Too nervous to go on a date alone, FM writers Nicole Levin and Keyon Vafa decided to take their lucky Datamatches on a double date. Braving rejection and social stigma, our FM team emailed all of freshman matches and eventually found some a pair that was willing to date on the record…the record of love.
This weekend, I auditioned for Identities. I didn’t get it.
Dear extended relatives, family friends, former English teachers, gynecologists, and my brother’s roommates and their extended relatives, I am very tired of answering the same questions about my future, over and over. And I know, for the most part, you have only been asking to be polite, to make conversation, or so that you can compare me to your daughter (she wins, okay, she wins!). So to streamline the process I have compiled a list of the most commonly asked questions (and their answers) about my future and career goals.
Well this is awkward. I was going to announce it later, but it looks like the Pudding beat me to it. Amy Poehler, you are the Ridgely Room 52 Woman of the Year (WOY)! What a coincidence!
Hi, Yale friends. It can be hard navigating the Harvard social scene (though not as hard as navigating the New Haven crime scene). FM came up with some tips that should help you have a good time after The Game.
Turns out you can buy booze. Just very very very classy booze.
Eric Q. Doyle sells nuts at the Harvard Farmer's Market.
Eric Q. Doyle, who can be found at the Farmers' Market in the Science Center Plaza, was scoped by FM this past week.
’Tis the season to be self-promoting. Between breaking ice and making deals, it can be easy to forget exactly where you are and who you are trying to impress. FM’s here to remind you to ask yourself the following localizing questions:
Budding entrepreneurs work at the i-lab.
A sample of the i-lab's eclectic quisine.
This was not the way that things should have gone, in fact, it was the ideal set-up. My parents were away for the weekend, and I had the house to myself. Despite promising my mother that I wouldn’t touch her white wine or ruin the hardwood floors, I was more than prepared to throw a rager with the three people that I still kept in contact with from high school.
In two weeks I will be moving out of the cubicle and I will be taking my name plate, which I made myself, using a folded piece of printer paper and a pen that I found in my desk from D’Amore McKim School of Business.
So I write this, not just as a justification for why I had a Tinder, or as a plea for reparations, but also to warn the populace. Don’t pretend like you are too good for Tinder. If you think you are, you probably just didn’t realize that you still have the app.