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...particularly cold and disembodied. His eroticism is more like an ice cube than steam. 7. FM: Complete this sentence: Sex at Harvard...MK: (Laughs) That’s one sentence that is left incomplete. 8. FM: Word on the street is that you are a pretty snappy dresser. Say you??re having a one-on-one meeting with President Drew G. Faust. What would you wear?MK: I would wear a dark blue suit, a vibrant tie and French cuffs. 9. FM: And what would you say?MK: I wouldn’t say anything, because what she?...
...tough times, there is nothing quite like a moment in the lap of luxury. But comfort can get expensive. Fond of facials? Book yourself a spa treatment—a phone call later and you??ve dropped $50 at Pyara. Ladies and gentlemen, I’m here to announce that I have stumbled upon one of the best-kept secrets in the business of steamed pampering. It lies at the intersection of stress management, fine dining, and salon services: at a shabu-shabu restaurant a facial comes rolled up, or rather, bubbling out of, your Japanese...
...street is that The Inferno’s going to be cooking up some juicy gossip and even juicier burgers tonight. Better watch out—those mozz sticks are going to be HOT.” In the words of the infamous Gossip Girl, “You??re no one until you??re talked about.” Welcome to Harvard’s media scene, El. Hope you can keep...
...also in every faculty member’s contract that they receive a minimum of three congratulatory phone calls from Our Queen Drew Faust. “Hey Prof. Michael Herzfeld. I love what you??re doing on ‘social poetics.’ You??ve made it to Harvard. You can do anything!” “Hey Prof. Sarah Jansen! I love what you??re doing on dogs and how we know them! You??re improving humanity with every paw you ask for! You?...
...didn’t get into Harvard? We’re your family now, united by a love of money, high SAT scores, and a lifelong insecurity complex that seeks a confirmation of status and worth that could never be found in the arms of a parent or friend. You??ll die alone, but you??ll die snuggled inside a quilted Harvard afghan and you??ll be buried with your class ring—until marauding bands of grave robbers snap it from your decaying finger. But seriously kids, use those red phones...