Four More Years

Dearest freshmen,

Even though you might have already mapped out the next four years of your lives, rest assured I’m spending this early September evening (well technically morning, but who’s keeping track?) of my senior year trying to figure out which classes to take. I’m also watching a video of a cat in a shark costume ride a Roomba, but that’s neither here nor there. Naturally, I’m looking through various Q guides, trying to find those special classes that garner reviews like “This is the most amazing course I’ve ever taken at Harvard!” or “dayum this TF is hot” or “I loved this class more than Pfister loves pfungi!” The only problem is, I can’t possibly fit all these classes into my schedule. Apparently we have very good-looking section leaders, particularly in the hist and lit department.

Phylogeny and Party Supplies

What a semester this has been. By now all underclassmen have left campus, except for those who are unfortunate enough to have late exams or Crimson articles to finish up. Heck, even most of the faculty has fled to the Cape, or New York, or some other place that has the distinct characteristic of not being Harvard. The only ones left are the seniors and the unlucky. The past year has been quite a ride for us all, and it is certainly going out in style.

Twist and Shout

Yesterday, I finished up my last problem set of junior year. After a quick nap and two or three short hours on Facebook, I realized just how much free time I have over course of the next week. I know, I know, finals are coming up, and I have four too many of those. And true, I have an essay to write in the meantime, comparing and contrasting Stalinism, surrealism, and Shintoism for my History of Philosophical Governance class. But I mean who really cares? The real issue is that I’m not yet 21 and all my friends seem to be hitting their midlife crises already. Talk about struggling through finals period.

Matzo and Manischewitz

What makes this breakfast different from all other breakfasts?

Start Me Up

The other day, I headed over to one of our fine dining halls for dinner (I won’t specify which one, although it rhymes with Schmincy) and wound up chatting with an old friend and his two roommates. Conversation quickly turned to business. Between the four of us, we’ve got three start-ups. Three! For perspective, three is more than the number of rings LeBron has. Three is more than the number of times Justin Bieber has been arrested (as of the time of this writing). Three is almost one quarter of the number of people who voted in the last UC election.