“You can write yourself out of anything,” I tell myself as a sort of mantra while I struggle to type up a simple, short lab report for my graduation-requirement science class, one that’s clearly designed for humanities majors but still manages to leave me with a backpack full of returned tests covered in inky red X’s.
A Culver’s in its natural environment, though, is always found in Wisconsin. On the side of any highway, framed by scrubby trees, you’re bound to spot the navy blue oval of a Culver’s sign, that beacon leading to squeaky cheese with a crispy, hot outer crust and served with cups of shamelessly fatty frozen custard.
Campaign yard signs hang from the ceiling like colored shirts from clotheslines. Star shaped balloons and American flags deck the stairwells.
He opened the door to reveal a tiny room cluttered with ski waxing benches, oversized duffels, rainbow clusters of racing skis, and scattered posters of Olympic skiers peeling off the stark white walls. I could tell right away that this wasn’t the latest in ski technology: this was a home.
Afternoon sunshine twinkles off the Charles River’s tiny blue waves and warms the grass on its shores. Beneath the nearby trees, students lay out on towels with their laptops and textbooks. Some people on the walking path seem hurried, others are enjoying a leisurely jog or stroll. Several, however, have stopped to read the mysterious string of poems stapled to a nearby tree.
“We should probably tell her about competitive reading,” Coughlon says to Wilson. It turns out the pair’s massive collection isn’t just a hobby—it’s a full-fledged rivalry. Both friends use the website Goodreads to track what they’ve read. Wilson explains, “I’d started in high school, and was mean to Sarah freshman year about her reading habits, and it just so happened that Goodreads instituted a Challenge Yourself book-reading competition, and so we ended up not only challenging ourselves, but each other. We both read 100 or more books [that] year.”
As the school year drudges on, the brown and grey buildings of Cambridge can often feel as confining as our stacks of midterm papers and textbooks. But spring is here, and the sporadic weather can reward us with some gorgeous days. Grab some friends and escape the confines of campus for a day trip to the Arnold Arboretum, the urban nature center maintained by both Harvard and the City of Boston.
Nico J. Schwalbe ’14 opens the door of a tiny room in the Lowell basement filled with tangled cords, and I take a seat on an amp by the drumset. This is the rehearsal space for L.A. Jeff, a student band Schwalbe helped found. We are soon joined by Sam J.J. Newmark ’14, who greets me and immediately starts unpacking his guitar.
I had the opportunity to meet up with four of the seven residents of Zuckerberg’s Facebook suite for some retrospection, reflection, and laughs.
Today, it is said that there are three things every Harvard student must do before graduating: pee on the John Harvard statue, run in Primal Scream, and have sex in the Widener stacks. Yet the lore of Harvard's "Three Things" only developed recently, with nude primal scream being unheard of just 20 years ago.
Dear Yale, With the game in two days, you’re the only thing on our mind! Going a whole year since we’ve last seen you has been almost unbearable, but we’re looking forward to being back in your arms soon.
On Wednesday night, around 100 students spent part of the evening folding paper cranes in Winthrop Common Room. The cranes, totalling 285 so far, were made to remember last week’s bombing and subsequent manhunt that claimed four lives and injured hundreds.
While the Harvard community struggled to comprehend the news of deadly explosions at the Boston Marathon, several dozen students gathered at Harvard Hillel Monday to commemorate Yom HaZikaron, Israel’s day of remembrance for fallen soldiers and victims of terrorism.
There are often crowds on the Widener steps on sunny Friday afternoons, but this month, they won’t just be clusters ...