Writer
Maia R. Silber
Latest Content
Wedding Bells Class of 2017
Here from six members of the Class of 2017 who are married or engaged to be married soon.
The Passing of the FM Torch
CORDELIA F. MENDEZ ’16 , Chair I’m not going to say Cordelia F. Mendez ’16 could run the world, but I’m confident that she could at least run the country. That’s because Cordelia is easily one of the most competent people you will ever meet. And if you haven’t met her yet, then you should, because she is as smiley and friendly as she is capable.
The Cave Man
The cheese on display makes up only a small fraction of Formaggio's stock. The rest is stored in a temperature -and humidity-controlled cellar beneath the shop.
There's an Agency for That
Harvard Student Agencies is unique among student organizations. Employing more than 585 students, including about 40 student managers, and taking advantage of a special relationship with administrators, it services nearly all of Harvard while providing students with real-world business experience and a springboard for future careers.
Five Months Later: A Visit to the Renovated Harvard Art Museums
Nearly five months after the opening of the renovated Harvard Art Museums, Chief Curator Deborah Kao and Director of the Division of Academic and Public Programming Jessica Martinez are thinking about light and sound.
Spring Break Postcard: Met-Cute
Perhaps If I had grown up in Michigan I would have fallen in love with the New York City skyline, the tops of buildings glimpsed in small square segments from a plane. But I lived commuting-distance from Manhattan, in a suburb where the stone walls of colonial pastures lined the road to the train station. And so I met the city from the ground up: the smooth blue of the Hudson to the raised tracks over Harlem, only then to the skyscrapers in the distance.
Weather
In January, my skin turns to snow. I leave my dorm in the morning, hair shower-wet, mousse-sprayed to my neck, snowflakes crystallized in my curls. I wear black tights and salt stains bloom on my thighs; I wear black boots and white lines cross my ankles in waves. The spaces between my fingers grow cold.