REGATTIN’ IT
The billing for last weekend’s rowing event couldn’t have been more inviting: coxswains . . . strokes . . . Head . . . of the Charles. But sadly, the festivities weren’t nearly as deviant as we’d hoped. Gadfly bundled up and ventured out to the banks of the Charles to check out the thieves and lowlifes HUPD had warned us about—you know, the preps, blue-bloods, good ol’ boys and other scum of (high) society. The only thing tighter than the security was the lockjaw.
Like Jews at a baptism, Gadfly had to ask the person next to us what exactly was going down in the water. Turns out the Northeast’s best and brightest prefer to settle their collegiate rivalries by imitating the slave galley on a Roman warship.
A full day of mind-numbingly monotonous competition had Gadfly on the verge of pulling a Quentin Compson. Luckily, this year’s Head of the Charles was more about free samples of Gore-Tex gear and Best Buy big screens than actual athletics.
Scoring free shit at the regatta was as easy as Anne Radcliffe. (Historical note: Anne Radcliffe was a notorious whore.) Spectators gorged on complimentary Turkey Hill ice cream and Cape Cod potato chips—snack items perhaps not-so-coincidentally named after the favorite summer spots of most crew fans.
Hoping to attract the young’ins, event organizers hosted the first annual Row-A-Palooza concert, which couldn’t even hold a candle to its lolling namesake.
We don’t have a clue who won the regatta, but we did hear some shitty music and mingle with the overprivileged. No, wait—sorry, that was every punch event last week.
—Michael M. Grynbaum and Zachary M. Seward
FIGHTING CRIME, CARDINALS
Harvard’s finest—that is, our police officers—have plenty on their minds these days: gropings . . . thefts . . . manslaughtering former grad students who speak five languages. So, naturally, the HUPD radio waves were abuzz with chatter last Saturday night . . .
Officer #1: “Yo, man, what are they looking like?”
Officer #2: “No outs, runners on first and second.”
Officer #1: “No, man, not the game, the people!”
—ZMS
SWALLOWING SATIRE’S PRIDE
We hear irony is totally hot with two t’s right now. Still, Satire V, Harvard’s only undergraduate humor magazine, couldn’t get away with selling t-shirts last week which proclaimed, “Yale Sucks, Jeter Swallows.” Members of the BGLTSA (closet Yankee fans, surely) denounced the club’s allusions to Eli-on-Eli fellatio and the New York shortstop’s exploits at third base. Ultimately, Satire V was forced to look in the mirror and face the truth: homophobia just doesn’t exude the same retro-cool of racism and anti-Semitism—which totally blows, but what are you gonna do?
—ZMS
OVERHEARD IN THE LOWELL DINING HALL
“I love that song.” —Guy listening to the shittiest song ever.
RED SOX CELEBRATION
Last Wednesday’s Red Sox comeback spurred Harvard’s largest outpouring of mass hysteria since Satire V started selling homophobic T-shirts. Hardcore Sox fans born and bred in places like Alabama, Seattle and Aix-en-Provence (aren’t they supposed to play soccer?) donned their newly-purchased Sox Gear and pretended to cause a fuss—Harvard style. That included crazy shit like running down the street in large groups (we’re talking five and six here), shouting stuff really loud on a school night, and that sin of sins, blocking traffic—even though the cops were actually the ones doing that. Yeah, we sure know how to get wild at old U of H. Just when we thought the melee couldn’t get zanier, the Harvard band climbed on top of the T shelter and played some Sha Na Na. Then a few guys took their shirts off. Take that Northeastern!
One student, a Mets fan from the mean streets of Manhattan, looked at us with crocodile tears in his eyes. “I’m just…so…happy,” he sobbed with an undertone of scorn. “They finally won. Now let’s get the fuck out of here.”
But his friend was too busy propositioning every girl that passed with a lurid gesture and a “Kiss me! The Red Sox won!” We thought Harvard was about to get Girls Gone Wild, but they responded only with giggles and refusals. It was just another night at Harvard, after all.
—MMG and Sarah M. Seltzer
Send your tips, frivolous gossip and gratuitous rumors to fmgadfly@yahoo.com.
