Why does the word “fuck” make us feel a certain way? I think back to a line in Saba’s “Prom / King”: “Sometimes I fuckin’ hate Chicago cuz I hate this feelin’.” In his delivery, Saba places heavy emphasis on “fuckin’,” and every time I hear it the word stands out. If the line had been, “Sometimes I hate Chicago cuz I hate this feelin’” (not taking into account the syllables to stay on beat), the line would not have had the same magnitude. We have societally assigned meaning to the word, allowed it to create emphasis. My parents always tell me I curse too much. I probably do. But one time when I said the “F word” and received the inevitable, instinctive response from my mother, “did you really have to say ‘fuck’?”, I retorted. “Yes, Mom, I did, because it added to my point.” A short conversation among my two siblings reached the consensus that we actually really like the F word. It’s a great word. Now, I know that the F word is not a classy term, and it does not lend to an intelligent way of communicating. But in the right context, in the right setting, it can serve a real purpose. Words only mean what we have collectively decided they will mean, and whether you like it or not, sometimes you can say a lot with a simple “fuck.”
MSB
As an undergraduate student at Georgetown, I am specifically in the McDonough School of Business, which is based in the Hariri building on campus. Hariri is beautiful. It has a grand atrium with a beautiful mixture of wood and glass, staircases that run through it, and nice classrooms and breakout rooms that line its perimeter. I am a student in the MSB to learn, grow, and gain a mastery of various fields in business to prepare myself for a successful career, so why do I care about the beautiful exterior and interior of Hariri? The answer is, simply, that it feels pretty cool to walk into this building and know that it’s mine. Of course, that is a symbolic “mine,” and it feels so petty and superficial to admit, but the appearance of things impact the way we see them. McDonough could have unquestionably the best academics of any business school in the world, yet the building it operates in still somehow provides added legitimacy and prestige to its essence. I know this is silly, but, in truth, appearance impacts the way we perceive things. It’s the same reason that, like the example that Professor Hoskins provided while framing the Commonplace Book project, there is planned, man-made green space upon entering the front gates of campus: it makes us feel good, or it comforts us, or it provides some subconscious reaction and feeling that makes it worthwhile. I suppose that my ability to recognize this is a start to getting past a silly emphasis on looks, but I’m still going to feel like a baller walking into Hariri for my next class.
Lau 1
I think the first floor of Lauinger Library represents the dichotomy of the Georgetown student. What I mean by this is that the different spaces on Lau 1 house two different mindsets: that of stress and academic disillusionment and that of intellectual curiosity and passion. In the computer room of Gelardin and the cubicle section of the floor, one can find an array of silent, focused students their respective closed-off workspaces. The mood is depressing and unexciting; students come to Lau 1 to hunker down and chip away at the immense burdens of assignments and exams for their classes. On the other hand, however, Gelardin is also lined with recording and editing rooms for musicians and videographers, and bookstacks separate the cubicles from the Maker Hub. Not only have I spent endless nights grinding away at essays in my corner cubicle on Lau 1, but I have also spent countless hours in the recording studio at our fingertips, joining a Georgetown graduate and up and coming rapper in his creative process. There may be nothing in the world about which I am more passionate than hip-hop music, and I have been able to explore that passion on a much deeper level because of the first floor of Lauinger Library. I am a firm believer that learning and personal growth manifests in many ways, which go well beyond the classroom. I think this underappreciated alternate dimension of Lau 1 promotes learning and passion more than any cubicle or study room ever could. For me, Lau 1 serves as a subtle reminder to never lose touch with my interests and to continue to pursue the truly well-rounded college experience that brought me to Georgetown. The world’s next innovators and problem-solvers will not emerge from the Lau 1 cubicles of the world; they will find themselves and their callings in the Maker Hubs, the recording rooms, and the vibrant and collaborative spaces that promote learning in its purest form.
Skyline
Every time I get back from a late night in the library and lay down in bed in my dorm room, my gaze points perfectly through the bottom of the window, under the blinds. Through the glass I see the outside of New South, and above it is the bright and beautiful skyline of Arlington, Virginia. Every time I look out that window, every time I look at the New York City skyline crossing a bridge, I am so taken aback by their magnificence. There’s something a little more special about a skyline than merely its beauty. Not only is it so aesthetically pleasing, but it also exudes a kind of life force, made up of so many moving parts that form a broad system. For a brief moment, it puts things into perspective in an extremely subtle, almost subconscious way. It is a very visible, tangible representation of the vibrant and enormous world we live in and the many people in it; it is a picture of a greater civilization that is so much bigger than I am.
