Pop Culture

Most of the time, I go to concerts alone.

Through 80 years of comics, animated straight-to-DVD films, TV shows, video games and more we’ve seen dozens of interpretations of the Dark Knight.

Burnham gets our generational conundrum—do we curb our empathy because we fear it being turned into a mocking form of entertainment?

Eyes draw me in and allow me to more fully understand others. At UVA, eyes have allowed me to make new friends, distance myself from bad influences, and comfort broken hearts. My gray-scale drawing, done with graphite pencils, allows everyone, regardless of race or gender, to relate. The flowers surrounding the eye add a three-dimensional component that comes with getting to know a person. I have often been judged based on my looks. However, once I speak, my genuine and authentic personality blooms out from me.

I considered the five-pound bag of frozen peas to be an investment, as I stood, double-masked, in a Costco aisle. And I still do. Buying frozen foods and nonperishables in bulk has saved me both time and money, but there are more reasons that I find myself braving the big-box warehouse during a pandemic.

“What happened at car riders?,” Sydney asked at our party that I had strictly set to “invite only.” We played Minecraft every day after school, so we picked up where we left off on Llama Land 2. She still had a tuxedo skin on and was working on her signature spruce and snow house. I was adding a heart-shaped glass pool and golden block water slide to the top of my castle.

“Wow, Chloe sure is being dramatic right now.” Let’s face it: maybe you like Taylor Swift, but that’s probably what you’re thinking based on the title of this piece. But, hear me out. Life is hard, and the last year has been especially burdensome for everyone. Taylor Swift, out of the blue, released two albums. These two albums felt like they were written for me, composed with my exact situation in mind. And, of course, they weren’t. 

“OIL SEPARATION IS NATURAL—JUST STIR AND ENJOY” For those who also love peanut butter, you might recognize this informative directive from the lid of Smuckers’ Natural Peanut Butter, printed in white font, encircling a recipe for Peanut Butter Butterscotch Mounds. 

Over black, a distant melody breaks through: the SOUND of waves crashing on a shore, an undulating rumbling in the distance...

INT. A CRAMPED, DECREPIT SPACECRAFT - NIGHT

The controls glow halfheartedly in this crawl space. Empty plastic pouches drift, torn open. Some fridge magnets line a small patch of the metal wall, faded, some bearing scorch marks - all their markers unrecognizable now.

A singular skylight softly illuminates the face of FARA (35, gaunt and weathered). She stares up at the faceless memorabilia, impossibly silent.

It was a late night and I found myself feeling particularly disheartened at the state of the world during these “unprecedented times.” So, in an attempt to cope, I turned on some tunes. But the tunes did not help. Surprisingly, I shed a tear, maybe even two, over Avril Lavgine’s iconic song “Sk8er Boi.” Although I will admit I cry rather easily, this was out of the ordinary; but as the overwhelming pressures and suspense of “real life” built, my mind ran away with my interpretations. I no longer heard a power anthem, but instead a jarring reflection of regret and mistake.