Noice shout out to the Zuckster for letting his alma mater slip into his network’s highest-rated comedy for the past two seasons. Tonight’s episode of 30 Rock not only gave Keith Powell some well-deserved lines but also included a truly gratuitous Cambridge reference. But we don’t want to commend Tina Fey’s oeuvre for merely dropping the H-bomb. Instead, we want to revel in the fact that the writers got the usually collar-popping, sometimes random, and always hilarious loftiness of Ivy pompousness dead on. During the episode, Liz (Fey) mentions that the show is going to Boston, Toofer (Powell), wearing a red Veritas tie and a tennis sweater, pipes up about his academic roots in the ‘burbs, only to be pwned by Jenna (Jane Krakowski)… sort of.

Toofer: “You know, I went to school in Boston. Well, not in Boston, but nearby. No, not Tufts–”
Jenna: “Oh, shut up. It’s 14 degrees there.”
Toofer: “… Harvard.”

Yeah, it's really that cold here.

Conan just peaced, Toofs. The pressure’s all on you.

Miss you, Coco!

As the Vancouver Winter Olympics approach, I become distinctly aware of the fact that network television is conspiratorially trying to vault certain athletes onto a certain pedestal. I’m not referring to different earthly minerals here, but I’m thinking more along the lines of brainwashing the public to believe that certain dudes in sterilizing tights happen to be God’s gift to ice skating aficionados. After years of analyzing Bob “I Only Work Leap Years” Costa’s special reports on NBC about specific athletes, I think I’ve built a pretty comprehensive list of qualities that a gymnast, speed skater, and–Jesus help us all if this ever happens–curler must possess to make it big into the collective consciousness.

Have the name of a Greek god. This one’s pretty obvious. How many gold medalists do you know named Andy Stitzer? Partly the doing of NBC’s prescient obsession with him the year of the Salt Lake City Games, Apolo Ohno definitely benefited from his dad totally freeloading on a pompous and possibly super traumatic naming decision. It’s unsurprising that the Olympic Committee granted him the gold medal even though he finished one of his races second–the man can bend people at sheer will, especially with hair like that. And it doesn’t really matter that Ohno wasn’t named specifically after the god, because really, who can focus on that when your last name is an exclamation in itself? We can all only stop hating him for him winning the genetic lottery when we find out how many times he was beat up in grade school before he started working out for future retribution. (I hope it’s a lot.)

Be a super-dee-duper All-American do-gooder. Pie-eating nationalists will always be predictably easy to please–you give them a wholesome, hardworkin’ teenager from the midwest just hoping to bring some honor to the heartland and they’ll stop being pissed that “My Name is Earl” won’t be the regularly scheduled programming for two weeks. That’s why all of the blond, freckle-faced youngin’s from Texas get all the attention during these two weeks every single time. Shawn Johnson, Sasha Cohen, that one chick who was actually really crappy at diving and yet got more camera time than the non-American gold medalist–they all had one creepy thing in common, and that was America’s capitalization on their patriotic cuteness and absurdly happy-go-lucky cheeriness. With their scarily vehement “GO USA!” chants captured on film for eternity, they might as well have been wearing eagle-emblazoned letter jackets onto the podium. Can we please just lay it all out? Because basically, Paul and Morgan Hamm are just two short dudes in tights wearing some ugly-ass primary colors.

Double the trouble is too much to handle.

Read more qualifications (or maybe disqualifications) after the jump.

Read the rest of this entry »

America always manages to keep things classy. We’re the only ones with NASCAR, velour track suits, and the Country Music Awards to keep us on the cutting edge of culture and refinement. But now there’s proof that our country looks the best. The photo of Mr. President at the Great Wall of China in November that’s been spreading around the internet recently is letting the rest of the world know that we don’t all wear shirts that say “jUiCy” on the chest. I think we can all agree that if there were a President’s edition of “America’s Next Top Model,” the land of the free would hands down be the last one standing at deliberations, with 100% of Tyra’s “smile with your eyes” approval.

"I'm just serving my constituents."

Obama is the new black: A politically charged model at New York Fashion Week.

So what’s with all the fuss that the White House is making about Weatherproof shamelessly appropriating the AP photo of Obama to their advertising advantage? Sure, the executive dudes may have breached some sort of promotional taboo, being all sly about permissions yet not violating any intellectual property rights whatsoever. But does it really matter whether it’s a matter of business ethics? It’s entirely appropriate that after being elected by a disillusioned 18-to-25-year-old age bracket who became obsessed with his “Be the Change” ideal, his appeal would be advertised to this same demographic using a hypervisual, commercialized vanity that completely characterizes this image-conscious generation. Hello, isn’t it obvious? Obama knows who to prop. White House, I gotta call you out on this one. Just chillax. Holla back at you, O-boi!

So let’s be real for two seconds. Obama’s probably okay with his face being plastered at 32948729387-megapixel resolution in Times Square. More than okay. Flattered, even. After all, the man’s got the authoritative charm of Reagan in “The Hasty Heart” and the supple skin of a baby’s bottom. (Is it Nivea? Tell us your secret!) In any case, if I were a New Yorker, I’d say my commute around town definitely improved from the days of yore.

Photos courtesy of Entertainment Rundown and New York Daily News.

Here at the Voice, it’s pretty obvious that we have a special place in our heart for internet memes, particularly those that take advantage of online anonymity. That’s why we fell in love with I Saw You (at Harvard), a CS50 project serving as the “source for posting and browsing missed connections,” according to its founder Tej Toor ’10.

Browse through the first page to see if anyone is professing his/her love to your oblivious “Hunky Australian philosopher” blockmate. A more interesting aspect of the site is the posted stats, collected from the submission demographics. Of all four classes, seniors are submitting the most sightings, perhaps in attempts to take advantage of the last opportunities to get to know the Serena van der Woodsen lookalike or the guy stuffing his face with pita chips at brain break. But most surprisingly, sightings occur more frequently at the 12 Houses than anywhere else on campus. Looks like more than a few people are too shy to chat even in the dining hall.

Read Noice’s favorite declarations of unrequited love after the jump.

Read the rest of this entry »

Those who won’t be playing pre-finals academic catch-up after returning from Yale this weekend will have the opportunity to take part in a bizarre farce instead. This Sunday, the MP3 Experiment, apparently a silent and digitalized version of Simon Says, will take place in the Yard at exactly 1:15pm. Included in the informational email was an audio file that participants should download onto their iPod and bring to the event but not listen to prior to the event. Thrown by students from the Graduate School of Education, the event calls to mind October’s flash mob. According to the hosts, it offers a similar kind of spirit.

The Harvard MP3 Experiment is modeled after those of Improv Everywhere, the masterminds behind such youtube classics as the Food Court Musical and No Pants Subway Rides. This event is being run by students at the Harvard Graduate School of Education.  Don’t worry, we’re not going to teach you anything.  Except possibly how to be more awesome.

Wait–why aren’t we doing the no-pants thing instead? Next time, Harvard.

RSVP to the Facebook event here.

Photo courtesy of Robert Southers.

Those depressed about not going to another school to take English 111: “Critical Approaches to Harry Potter” or “The Simpsons and Society” may find some kind of silver screen compensation next academic year.

Recently announced at a panel with various sociology and African-American Studies professors, Harvard plans to offer a course on the HBO series “The Wire,” a show about slum life in Baltimore. William J. Wilson, a self-admitted follower of the show and who will teach “Social Structure and culture in the Study of Race and Urban Poverty” this spring, will assume teaching responsibilities for the new course, which is already stirring up excitement among student fans. Sonja Sohn, who plays Kima Greggs, was also present at the panel.

To which we say… when are we going to see “The Theory of Arrested Development” on the course selection tool?

Yes, we can: Barack advocates for better library etiquette.

Loud roommates and claustrophobic Dunster walk-through coffins usually drive people to settle for a long night at Lamont instead. But certain peers, like those who play Miley Cyrus at full volume through their earbuds, can sometimes make us wish we hadn’t trekked all the way to the yard in the first place. Noice sympathizes with those who can’t even find sanctuary at the library. Beware of some of these types of people who may transform what should be a studious environment an experience from hell.

The Widener Walker. Some like to take a break from reading room by browsing the books, but beware of these leisurely strollers. It’s not unusual to see a random person hovering in between the expansive stacks. What’s weird is when they inadvertently end up playing hide and seek with you as you look for that elusive copy of a circa-1960s porn manual for your Lit & Sex paper. Peek-a-boo at its creepiest.
The Cabot Concentrator. Those isolated study rooms in Harvard’s dingiest library look like prison cells for a reason. Aesthetic appeal doesn’t even make the list–people come here to get some serious shit done. Those coffee stains crusted over on virtually every desk would shock us, if not for the fact that there’s probably a guy right now sprawled over his problem set, drooling. Noice advises bringing your own Clorox wipes to get rid of all the mystery bodily fluids.
The Lamont Lurker. Please extrapolate those assumptions you’ve held all along–that kid never ever EVER leaves. Ever. An anonymous source who works a late night shift at access services confirms the fact that these Lamonters will leave their stuff on the table at around 5 in the morning to head back to their house for a quick shower, and promptly plop back at their third floor desk to stick their noses back in the books at around 7am. This urban legend appears more than likely, given…

Today’s public service announcement continues after the jump.
Read the rest of this entry »