CURRENT ISSUE: Spring 2018
Agreed. I sat in a house nearby this railroad. A place with two rooms I remember owning. I was cornered there a long time. Hunched over. Fishing in that stove for scraps I hid. Reminds me of
eating. Or rather telling time. Not the stains or that purling in my gut, but the slow blood heavy in my fingertips, lingering underneath, those bloodbanks ready for hulling, as if they
When I learn about the homeland for the first time, nobody tells me that I should see home. A teacher pulls down the map of the world, then the map of the continent, and taps with the black tip of her pointer. “Africa,” she says, and like magic the classroom turns a Sahara-sun yellow, something called tribal print bordering the walls, my sister said, pointing through the doorway; and in a few months she is learning to say jambo, we are beating pellet drums against our legs, she is sent home with a letter to give to our parents asking them to bring African food on World Culture Day. I sit on the floor by the stove, my tongue to the hard scratchy surface of the pellet drum, smoky-tasting, hide-flavored, and worriedly watch my mother make a rice that will be served to our classmates at school in the cafeteria, in huge aluminum pans, in front of the teacher who pulls down maps of the world and its continents, who sent home the letter. (Can your family make us some African food?)
Human Capital: Investing in the World’s First Publicly Traded Person
Three years after the Supreme Court declared corporations are people too, a 44-year-old sometimes entrepreneur named Mike Merrill is trying to prove the opposite. Merrill became the world’s first “publicly traded person” in 2008, when he created 100,000 shares of himself and sold them to friends and strangers at $1/share through a website called KMikeyM.
My mother can only fall asleep with a hitachi wand tucked between her legs. It is big and white—the thick handle alone is the size of an adult humerus bone, and atop it rests a large bulb the size of an adult’s fist. The bulb is made of a material that is probably plastic but feels like leather, and has myriads of small indentations that collect dirt, fluid—i.e. color, yellow-brown dots that, when the hitachi is turned on to the low setting, make the whole head appear yellow, like a crude pointillism; but on the high setting the opposite effect occurs, somehow the vigorous high speed vibrations, which are so rapid as to be insensible, like strobe lights which give you the impression that a rotating object is actually perfectly still, cause the discolorations to vanish completely, and the bulb is all white, pure white all over, the same color as the handle.
FROM THE BLOG
Boston Calls: What We Hear
Josh Grossman '20
2018’s Boston Calling music festival promises to daze, entrance and brew revelry under the proverbial roof of Harvard’s athletic complex. This year’s festival will include performances by festival mainstays The Killers, Eminem and Jack White, as well as performances by critically acclaimed indie acts including Julien Baker, Thundercat and St. Vincent. The full artist list can be found at http://bostoncalling.com. Boston Calling has brought out a truly stellar lineup this year, paying particular attention to increasing the range of artists and musical styles it represents. This year’s Boston Calling promises to satiate music and culture lovers of all tastes. The festival will feature prominent rappers including Eminem; Tyler, The Creator; Cousin Stizz; and Brockhampton, while also presenting indie artists such as Dirty Projectors and Big Thief and major rock artists such as Queens of the Stone Age and Paramore.
FROM THE BLOG
Boston Called, She Left a Message
Josh Grossman '20and
Grace Pan '20
The dry heat makes the grass yellow outside the Harvard athletic complex, but the AstroTurf remains green for Boston Calling. As Boston’s festival goers descend upon the complex, the smell of fried food, sweat, and just a whiff of the ganja permeates the air. But why do people come to music festivals? For the star-studded line up or for those strange moments of community found in the ever-pushing crowd? For the Insta/snap story or for the time with friends? For the likes or for what they like? And perhaps more importantly, what makes music festivals special? Are they like a lunch buffet special that is only appealing in combining everything for one, reasonable package-price? Or is a music festival greater than the sum of its events? On Friday afternoon, Noname performed on the green stage.