"Say Hi to Pete," He Who Hath Sinned

Harvard, I have failed you. In your moment of greatest need, just as the clocks are turning back and Boston descends into a state of permanent midnight, a pleasant hello and the wattage of your high-powered sun lamp may offer the only sunshine in your day. Despite reaching such salutatory heights as the six-way hello, the multilingual hello and the rare 180-degree back-turn hello, I admit that I have fallen short on occasion. I am only a man. These are my sins:

10/8/03—While disembarking the shuttle, an anonymous female approached me and uttered the phrase “eye meat.” Confused, I proceeded without acknowledging her. Moments later, I realized she might have actually said “Hi Pete” and, so, I chased down the shuttle, briefly catching up to it. However, I was not able to say hi so much as discharge a gasping wail, which I grudgingly concede is not a proper hello.

10/15/03—Exiting Au Bon Pain while consuming the remainder of my lunch, I was greeted by an anonymous male. Though I did in fact say hello to him through a mouthful of half-chewed foccacia bread, the hello was perhaps nullified by the large, saliva-sodden chunks of bread matter that landed on his coat and face.

10/17/03—Upon leaving Daedalus at last call, an anonymous couple said hello as they were making their way down Mt. Auburn. I stopped and engaged them in rambling banter, which reached various emotional piques over the course of the 15 minute exchange, culminating in a proclamation of my undying love for them both and a proposal of group marriage. Though I believe the numerous bear hugs I gave them both together and individually captured the same friendly feeling conveyed by a good hello, technically I did not reciprocate their greeting in kind.

10/18/03—Upon returning from a day outing of the Boston chapter of NORML (National Organization for the Reform of Marijuana Laws) to the Pink Floyd Laser Light Show, I was greeted by a pair of tutors in he Quincy courtyard. Again, I did not return the hello but I did expound, at length, on my theory of universal origins.

10/26/03—Around 3 a.m. on Plympton Street, believing I saw a friend walking up the block, I charged toward her with arms outstretched only to realize when I was within arms-length that she was in fact a 70 year-old woman, now clutching for the can of mace stored in her hand bag. Making a quick detour to the woman’s left, I proceeded to play off the mis-fired hello by pretending it was actually intended for the only figure on the street—a parking meter.

Film

"Gatsby" Not So Great

College Administration

Evelynn Hammonds Expected To End Tenure as Dean of the College This Summer

Science

Premeds in Search of MCAT Prep Say Harvard Classes Provide Insufficient Instruction

House Life

Anne Harrington and John Durant Named Pfoho House Masters