More than a century old, the Harvard Forest still bears traces of its past—stone fences, ancient oaks. Yet changes have come, too, subtle but significant.
With discontent among nonexistent professors affecting our campus climate in absolutely no way, I recently made my way to Professor McClure’s office in order to get to the bottom of this nonissue.
When I read this it was as though my eyes, carelessly shifting back and forth like fingertips along the stem of an unrecognized bloom, had stumbled upon a thorn.
I’d been summoned to the local post of the American Legion by some friends, and once there I’d sat down at the bar—an expanse of knotted, pitted, ringed wood much-lacquered with beer—on an empty stool between one of my hoodie-clad and smoking friends and the man who was now expounding on his dream.
The large oak that had shaded my neighbor’s home had split in half, its miraculous fall having, somehow, completely avoided the house.
CORDELIA F. MENDEZ ’16 , Chair I’m not going to say Cordelia F. Mendez ’16 could run the world, but I’m confident that she could at least run the country. That’s because Cordelia is easily one of the most competent people you will ever meet. And if you haven’t met her yet, then you should, because she is as smiley and friendly as she is capable.
Fifteen Minutes Magazine explores the state of diversity at Harvard by examining the past and present.
After searching for classes on the redesigned my.harvard for nearly 30 minutes, I’d only managed to find one potential class, a new Gen Ed that revolved entirely around eating chalk.
The leaves of the trees above me rustle, as if whispering in the language of friction, "Are you getting all of this?"
With a dull ringing in my head, I took my time here, luxuriating in the foreignness of a place wholly untouched by any number of exterior reagents.
This issue is supposedly the Year in Review, so I guess we reviewed some things this year.
Up at the Law School, in the recently constructed Wasserstein Hall, there’s a restroom with a curious moniker. A plaque outside the sleek facilities proclaims, to any and all, that they are in the presence of the “Falik Men’s Room.”
Imagine that on a warm, bright day in whatever month they usually do this sort of thing, the United States Congress tables all other bills and pushes through, unanimously, one that prevents all legal residents of non-contiguous states (that is: Alaskans, Hawaiians) from being anywhere within the contiguous 48 for the entire month of, oh, let’s say September.
It is with a heavy heart and a reluctantly eupeptic gullet that this gourmand must report the untimely, unjust, and wholly understandable demise of a HUDS staple: the Chickwich.
For the past few years, professor Sean D. Kelly, chair of Harvard’s Philosophy Department, has been searching for a copy of Blaise Pascal’s death mask that just might be lost in Harvard’s collection. After little success, he recently offered an automatic A to any student in his “Existentialism in Literature and Film” class who can find the mask.