Michael K. Mayo

Gateway to the Good

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Right about now, in the most innocuous and drab corners of the Harvard campus, you find yourself under siege. The

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She can't tell you stories of an angst-ridden childhood. She can't tell you how she published her first lyric at

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Y es, I have the accent. I know what JP ad EB are, I know when to say "Boston" and

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I f you didn't win this year's pageant, don't worry. You might snag that diamond tiara next year. There hasn't

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T he way I remember it, my father and his brother cut the boards themselves. In the garage behind the

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A t Stanford, I hear, they do it differently. They just don't talk about it. Hiding their notebooks and problem

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A ll right. The last time. I did this, I got in trouble. I wrote about sports--about the hockey team,

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W ell, thank God. I thought I was going to have to walk all the way to the other end

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T his, as I'm sure you're well aware, is how it all starts. If you're unfamiliar with this particular mental

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Best of all, you didn't have to dance. Any master of the Junior High Shuffle (step left, clap, step right,