Allison J. Scharmann

Crimson staff writer

Allison J. Scharmann

Former Arts Chair Allison J. Scharmann can be reached at Follow her on Twitter @ajscharmann.

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Mornings at Murphy's

Jen took her coffee with milk and one Sweet’N Low, iced in the summer. I handed her the pink packet, grabbing two Equals for Bruce before rushing to the donut rack for his glazed jelly stick and ice water with a plastic straw. Will took his coffee black with two Splenda and George usually asked for a milkshake, but only if Suzy was working (which she usually was). If not, he’d have a coffee and a bagel with extra cream cheese or a hot dog with raw onions, not grilled. I’d hand Lucy, a nurse practitioner, her cinnamon twist and cup of tea just in time to hear her chide George for his order — after all, he recently suffered a stroke. I identified my regulars by their orders long before I learned their names. They called me “Red” before they learned mine.

On ‘Kyoto,’ Phoebe Bridgers Ups The Tempo

If you were to divide Bridgers’ discography into songs to cry to or drive to, “Kyoto” falls solidly in the second category, with the kind of headbanging chorus perfectly attuned to driving 70 mph down a freeway.