Crimson staff writer
Niv M. Sultan
Smash has always been around: In elementary and middle school, I played, but in high school I stopped. In hindsight I notice the unsettling correlation between the exit of Smash from my life, and the entrance of the thesis statement into it. Life became a bit realer, a bit less fantastical. I couldn’t cite Wikipedia anymore.
I don’t understand why we all hang out all year, but do our own things for the month of December. Why can’t we just light the Chanukkah with the Kinara? Or fill stockings with latkes? Or do whatever we want to do, regardless of what God we’re fans of (or totally not fans of)?
I study history and literature, that most refined, elegant, and humble combination of subjects. But it seems that is not enough for the despotic tyrants of Harvard’s Program in General Education. “You must be well-rounded,” they say. “You must study math to remind yourself of how shitty your math has become, and you must study science to remind yourself of how shitty your science has become, and you must stop reading books—everyone thinks you’re a huge nerd.”
I’m standing somewhere between the Green Line and Paris when the stranger on the ladder greets me. He descends, hammer in hand, and introduces himself. Steven J. Beaucher is wearing a t-shirt, jeans, and a smile that bridges the gap between the hanging Green Line sign and the antique map of Paris.