, I’ve eaten vegetables and walked barefoot in grass.
This Is Beyond Me
This is beyond me.
The Secret Park
I thought this was an incredible feature of the park, although a one-star review on Google Maps from 2018 disagrees.
Here’s to My Annual Tin of Peanuts
Maybe it was a Five Guys thing where you could have a snack while waiting for your food and throw the shells wherever you liked with the authority and abandon of a Tudor monarch.
Artifacts From Susie
She has taught me to use a sewing machine about six different times. It never sticks.
Applying for My Fantasy Jobs
My multiple Basketball Leadership Awards granted between grades 7 and 12 illustrate my natural leadership ability in a sporting context.
Aiding Athletes in All Phases of Athletic Activity (and Me When My Tummy Hurts)
You could drink from whatever random thing you had and it was fine.
Less, Please
Poetry is hard work, and mostly I forget it exists.
Reviewing the Books on My Shelves That I’ll Never Read
I was especially tickled by that one anecdote about a dog probably.
Do You Want to See What I Drew?
The making of the thing feels good and the looking at a thing that I think looks nice feels good.
Predictions for the Vaderland, Pt 2: Mostly Nailed It
And, no great loss, I didn’t think about The Masked Singer once.
Predictions for the Vaderland
I think about saying “bedankt” after ordering but chicken out.
Lessons and Carrels
If they checked IDs, I’d never get in. But they don’t, and I wrote my paper, feeling like maybe I understood this place better than its students.
A Big Corner
There are single family homes and giant, shiny apartment buildings and about six 7-Elevens in my square mile.
An Ode to My Check Engine Light
And for a moment I thought, “Ah, maybe the car has healed itself,” before remembering that only living things can heal themselves and that my car, although I sometimes talk to it as if it were a person, is not a living thing.
My Childhood Bedroom: An Inventory
Twin bed with ancient plastic tubs holding who knows what underneath (1)
Ancient plastic tubs holding who knows what (3)
Dear Posterity
While she wrestled greatly with the tension of simultaneously desiring community and independence, it is clear that she was actually nailing it the entire time and really had nothing to worry about.
Requesting Grumpy Leave
Apple Store Man (Alex). Genius Bar appointment at 11:15am, confirmed death of laptop and had very nice eyes.
Microsoft Paint
Jackson Polluck wishes.
An Open Letter to My New Apartment
Okay, maybe it’s best not to dwell on your quirks quite yet—we’re not there and that’s just fine.
Froot Loops and How to Fill My Days
If I were to sit down with past Christina I’d want to relieve some of that angst, although I’m not sure if she’d like the answers I’d give.
Oops I’m a Troubadour
It’s a pitiful, endearing, and slightly Dickensian image: two pale, scrawny siblings with oversized guitar cases strapped to their backs, walking slowly along a quiet street.
