Caroline Bohra is a fourth year English major and Sociology minor. She enjoys long walks through the aisle of Trader Joes and is a self-proclaimed rom-communist. She’s a big fan of seltzer and gummy vitamins.
As we tried to come to terms with the quarantine and all it brought crashing down on us (farewell, UVA friends and life), we started cobbling together our recommendations for what to watch and read and play. Some of us had big lists, some small. Some of us had a lot to say, some of us little. That’s kind of how it’s all been.
2020 was supposed to be OUR year. It was supposed to be the modern roaring twenties, I was supposed to walk the lawn for graduation, it was supposed to be good. Even the number 2020 is clean, even, almost perfect some would say. However, that is definitely not what happened.
Cause I love you a bushel and a peck,
you bet your pretty neck I do,
doodle oodle oh,
You’re a chicken noodle,
The first time I saw my Dad cry
We were standing in a raspberry field.
My fingers were covered in crimson juice,
fresh and sweet and slightly sticky.
That morning the TV wouldn’t stop repeating
Pictures of smoke, planes flying into the towers.
At the time I did not pay much attention to the news,
It’s no secret that I am a sucker for a good romantic comedy or teenage coming-of-age movie. Both of these genres tend to operate on themes of innocence and hope, something that the world could use a little bit more of.
Ten Years Old. Before even walking into the store, I am hit by the scent of Abercrombie & Fitch “Fierce” wafting into the mall. My fifth-grade mind had learned to associate this smell with attractive men shirtless on the beach, and preppy clothing galore.
My nickname in my friend group is “the emotional toilet.” Not really the most glamorous of nicknames. Essentially it refers to my tendency to become someone for the people in my life (mostly men) to vent to and drop their emotional baggage on without expecting the favor to be returned.
From a very young age my father instilled in me a love of cooking. Over the years he tried to teach me the culinary basics: the art of pairing flavors, the five mother sauces of French cuisine, the importance of making sure meat remains tender, and the fact that if you ask any Italian chef they will downright condemn putting cheese on seafood.