My.Harvard
At least they didn't try to sugarcoat it: My.Harvard acknowledges four

When Harvard administrators launched the new website, “perfection” seemed too flawed a word describe the new levels of beauty and functionality it achieved. The design elegantly unfolds beneath one’s mouse, oozing with grace and stunning graphics. As a user, the interface could not be more intuitive, the site seemingly urging you to click exactly where you want to go next. Mark Zuckerberg himself is surely wishing he never dropped out of school, just so he could get a chance to engage with Harvard’s latest technological masterpiece on a daily basis.

We are, of course, talking about the new HUDS website, otherwise known as the greatest thing to happen to the internet since cats on YouTube.

Yet this epitome of virtual sophistication has gone almost entirely unnoticed by the Harvard community, which has been instead preoccupied with the new my.harvard website, which seems to have more bugs than a Mississippi swamp.

While the HUDS website is best described as simply dope, most Harvard students would not be surprised if HUIT--or UHS for that matter--classified the new my.harvard as a virus that was wreaking havoc on the student body like an outbreak of swine flu.

On the one hand, the HUDS website features a dining hall employee lovingly spooning tomato sauce on pizza dough, on the other hand, the my.harvard website even notes on its home page all of the errors it has with signing in. It’s so bad, it doesn’t even try to hide it’s technological horribleness.

Administrators can fully expect enrollment numbers for SPU27: Science and Cooking to skyrocket this semester as Harvard students pass up the excruciating process of browsing courses on my.harvard in favor of spending hours watching the rotating slideshow on the new HUDS site.

Next time you have to use the my.harvard website, instead of acting on that carnal urge to vandalize the Registrar’s office--a feeling with which we are all very familiar by now--we here at Flyby recommend that you redirect your attention to dining.harvard.edu and lose yourself in the perfectly plated asparagus.