The first time you came across Rookie’s website, it was already a graveyard. It was March 2020, you had a surplus of free time on your hands, and you were reading interviews with Elizabeth Meriwether, the creator of the sitcom New Girl. Upon first glance, Rookie’s website appeared anything but dead: an online magazine by and for teenagers. Created by Tavi Gevinson in 2011, the vivacious teal-and- white site features thoughtful art and writing pertinent to the current zeitgeist. As you read further, you were charmed by the frank yet playful writing by Emma Straub; you spent the rest of your night scrolling through the interview series “Why Can’t I Be You?” It was easy to get lost in the mix of readers, journalists and celebrities remarking on pop culture, feminism and adolescence, with their art sharing honest experiences of friendship, sex, art and life: things that felt so prescient but seldom acknowledged genuinely. Upon further inspection of the website, it becomes clearer that Rookie folded in 2018; a thin red banner sticks to the top of the screen, stressing as you scroll that “THIS IS AN ARCHIVE. THIS SITE IS NO LONGER BEING UPDATED.” Upon realizing this, you were overtaken by a passing wave of loneliness for the next few days: How could this adolescent hub of imagination, whose pulse was so loud to you that it seemed almost deafening, already be dead before you could see it alive? You found Rookie a few weeks before your 18th birthday, at the tail end of your legally-bestowed childhood — before the reality of the pandemic set in, and when momentary relief from the absence of in-person work outweighed long- term devastation for many. You read the essay “A Fork in the Road” by Upasna Barath when you began to question your college major, listened intently to the Rookie podcast with Lisa Hanawalt while re-watching “Bojack Horseman,” and scrolled through issues archives, desperate to know more. You spent days clicking through the origins of the Live Through This category, overcome with respect for the authors who managed to so eloquently make maps for those who came seeking to overcome traditional and new growing pains after feeling around in the dark for so long. The content was fun, but also took readers (mostly teenage girls) seriously, while simultaneously accepting them as they were, all at the same time — you know how rare this is. You never felt like a good teenager. You never broke out of your shell, reading Rookie late into the night, the brightness of the screen searing your eyes, while days that were supposed to make the high school experience worth it, like prom and graduation, passed in quarantine. So much of high school was spent feeling like you weren’t close enough to the ideal person, and until you finally do make it there, you assume you are worthless. Reading Rookie Magazine felt different, though, because it was always full of love for its readers. Not conditional, like everything felt back then, not because you were the best, or you took up the least space, but because you were alive and thoughtful and full of love. You still don’t know if you can articulate why Rookie was so fascinating to you, beyond the obvious joy and acceptance of its art. Rookie was never about the “best” piece of writing; it was about finding beauty in the stories that teens expressed out of love for their communities and craft itself, quietly firm expressions of humanity that made you feel a little less alone, in their explorations of everything from writer’s block, birth control, graduating high school and much, much more. Scrolling through issues made you see the impact that magazines could have on their audience: Unfamiliar with this philosophy, you were freshly done with architecture college applications and receiving your International Baccalaureate Visual Arts grades — to you, art was still a zero-sum game. Rookie is the first place where you began to question the competition you were instilled with. Gevinson writes that Rookie “had been founded, in part, as a response to feeling constantly marketed to in almost all forms of media; to being seen as a consumer rather than a reader or person.” Viewing the reader as a consumer, and therefore, the writer as a producer removes the human irrationality that is critical to art. The words of Rookie impressed you because they made your, and so many others’, inner worlds real: They took off the pressure to be something widely-loved and easy to stomach. This active defiance of artistic worth made all the difference; suddenly, speaking didn’t seem so alienating anymore. Slowly, you made your way through your first year of college and began to release your grip on the ties you held in your childhood so tightly that your wrists burned. The archived website wasn’t a sign of what you missed anymore, but a memory that shows you what art can be. Now you carry a little bit of Rookie in your pocket wherever you go. Sustaining the magazine was clearly an exhausting amount of labor, and Rookie struck gold with its investors that allowed the site to remain free of charge (though it was overwhelmed with adertisements and influence from large media companies hoping to bend the site to their will), but you can’t help it: The childish part of you still waits, still holds out hope that history’s reiteration of Rookie will appear soon. You can’t help it; you scramble when you see a new New Yorker essay by Tavi, you press play immediately for an episode from Barath’s hibernating “Wait for It” podcast, you sift for Roxane Gay’s Goodreads reviews because you know how funny she is from the Rookie podcast. Because, my god, you don’t think you’ve seen a purer labor of community care that you can understand. Rookie is dead now, and you are long gone, but spirits are celebrated. If you see young Tavi and the old Rookie team, make sure to give them your thanks for giving you a place to stay for a while. The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com Arts 6 — Wednesday, December 7, 2022 The first time you came across Rookie’s website, it was already a graveyard MEERA KUMAR Daily Arts Writer Chasing ghosts at Borders There’s a track on Jon Brion’s unparalleled 2004 soundtrack to “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” that’s been playing in my head lately. “Bookstore” runs only 52 seconds, but its character, formed from eerie strings played in reverse, is unforgettable. In the movie, the track plays as Joel goes to meet Clementine at a bookstore where she works. The logo is never shown, but I’ve always known it was a Borders. The warm colors, those angled shelves rising just to chin level — the setting of the bookstore chain is etched into my memory. But I’m one of the last kids who grew up with it. Fifth graders today have no memory of the place I’m about to describe. And when they, like I once did, watch “Eternal Sunshine” in late high school or early college and think they’ve found a niche and unknown brilliance in it, that scene in the bookstore will be nothing more than that: a scene in a bookstore. It’s more to me. *** The carpet in the kids section. That’s what I remember. The space-themed, cosmic blue/purple carpet with yellow stars and rocket ships, flattened in the center lines of the aisles where people walked, where they stopped to tilt their heads at the spines on the shelves. The shelves were taller then, if only because I was smaller. There was a little platform where they’d give readings, where authors would presumably sit and leaf through their new picture book to a crowd of adoring kindergartners, though I never went to one of those. My Borders was in Grosse Pointe, Mich., just down the block on Kercheval Avenue from Starbucks and Ace Hardware. There used to be a Jacobson’s department store across the street, but it closed before I was born or soon after and I only know because my mom mentions it whenever we drive by. I went there to look for Percy Jackson and Warriors books — the two series that held my third-grade class in a pop-literary chokehold. I have a Harry Potter box set somewhere that I know for a fact was purchased by my dad at the 2007 midnight release of “The Deathly Hallows,” the one my brother commanded him to camp out for in his stead. Those are the things I saw myself. Here are some I didn’t. Borders was founded here in Ann Arbor. The first store opened in 1971 at 209 S. State St. — now the site of a CVS — but the owners relocated a few years later to 303 S. State — now the site of the MDen — and in 1994 to the corner of Maynard Street and East Liberty Street — now home to Knight’s Steakhouse, Sweetwaters and Slurping Turtle. The Liberty location would remain the flagship Borders for the next 17 years. The space used to be a Jacobson’s department store, which my mom would find funny. But the company quickly expanded beyond Ann Arbor. They opened their second store in Birmingham, Mich., sometime in the mid-1980s, just a few minutes away from where I went to high school. When the founders sold the company to Kmart in 1992, there were 21 Borders locations across the U.S. That number rose to the hundreds as the company opened franchises, airport stores and went international. By the mid-2000s, Borders was the ubiquitous bookstore chain. Some had cafés and sold Starbucks coffee. They sold CDs and CD players, branded mugs and toys — Bakugan and Beyblades, if I remember correctly. They had an endless assortment of bookmarks and, of course, they sold books. Real, physical books. And that might’ve been why they didn’t last. There were over 500 Borders locations in the U.S. in 2010. A year later, there were none. The company had been bleeding money. They hadn’t turned a profit since 2006. It occurs to me that my memories of Borders were all from this time when things were turning bad, though I never knew as much. I can think now only of the quiet among the shelves and the smell of fresh paper. But behind the scenes, the model was failing. Amazon arrived in 1995. As he is wont to do, Jeff Bezos killed a source of happiness. Design by Leah Hoogterp puzzle by sudokusnydictation.com By Rich Norris ©2022 Tribune Content Agency, LLC 12/07/22 Los Angeles Times Daily Crossword Puzzle Edited by Patti Varol and Joyce Nichols Lewis 12/07/22 ANSWER TO PREVIOUS PUZZLE: Release Date: Wednesday, December 7, 2022 ACROSS 1 GI on the lam 5 Annual festival in Austin, TX 9 Tot’s crumb catcher 12 Rural strolling spot 13 Short dog, for short 14 Forearm bone 15 French preposition 16 Rationale 17 Gloomy aura 18 Nissan sedans since 1982 20 Put away, as loot 22 “Blade Runner” actor Rutger __ 23 Lives 24 Take away 26 Brought up 27 “Night” author Wiesel 28 Finance guru Suze 30 1815 classic whose title character is played by Anya Taylor-Joy in a 2020 film 34 Common interest group 35 “Same” 36 Campus bigwig 37 Novelist Morrison 38 Derby town in Surrey, England 39 Frigg’s husband 40 Steakhouse order 42 Steakhouse order 44 Database systems giant 47 Jousting weapon 48 Revenue source in many a free app 50 Counterpoint melody 52 Kid’s plea for permission 53 Fairway chunk 55 “__ girl!” 56 “Law & Order: SVU” co-star 57 Storm rescue op 58 2007 U.S. Women’s Open winner Cristie 59 Lil Wayne’s “__ Carter V” 60 File partner 61 “Grand” ice cream brand DOWN 1 “Sad to say ... ” 2 Greet from across the street, say 3 Phrase of unity in the Pledge of Allegiance 4 Itinerary for touring speakers 5 Health club amenities 6 Crosses (out) 7 Winter getaway need, maybe 8 Brunch dish with ham and peppers 9 Malaise, with “the” 10 Cove, e.g. 11 Gets thinner, in a way 14 Food named for how it’s baked, and a hint to each set of circles 16 Flatbed scanner relative 19 Blues-rocker Chris 21 Lumberjack competition projectile 24 Mortgage balance, e.g. 25 Nonsense 26 Ulan __: former Anglicization of Mongolia’s capital 29 Matterhorn and Weisshorn: Abbr. 31 Treated, in a way 32 Primary way in 33 Dudek of “Mad Men” 41 Matterhorn or Weisshorn 43 Courtroom VIPs 44 Footnote abbr. 45 Jazz drummer Max 46 Sleep disturbance 49 Operatic icon 50 Tie up at the pier 51 Patches, as a driveway 54 Part of a moving story SUDOKU Sudoku Syndication http://sudokusyndication.com/sudoku/generator/print/ 1 of 1 6/4/09 2:22 PM 2 1 7 1 4 5 2 1 7 8 5 7 2 9 7 3 2 5 1 8 2 1 8 3 6 2 5 4 WHISPER “Please submit something to the Daily Whisper.” “Unpopular opinion: wasabi peas are an elite snack.” WHISPER By Hoang-Kim Vu & Christine Simpson ©2022 Tribune Content Agency, LLC 11/30/22 Los Angeles Times Daily Crossword Puzzle Edited by Patti Varol and Joyce Nichols Lewis 11/30/22 ANSWER TO PREVIOUS PUZZLE: Release Date: Wednesday, November 30, 2022 ACROSS 1 French “Thank you” 6 Political alliance 10 Strongbox 14 Starters 15 New York school named after a Scottish isle 16 “Grand slam” awards acronym 17 African herbivore 18 “Double Indemnity” genre 19 Filmmaker Ephron 20 Shoplifting? 23 Huffy mood 24 Pacific Northwest st. 25 “Lady Bird” Oscar nominee Metcalf 29 Insider trading? 32 Male with horns 35 Road goo 36 Cushioned seat 37 La madre de su prima 38 Family docs 41 Food with altered DNA 43 Martin’s “The West Wing” role 44 Lobby group for seniors 46 Big primate 48 Erodes 50 Money laundering? 54 Depress 55 Group of whales 56 Greeting Down Under 60 “I did nothing wrong!,” or an apt title for this puzzle? 63 Essential nutrient for the immune system 66 Pulled strings? 67 Bushy-tailed canines 68 Field 69 Aware of 70 Singer Patsy 71 Dollop 72 Blast from the __ 73 Snow vehicles DOWN 1 Gas station shops 2 “__ Frome”: Edith Wharton novel 3 Hands-on healing practice 4 “Do my eyes deceive me?” 5 “My time to shine!” 6 Using only ones and zeros 7 Least strict 8 “Put a lid __!” 9 Deterrent in a parking garage 10 Parodies 11 Before now 12 Pro 13 “Wheels down” stat, for short 21 Jupiter or Mars 22 Suede property 26 Spanish wine region 27 Deduce 28 “Zounds!” 30 __ chart: corporate diagram 31 Move one’s tail 32 Males with antlers 33 Jeweled accessory 34 Like cornstalks? 39 Spot for fast cash 40 Mud wrap venue 42 Possess 45 Human-powered taxi 47 Competitive video gaming 49 Appetizer served with duck sauce 51 Brooklyn NBA player 52 Family-style Asian dish 53 Journalist Tarbell 57 Carter of “Designing Women” 58 Modify 59 Agreements 61 Mama’s mama 62 Ozone- destroying chemicals: Abbr. 63 Zig counterpart 64 Not online, online 65 Prefix for classical and gothic JULIAN WRAY Book Beat Editor Read more at MichiganDaily.com