Today is University Mental Health Day; an important point in the calendar to remember that illnesses are not always visible, and that individual struggles are not always audible. A helping hand, a sympathetic chat, and taking time out of your day to make sure that the people around you feel appreciated and cared for won’t fix every problem, but it is so important to make sure that no one feels alone. Continue reading “#UniMentalHealthDay”
This week I’m spotlighting three interesting non-fiction books about the White House, which each reveal three very different narratives about the building, its many presidents, and American politics more widely.
The White House is a symbol for many things in America. It is the home to presidents, their families; it is the workplace of staffers, advisors, journalists and commentators; it is the creche for First Children; it is the beating political heart of a nation. However it also embodies many of the core contradictions of the United States. The White House is a symbol of freedom, and yet it was built by slaves. It represents equality, and yet there have been no female presidents. It embodies honesty and authenticity, despite the years of presidential mishaps, cover-ups and mistakes. It is a symbol which exists out of a desire for the purity it stands for; a desire which has so far outweighed the political reality. Let’s see how the symbolic meaning of the White House continues to develop and change under President #45.
That quote is from Oscar Wilde by the way, a man after my own bitter introverted heart. If you’re cooking for a crowd, for yourself or bringing something to a party then why not try one of these literary-inspired recipes inspired by wintery tomes.
If you don’t live near a library then this is the post for you. Whether you’re a cash-strapped student, you’ve overspent, or you’re miles away from pay-day, there are ways to indulge your bookish habit without spending more than you’d like to. This post is going to clue you in on five ways to read from five different genres, at no extra cost at all.
“My name is Mary Katherine Blackwood. I am eighteen years old, and I live with my sister Constance. I have often thought that with any luck at all, I could have been born a werewolf, because the two middle fingers on both my hands are the same length, but I have had to be content with what I had. I dislike washing myself, and dogs, and noise. I like my sister Constance, and Richard Plantagenet, and Amanita phalloides, the death-cap mushroom. Everyone else in our family is dead.”