You get up today, reach for your coffee, hear some squawking in the kitchen, and realize, “Oh, those must be the French hens from my true love.” They hop over to the cooing turtle doves and cheerful partridges and you sigh, “This must be Christmas.” Or is this not your annual tradition? My holiday yearning does not reach Victorian England, as this would suggest, but rather the electric, clove-spiced air of a German Christmas market. For now, both are mere illusions to me, since in my seven years of studying German (with a lot of Freude, hold the Schaden), I haven’t been to even one American Weihnachtsmarkt, but I imagine them as strings of Wurst and plastic angel figurines.
Well, as you can imagine from a post- issue in December, there is both nostalgia and Christmas involved. Feature is hitting home at the charred end of the semester with a bittersweet interview of three recent breakup-ees. We relate, no more needs to be said. Meanwhile, one Narrative author reminisces on going back home after growing apart from it, and the other describes a fictional memory of John Keats. In A&C, one writer harkens back to Adele’s heyday in honor of her new album, while the other delves into losing and rediscovering their connection with music. Then, Lifestyle offers us advice on getting through finals by walking uphill and watching some Christmas classics. At least I’m not alone in my wintry musing.
This is why I love post-: we are the starter pack of a smiley face. In fact, I gleaned this quote from the incredible Kyoko Leaman, who revolutionizes the color pink, makes jokes about the structure of the human brain, and will leap into the office in her pink Doc Martens next spring as the incoming EIC of this wacky wagazine.
Also why I love post-: “God, I wish I could forget it.” “And what a special thing it is.” Prod is an evening marathon of quips, roasts, and gushing about our music faves. I don’t know what my Thursdays will look like without it, and I am deeply tempted to become a post- ghost, haunting the occasional prod next spring. But I am a big believer in ends and also getting rid of things, so I will snake-wriggle under the table and out the door, knowing that post- is carrying on its goofy mayhem in some nearby corners.