Molly L. Roberts
I never thought the sight of a fish would make me cry. But on Housing Day 2013, when a red-and-yellow cod burst into my room along with a throng of cheering students, I nearly burst into tears.
Freshmen, listen up: Housing Day will be here faster than you can say “not Slytherin.” You’re nervous, you’re excited, and you’re probably confused. We’re here to help. You only live Housing Day once, after all. We’ve put together a handy schedule to make sure that you live it right.
Like most things media, Housing Day videos are all about the spin. To do students a service and set the record straight, we’ve come up with a few suggestions for more honest Housing Day displays.
After all, remember: The evil that men do lives by the River; the good is oft interred in the Quad.
The dastardly Frank Underwood returned to our television sets and laptop screens last Friday in the second season of acclaimed political power drama House of Cards. Round two of Underwood’s Machiavellian antics lasts 13 episodes, which also means 13 hours of valuable time.
You heard it in kindergarten, in high school, and even here at college: there’s no such thing as a dumb question.
A fear that first struck me during shopping week freshman year now gnaws at my mind at the open and close of each semester. I am average. I am ordinary.
Certain of my friendlessness and mired in self-pity, I came home for break last year and pulled Catcher off the shelf immediately.
Did this tree, a burst of color against the dull background of my alma mater’s faded brick walls, stand as a symbol of the wonder of learning that I sometimes let slip me by amid the drudge and drear of academic tedium?
I’m not attempting to endorse Leslie here. Rather, I aim to disendorse the way the bulk of Harvardians responded to his candidacy.
Sitting around worrying about what to study won’t get me anywhere—studying something will.
Belonging is as fundamental a human desire as food and shelter. We find belonging in a host of places: In our blocking groups, our relationships, our sports teams, our newspapers and literary magazines and theater troupes and service groups and fraternities and sororities and, you guessed it, final clubs.
A week ago, I strolled into the Cabot House servery, surveyed my culinary options, and loaded my tray with the kind of scrumptious feast only HUDS can provide: bulgar wheat pilaf, whole wheat spaghetti drenched in creamy parmesan pesto, roasted summer squash, and a small piece of chicken française.
I was living in my house, but was I really living at home?