Now that the drop deadline has passed, we hope that you have settled into your classes and extracurricular routines for the semester and that you are not too thrown off by the constantly changing weather. We are honored to present you with a new issue that is perfect to read while you procrastinate on midterm studying.

Now knee-deep into a new semester, a new year, and a new decade, we at The Eye want to warmly welcome you, both new and old readers, to the 15th year of Spectator’s weekly long-form features magazine.

When I ask professor Edward Mendelson, a veteran English literature professor and longtime Literature Humanities instructor, what he hopes his students take away from his Lit Hum class, he pauses mid-thought. A moment later, he reaches over to the overflowing bookshelf along one wall of his office. His eyes quickly bounce from left to right, scanning through the titles until—The English Auden, an early 20th century collection of writings by W.H. Auden. Instinctually, he flips to page 371 and reads the words of Auden: “I’m quite certain [the arts] makes us more difficult to deceive.”

Take a look at that syllabus your teacher handed out at the start of this year. If your professor teaches at one of the 12 schools, departments, or locations that have been certified through the Sustainable Leaders Network’s Workplace Certification, that syllabus is most likely printed on 100 percent recycled paper. And that business card you got from a professor in the School of Nursing? It’s probably made up of at least 30 percent postconsumer waste content.

For five hours, I sit on a bench. Some divine punishment for going too deep down a YouTube binge and then missing my bus to leave campus for break. Tired, hungry, and frustrated, I wait to line up for my new 10:15 p.m. bus. The last place I want to be is the Port Authority Bus Terminal. I cling to my bench seat, too scared to move, for fear of having to beg for it back. I am in a box made of cold cement walls and never-ending automatic sliding doors, where station managers facilitate intricate line manipulations to keep everything moving in a mechanical harmony—together the scene is an impersonal reminder of the impossibly complex world around me.

Walking into the first set of double doors that lead into the Movement Lab on the lower level of Barnard’s Milstein Center, visitors are greeted by a shoe rack. Only after removing their footwear are dancers, professors, and visitors alike able to walk through the second set of doors, which open up to reveal an unmirrored and largely unstructured space.