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.
I was paying to have someone listen to my life and then reconfigure it into something that could apply to a card with a picture of a forest on it. She was just an under qualified psychologist, or an overpriced mirror. I guess that this is the true mystical power of the psychic: listening comprehension.
You need to start making a good impression, and you need to do it quickly -- before participation grades are due.
Richard A. Slone has never missed a lecture by Shaye J.D. Cohen, Littauer Professor of Hebrew Literature and Philosophy. Like certain unnamed students in Cohen’s Culture and Belief course, he doesn’t make it to 10 a.m. class. He knows that they are taped. However, unlike most of the students in the class, he listens to them on his bike as he trains for triathlons. Also, he’s “semi-retired,” which I guess most of us aren’t.
FM’s Cambridge office is looking for interns for the summer to help with the magazine’s culture section and proof-read articles and what not.
It was March 11, and by 2 p.m. the temperature had reached a scorching 55. The ice on the ground had turned to puddles, the birds were chirping, and the flowers were practically bursting into bloom. We suspected that Cambridge runners would be emerging from their own basement-gym hibernations and migrating back to their natural habitat: the six mile loop around the Charles.