HARVARD is a fantasy world where you can do anything you set your mind to.

Harvard is Hell on Earth, where nobody will lend you a pencil without asking what's in it for them.

Will the real Harvard please stand up?

Actually, Harvard is neither one of these extremes--it is both of them. Harvard will educate you, entertain you and leave you emotionally scarred for years to come.

The trick is to take the good and avoid the bad. In other words, you must suck the marrow out of the Harvard experience, while swallowing as little bone as possible.

Here's how to do it.

Say yes to roommates. They live with you, they eat with you, they share your toilet. At all costs, be their friends. Note: This does not mean that you must indulge in their eccentricities. I, for one, never participated in my roommate's topless homework dances.

No to crew. As best as I can tell, this so-called "sport" has four basic components:

1) Waking up your roommates at 6 a.m. on a regular basis;

2) Showing innocent bystanders the blisters on your hands;

3) Wearing your Crew '93 shirt until it walks around campus by itself; and

4) Being made to feel guilty by the coach when you try to quit.

The challenge consists in convincing friends and family that crew is actually enjoyable. By this measure, no one has yet succeeded.

Yes to hockey games. Bright Hockey Arena may be the only place on earth where Harvard students show school spirit. But good luck trying to get tickets for popular games...On the other hand, um, don't bother to try. The lines are too long. Yeah, and always remember the rule that upper class students get their tickets before first-year students. Yeah, that's it.

No to proctor meetings. Contrary to popular belief, the term "proctor" does not derive from the Greek proktos, meaning anus. Instead, it comes from the Middle English procutour, meaning "one who holds meetings until at least half of those present fall asleep." Our proctor--and this is not a joke--once took 15 minutes to tell us not to throw oranges out of our windows at passing administrators.

Yes to seminars. Seminars boast small classes, big-name professors and no grades. Plus, four out of five students surveyed said their first-year romances began in a seminar. (Survey based on the 3 percent of students who had first-year romances.)

No to Expos. Expos joins death and taxes as a must for first-year students. However, do not buy the "required" book written by Expos administrator Richard Marius. You won't open it. If you really feel compelled to enrich Marius, you can always send cash.

So there you have them: the keys to a perfect first year. By June, you will ooze friendliness towards anyone or anything remotely related to Harvard, making you a safe bet for membership in the Crimson Key Society.

Just remember that if things are going badly, they'll probably get worse--unless you do something about them.

If you are enraged by falsely labeled Union food, boycott hamburger extra-vanganza and venerable vegetables. If you are tired of doing homework, take a break and wait in line for basketball courts. And if you are sick of meeting interesting people, go to final club parties.

In the words of the eminently quotable Radcliffe President Linda S. Wilson, "Explore. Celebrate. Learn. Play."

And brush and floss regularly.

Joshua M. Sharfstein '91 has never been punched by a final club. He routinely shares his neuroses with Crimson readers in his biweekly column, "Joshin' Around."