Read our third print issue of the year, including stories about a Long Island punk music venue, The Jazz Loft at Stony Brook village, the fight for queer justice in America, Brooklyn’s busiest violinist, therapy speak and more. Cover photo by Marie Lolis.
Letter from the Editor
By Jane Montalto
Snow days feel harder to come by as we’ve grown older. I’m not sure if it is because they have lost their sparkle, or, more likely, because of the climate doom we live within. When the campus alert was sent out announcing closing school for February’s snow storm, I screamed out with immense joy. I was sitting in The Press office with some of the editors and we were all waiting for that text, silently hoping for a moment of reprieve from the never-ending workload of our classes.
Getting a text is so simple. In elementary school, I would wake up early and stay glued to the TV screen as the names of closing schools would scroll across the bottom. If you missed your school, you would need to watch the entire cycle through again. In middle school, I would be constantly refreshing my school district’s Twitter page — sorry, I still can’t call it X — late at night, awaiting a closure alert with the same anxious feeling. That same excitement from my childhood squirmed out when we got that text in February. I’m grateful for that moment of childlike joy as we inch closer to commencement, where it feels like it will be time to commit to adult life forever. It is nice to let those moments peek through.
I think whenever I’m writing these letters, it is quite hard for me to imagine a reader — I guess in this case, that reader is you. An almost-complete undergraduate education in journalism has taught me a lot, but it has also left me with heavy thoughts on going forward into a career as a journalist. Oftentimes, I wonder if people even read these editor’s letters — sometimes I don’t blame them if they don’t. But throughout my years in college spent here at The Press, print journalism feels alive and well. I know that print still has a seat at the table, I’ve seen it with my own eyes — and no, I’m not only talking about the pilgrimage I took with a friend to the local Barnes & Noble to pick up the Kristen Stewart Rolling Stone issue … but I guess that counts too.
Even though it is hard for me to imagine people reading our magazine, I know it is happening right under my nose. I take note of the huge stacks of magazines I stock in the library and notice it dwindle throughout the course of the week. I’m surprised by how quickly they all vanish. I don’t mean this to wax poetic or stroke our own egos either. Maybe this is just the impending doom of a graduation day talking. I guess what I’m trying to say is — without being too much of a cheeseball — thank you, to whoever is reading this. Even if you set it down after the first page, or read each issue religiously, or only pay attention to the fun, colorful layouts like we are your own student-run edition of Cocomelon. You continuing to pick our magazines up gives us a reason to be what we are today. Without you reading this, we would have no reason to exist.
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