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...story about a woman who talks about how she's always been on the perfectionistic side and it wasn't an issue. She started dating her husband and things were okay and they got married, and she'd sort of nudge him about leaving the bathroom mat on the floor after a shower. But it wasn't until they had kids that it really got bad and she would project all her issues on him. Twice a year she travels for business and before she leaves she types out these long instructions for him. She calls every day to check...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Why Do Women Need To Be Perfect? | 4/21/2008 | See Source »

...Harvard’s social pupae gathered Thursday night at the Fogg’s farewell gala (theme: “Ooh La La!”), different social circles soon became apparent on the dance floor. The Advocate kids tended to undulate in delight to sublime saxophone jazz of Marcus G. Miller ’08 while the Final Club crowd and the budding socialites showed off their hard-earned dance school moves and spun each other across the floor of the faux-Venetian atrium. If Harvard is the school of tomorrow’s leaders, then this gala...

Author: By Lois E. Beckett and Alexander B. Fabry, CRIMSON STAFF WRITERSS | Title: Aged Before Their Time | 4/20/2008 | See Source »

...Felicity whirled to face her spouse. “I’m surprised you’ve already picked yourself up from the floor,” she shot back acidly. “Did it take a long time to wash off all the vomit...

Author: By Lesley R. Winters, CRIMSON STAFF WRITER | Title: The Stable Boy | 4/20/2008 | See Source »

...Icelandic tongue (“Ljósmyndir”). Just as Newcombe promises his soul will bring “many… presents for the children” in the album opener, the record features delightful pieces that make you want to sit on the floor of your room and mellow out. When the haunting sounds and incessant beats on “Who Cares Why?” or the African drum and sitar-fueled beauty of “Who Fucking Pissed In My Well?” surround you, you might imagine that the band...

Author: By Meredith S. Steuer, CONTRIBUTING WRITER | Title: The Brian Jonestown Massacre | 4/17/2008 | See Source »

When the Viscountess Felicity Fabreigh opened her eyes the following morning, she was still in deshabille. She lay there awhile on the floor, watching the specks of dust floating in the sunlight that streamed through the casement. The morning caressed her stomach and thighs, which, as they usually did, looked perfect. Her head ached. She could not form a coherent thought.But with consciousness came recollection, and the images of the night just past swarmed to confront her: the empty decanter of brandy, her dead turtle Orlando, and, looming above all else, he who had wronged her once again. She could...

Author: By Lesley R. Winters, CRIMSON STAFF WRITER | Title: The Stable Boy | 4/17/2008 | See Source »

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