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...Born to a teenage single mother in Wellington, New Zealand, Sinclair was raised in impoverished circumstances and, though bright, left school at 16. After being arrested and brought to court for throwing rocks through a train-station window, he was interviewed by a juvenile counselor. Startled by the young vandal's command of Gorky, Conrad and Steinbeck, the counselor eventually referred Sinclair to a copy-boy position at Wellington's Evening Post. From there, his progress through the newspaper world of New Zealand and Australia was buccaneering: sleeping rough on Queensland's Gold Coast after turning up drunk and late...
...need to ask for hair color. We all have the same,'" says Enraght-Moony. In Scandinavia, on the other hand, the 2.2 million Web-savvy singles were long used to dating online. To differentiate itself from local competitors when it launched there in 2003, Match toned down its window-shopping aspect and played up the promise of long-term love. "The dream here is not to marry a millionaire prince," says Johan Siwers, vice president of Northern Europe. "The dream is to live a good life in the countryside and be happy." Match now rules the Scandinavian market, with...
Pinker is the Johnstone Professor of Psychology at Harvard University and the author, most recently, of The Stuff of Thought: Language as a Window into Human Nature
...Yard” students to find you in twenty years. 2) Load up on a full plate of your dining hall’s Boston Baked Scrod—a surprise in every mouthful could lead to conveniently timed irritable bowel syndrome. 3) Turn off the heat, open the window, and get naked—we call this frostbite for a cause. 4) Participate in a sleep deprivation experiment for psych labs—check into UHS for drooling and hallucinations. 5) Want a free pass on your term paper? Read Faust’s new Civil War book, visit...
...shuttle’s headlights shine on my flailing arms. 3:36 AM—My bad. That wasn’t a Harvard shuttle. Or even a bus. It was the Boston Herald delivery truck. I slowly lower my middle fingers and hope the driver’s window wasn’t down. 3:42 AM—At last, I stagger up the steps and plop down near the shuttle’s sole other passenger, a nicely-coiffed young brunette, tennis shoes in hand for tomorrow’s walk of shame. The four a.m. Quad...