Supposedly, a couple of Harvard researchers have figured out how to synthesize solid metallic hydrogen. While we don’t doubt the pedagogical value of this discovery, FM’s own scientists have been hard at work adding eight entirely new elements to the periodic table.
His solemnity was, perhaps, to be expected, given the recent surge in student-led protests at universities like Yale and the University of Missouri regarding issues of institutional racism and what protesters contend are hostile academic environments.
I’ve always felt about pop art as I feel about theoretical physics: The reasoning behind it eludes me, but I can objectively appreciate its importance. Call me a philistine, but there doesn’t seem to be a natural progression from technicolor soup cans to art. Thus, like “string theory,” I heard the name “Corita Kent” once in high school and promptly forgot what it referred to.
On the outskirts of Harvard Yard lies an incongruous yellow house. Lacking the domineering sophistication of the Faculty Club and the Barker Center’s frenetic influx of students, the yellow farmhouse is comparatively modest, with nothing but a small placard on the door to inform you that you are inside Warren House.
Look, we get it. Socializing is hard. Being sober is hard. Competitively socializing while sober is borderline torturous. FM’s solution: pregame the hell out of your next punch event with these seasonal cocktails.
Housing Day is right around the corner, folks, and we all know what that means. That’s right, it means it’s time for all of you freshmen to gather in your blocking groups, the formation of which has been causing you to stress eat for the past few weeks, and sacrifice some cuddly baby animals in an ancient voodoo ritual to appease the Housing Day gods.
Like Forrest Gump would’ve said if he’d gotten the chance, course selection at Harvard is like a box of chocolates. That Gen Ed could turn out to be filled with sweet, melty caramel—or funky raspberry syrup. That off-the-wall VES elective could be luscious dark chocolate right to the core, or a flavorless layer of brown barely covering a hollow center. Avoid some unpleasant surprises this spring: don’t bite into any of the duds below.
9:30 a.m.: Wake up for your 10 a.m. Give up on your 10 a.m. Last night’s Thirsty Thursday debauchery certainly doesn’t come for free. Your parents, eyes bright, peek into your miniscule Holworthy double. Lie to your parents, saying you received an email that your [insert class that would never be cancelled] lecture was postponed. Roll back into bed, sinking into the deepest parts of slumber you can only enjoy during truancy.