Earlier this week, we learned that Harvard University Dining Services will stop serving Barilla pasta in Harvard dining halls after Barilla’s chairman Guido Barilla told an Italian radio station that his company would never feature a gay family in its advertising.
With punch season now in full swing, it’s time to present the results of Flyby’s first-ever Final Club Survey. The online survey was emailed out last month to 4,838 sophomores, juniors, and seniors, and was partially or fully completed 1,927 times (though it should be noted that individuals could have taken the survey more than once). In the second installment of a six-part series on the survey results, we take a look at the demographics of the self-identified final club members who answered our questions.
Whether or not they’re in a final club or only entered the Owl once to use the bathroom, most Harvard students are familiar with the stereotype of the final club bro.
They’re supposedly white, straight, rich, legacy varsity athletes—but do these stereotypes actually hold up to scrutiny?
The results served up only a few curveballs.
Those who read the first email that Interim Dean Donald H. Pfister sent to the college may recall that he’s a big fan of fungi jokes—just don’t tell him a fungi “fun-guy” joke (the man’s heard it before, and is looking for something new). But, who is Pfister really? Eager to hear more of Pfister’s stories and quirks, FM sat down with him in the lawn chairs outside Hollis Hall.
Study card day is upon us, and it's pretty much a measure of how on top of our lives we are. Get it handed in, avoid the obnoxious fine, and then voila! School is officially in session. It might even be time to start actually doing the reading (just kidding!).
Attention sophomores thinking about concentrating in English: Stop reading op-eds. This summer, it seems like English—not to mention most disciplines in the humanities—have been denigrated and abused by columnists, cash-strapped universities, and graphs everywhere.
Despite the fervor over this certain oncoming apocalypse, level heads still exist: In a recent piece for The New Yorker, Adam Gopnik points out that "If we abolished English majors tomorrow, Stephen Greenblatt and Stanley Fish and Helen Vendler would not suddenly be freed to use their smarts to start making quantum proton-nuclear reactor cargo transporters, or whatever; they would all migrate someplace where they could still talk Shakespeare and Proust and the rest."
But where would that place be? Flyby decided to find out.
Lamont is packed, there are naked people running in the Yard, and your email is surprisingly inactive. All of this can only mean one thing: finals period is upon us. It's time for the inevitable cycles of procrastination and panic and painful realizations that yes, it probably was a bad idea to skip the readings (don't worry, you'll be fine).
"Flyby!" you cry, "How will I get through this week?" Dearest reader, fear not! These are the foremost productivity hacks to help you survive finals week. Read it and weep.
They say that a parent's love is unconditional, but if you want to keep receiving care packages from Mom, it can't hurt to show her some love on Mother's Day. Even though the holiday isn't until next Sunday, it's probably not a good idea to treat your gift like a response paper—in this case, every word counts and your Mom, unlike your TF, can see right through your sloppy submission. To help you get started on your gift—before reading period and exams drain your life source quicker than a Dementor—Flyby has some suggestions: