Amy Offner: Well, I just got in from having a big fish dinner on the pier in Boston, and am now being frustrated that my phone doesn't work. The Harvard Student Telephone Office disconnected it because I hadn't paid my bill; then I paid my bill, but now, something like five days later, the line is still disconnected. How does one communicate with the outside world? This is the question right now. The next question is how I am going to write a paper for my poetry class tonight. Synopsis: fish, disconnected phone, poetry paper.
Sarah Pickard: I am writing from home--New York City--and telnet is achingly slow. I have just got back from a shopping expedition and enjoying all the things I love about the city: Tasti-D-Lite (froyo without the yogurt), thai for lunch, Century 21 and Bloomingdales, the 6 train, manicures for seven bucks, and, this morning, running around the reservoir with my Dad and having a cozy breakfast in the bustling upper-east-side Starbucks. Right now I am about to get dressed to have a drink with my old friend who is breaking his back for some investment bank, and in my head are songs from Coldplay and the after-taste of artificial ice cream in my mouth.
Bridget Tenner: I am recovering from a big spaghetti dinner, trying to understand how my clothes always seem to grow over a trip and I can never quite fit them back into the suitcase they arrived in, a bit worried about the fact that somehow I didn't open my books over the past nine days, still drying off from the cold Chicago rain (why? why is it not spring yet?!) and of course compiling and scheduling a list of all the signs on the Northwest Tollway (I-90) that need to be inspected this summer.
Josh Vonkorff: Your request for a report of my activities is marked 6:38 p.m., and therefore arrived at 5:38 p.m. central time. I first read it at 7 p.m., when my clock said 8 p.m. due to having been set ahead in anticipation of Daylight Savings Time. At that point, my family held a special emergency Passover seder seven days early, in honor of my being home. Synchronicity manifested itself when the pizza delivery guy arrived (Is pizza unleavened bread?) shortly after the front door was symbolically opened to let in the prophet Elijah. It is now 9:30 p.m., and I am just finishing up composing an e-mail to Maryanthe.
Maryanthe E. Malliaris '01 is a mathematics concentrator in Lowell House. Her column appears on alternate Mondays.