Joining the ranks of pseudo-literary quasi-luminaries who have passed through the Signet’s hallowed halls, visiting lecturer Elvis Mitchell made his debut at the tea-totin’, art-appreciatin’ private club two Thursdays ago. Our spy reports that Elvis showed up around 10:30 to a cocktail hour, went unrecognized by most of the wannabe hipsters in attendance, and handed out his digits to perplexed partygoers. Or tried to, at least. While we doubt Elvis will be put up, we do wonder whether any fame-seeking Signette put out.
—Michael M. Grynbaum
’99 PROBLEMS
Ah, the Nineties: the soundtrack of our early adolescent lives. Last Saturday’s Pfoho ’90s Dance served up a heady dose of nostalgia for the days of awkward make-out attempts, popped pimples and painful boy-girl interactions. In Cambridge, luckily, some things never change.
Thanks to those signature Harvardian social skills and a healthy dose of pre-Federline Britney, the atmosphere ended up smacking of a middle school dance. Pfoho Dining Hall morphed into the sweaty gym where the best we could hope for was a fly-out double. River-dwellers lining up for shuttle rides back to the Square bore an unfortunate resemblance to eighth graders climbing into Mom’s minivan. Still, the Zima bottles were a nice touch, and props are in order to the badass sporting a full-size Flavor Flav clock swinging from his neck. Fight the power, y’all!
—MMG
CAMPY LAMPY
As if the Lampoon weren’t redundant enough, the semi-secret Sorrento Square social organization announced last week that they’ll be publishing a parody of Premiere magazine, which apparently still exists. The punchline? The Poonsters had to get permission. Please. Did Fred Gwynne need permission to throw a baby carriage down Mount Auburn Street? Did John Updike need permission to write witty realist novels? We think not.
—MMG
