Author: Samuel Pitcavage

Yet another addition to the saga of CMC’s party politics transpired at Wedding Party last weekend. At one point in the night, Campus Security stopped admitting students. Dozens of students, drunk and belligerent after buying a ticket for a party they could not attend, acted out. Things got out of

Josh Tillman, stage name Father John Misty, released I Love You, Honeybear last week. What’s striking critics at Grantland, Pitchfork and NPR isn’t the quality of his album—it’s solid lyricism set to a soundscape he does well. The surprise is in the thematic departure from Tillman’s previous work. Leaving behind

The police lights added an unfamiliar, electrifying ambiance to the North Quad scene on Saturday. It’s exciting. It’s something we’ve never seen before. We stand around and drink in the middle of the quad regularly. It’s fun. But threats of arrest? That’s thrilling. It’s impossible to describe what happened on

It’s beginning to feel a lot like Christmas in Claremont. Lately, I’ve been having the urge to bundle up under a thick blanket with mug of tea. Maybe it’s because the snowy Santa-themed décor appearing around campus puts me in the mood for the holidays. Then again, maybe it’s because

Last week, the Claremont Independent published a controversial (read: disappointingly stupid) article about the distribution of Plan B from a vending machine in the Health and Wellness room on Pomona’s campus. I’m pretty sure this discussion does not need the input of another opinionated white dude, but here I go

I walk in late to the “Navigating Therapy” workshop held at the Smith Campus Center on a Monday night in mid-October. It’s a welcoming environment, with two mental health experts fielding questions at the front and a variety of Trader Joe’s snacks in the back. The event is well-attended for

“You know you’re in college when you stop thinking vodka smells like hand sanitizer and instead think hand sanitizer smells like vodka.” It quickly becomes apparent that Yik Yak is a pile of turds. The “Hot” list is rife with all the typical complaints and musings of a colony of

My addiction probably started when I was 12. My parents gave me an iPod for Christmas. Sleek and colorful, it felt like pure science fiction. It felt heavy and important when I held it. It’s hard to describe that feeling of the first significant piece of technology I owned, but