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...investigation or subsequent court case. The book's epilogue, in which Griffith, Darrow, and Burns briefly walk by each other in a hotel lobby, is a stretch of the most limber sort. As is the attempt to link the bombing and the investigation's illegal detention of suspects to post-9/11 concerns. This could have made a fine story story for Vanity Fair, where Blum is a contributing editor...
...Sony BMG, Universal and Warner Music. Both allow users to stream tunes for free on the Web and create playlists that can be shared with friends. MySpace Music has the tidier and more efficient interface, but its playlists cap out at 100 songs (or just 10 tracks, if users post them to their MySpace profile page). Imeem's playlists, meanwhile, are unlimited in length...
...basically a walled garden. You can share your playlists with other MySpace users - and it's definitely fun to check out what new songs your friends are grooving to - but you can't listen to those playlists on other sites. Imeem, on the other hand, lets people export and post their playlists on blogs, Facebook, and even MySpace, using an embeddable widget. That means your friends can listen to your Imeem songs without ever logging onto Imeem (or even knowing that it exists). But MySpace president Chris DeWolfe thinks playlists make more sense as an extension of a person...
...peers had no qualms about parading their frumpy digs all over campus. Coming from an ultra-preppy secondary school in the Midwest where fashion and grades were on equal terms, I have to say I was startled at the nonchalance of Harvard students when it came to their post-shopping period attire. I was from a universe where you dressed to impress, all year long, rain or shine. Not here. What happened to the unique style that had been so boldly sported on Mass Ave. just yesterday? At an institution filled with the brightest and best in the world...
...economic crisis looms, threatening the prospects of thousands of future financiers across campus, we arts majors must confess to feeling a little, well, smug. For the past several years we’ve girded our loins for a rocky post-collegiate existence. We’ve read Hemingway’s memoirs and prepared to go without meals for days at a time. We’ve joined Facebook groups proclaiming “I Picked a Major I Like, and One Day I Will Probably Be Living in a Box.” We’ve built...