Cry Me Across the River

Dartboard got to sit down a couple days ago in his DHA sweats and have a good ponder about some issues facing Fair Harvard—specifically, University President Lawrence H. Summers’ plans for expansion and the less-than-healthy tension between Cambridge and our university. As we know, the Quad is no longer enough to satiate the Harvard housing monster, and since those ungrateful commie Cantabrigians won’t yield any land, the University may need to exile students to Allston—all the way across the Charles. But students won’t want to be “rivered” any more than they want to be “Quadded.” Cambridge ought to just get out of the way of progress.

Then Dartboard got an idea.

Since Cambridge is in Harvard’s way, and Harvard is in Cambridge’s way, and Harvard has 52 acres in Allston, why not “river” Cambridge? Harvard could sell its holdings in Allston at a steal to Cantabrigians who want to be bloody-well rid of the Big H, and proceed to buy the space Cantabrigians vacate and build one centralized campus. When you think about it, everyone would win. Just move Cambridge to Allston, then hit the line for Harvard, for Harvard wins today!

Now, some might question the feasibility of Dartboard’s insensitive, failed-out-of-the-Kennedy-School solution. After all, it’s doubtful that being “rivered” is any more appealing to residents of Cambridge than it is to most Harvard students. But Dartboard is at least doing something that those steering our University aren’t: coming up with creative solutions to the space crunch and the tensions between Harvard and Cambridge that don’t involve further decentralization of the campus. So while Dartboard’s solution isn’t quite up to par, neither are Mass. Hall’s.

—Peter Charles Mulcahy

Blocking the Dining Hall Door

When running into a dining hall, Dartboard is often greeted by friendly dining hall employees. Unfortunately, for the past couple of weeks, the only thing being doled out has been a plate of chastising with the garnish of rejection.

Like the other night—when swiping in at 7:16 p.m. the card swiper lunged toward the door and yelled at Dartboard, creating a bit of a scene in the dining hall. She told Dartboard that the dishwasher needed to be out at a certain time and people swiping in after the final dinner hour of 7:15 p.m. would create a backlog. After Dartboard explained that she did not need to use plates, that she would settle for fruit and peanut butter and jelly, the door was still blocked and the rumbling of the tummy increased.

The final insult was the fact that other people who had swiped in at, say, 7:14 p.m. had full privileges to not only get food, but continue getting food until at least 7:20 p.m. If there had been a clear cap on when anyone could get food, whether it wereseconds or not, then Dartboard might understand. After all, there are shifts that dining hall employees are eager to leave, and having yet another undergraduate asking to go in past the designated meal time is a burden.

Or is it? Dartboard can see no reason why she can’t just sneak in and get an apple or bagel or anything else that does not require using dishware. Perhaps there are health code violations involving clean-up that Dartboard was unaware she was breaking when attempting to swipe in at 7:16 p.m. In any event, an explanation of the regulations governing the privilege to eat in a dining hall that room and board pays for would be better than the embarrassing debacle that meals sometimes become. Being greeted with eye rolls and, once, a physical blocking of the door hurts House spirit needlessly and makes occasional lateness a crime to be paid for by culinary deprivation.

—Maria S. Pedroza