02138, which won the Pulitzer Prize last year for intrepid journalism in the Field of Writing About Harvard, has just released its second annual list of Harvard's 100 most influential alumni. Can you name all twelve women? (Hint: don't forget Benazir Bhutto.)

Like all lists of this sort, it comes packaged with a poorly edited preface full of stilted phrases ("in the catbrid seat"), inane platitudes ("With so much at stake in the coming year, there's a lot to influence"), and a groping desperation to say something meaningful about what is basically a self-satisfied exercise in name-dropping ("The Supreme Court has shifted ideologically, and the struggle for creating and undoing precedents is fierce.")

The usual suspects are to be found on the list -- financiers (Lloyd Blankfein, Stephen Schwartzman, Henry Paulson), media-barons (Jared Kushner, Mortimer Zuckerman, Sumner Redstone, Jeff Zucker), like a million politicians, and pretty much the entire Supreme Court. And there are a few Harvard is probably not so thrilled about (George Bush, Alberto Gonzales).

Other choices are just baffling -- Frank Rich, really? B.J. Novak? And didn't Bill Gates drop out? But most of all, is Al Gore in fact the most influential Harvard grad today? There's just something sad about that. Discuss amongst yourselves.

After the jump: the list in full.

Read the rest of this entry »

If you read this blog with any regularity, you know it's been a constant struggle to criticize 02138, a magazine we know we should hate but somehow, inexplicably (well, sometimes explicably), can't. What we can say, thanks to this spectacular item from Boston's Weekly Dig, is that 1) 02138 is not a happy place to be right now, and 2) it will be moving its unhappy ass to the unhappiness capital of the world: Manhattan.

The real juice, though, is on the editorial end. Dig invokes the "world of carnage" that is the magazine's masthead, which has already lost two executive editors and an editorial director, with a managing editor and two editors-at-large soon to peace. The strategy, a source tells them, "is to make it so ridiculously unhospitable that people quit -- they're never fired."

Dig's coup of coups is a leaked editorial memo outlining ways to bring in more advertising without compromising editorial autonomy. Among those uncompromising ideas:

"Make as many photo shoots as possible fashion shoots. Let subjects know that readers will be very interested in their fashion, jewelry, accessory choices or, preferably, dress them. Whether or not we dress them, clothes should be credited. Next list [of influential Harvardians?-Ed.] should be shot this way."

"Profiles through the lens of certain products: The last five electronics gadgets Jim Fallows bought to stay in touch from China, whats in Meg Whitmans briefcase as far as electronic devices, what are the last 10 wines Jen Rubell served at dinner parties; what is on Marisa Noel Browns holiday gift list, Darren Aronofskys ten rules for flying on his private jet."

And then this apocalyptic vision:

"Cover a ridiculous or interesting wedding, first birthday party, retirement party or funeral in every issue. Offer alums incentives to alert us to such events (02138 onesies for new legacy babies)"

Is it our birthday? Feels like it. Thanks, Dig.

02138, the Harvard magazine we're pretty much obligated to hate -- yet unaccountably haven't -- has been quiet lately. The world's most entitled ZIP code put out a second issue, at which we could only bear to glance; the features are okay, sure, but it's becoming increasingly clear that reading each edition is going to be a chore: it really is, on every single page, all about, only about, Harvard. (Even we have our limits.) As for the front-of-the-book, if we wanted to read minimum-effort, thinly-punchlined items about Harvard, we'd read, you know, us.

What happened? Wasn't 02138 supposed to be some kind of runaway success under "extreme talent in the extreme" editor Bom Kim? Didn't the launch issue fairly sweat money, with ads from Maybach?

A clue to the mag's fortunes: the blogs section at 02138mag.com, which launched with seven titles but right now is about as lively as Barbaro. Among the graveyard:

• Annotator: updated once since October
• Scenes: June 8, July 12, and Sept. 20
• Dicta, "A Harvard Blawg": only once, Aug. 28

That's some impressive 21st-century media energy, guys. An 02138 spokesflack gamely tried to tell us that no, they updated three times this week. But that's just Active Duty, an odd military blog that somehow endures. The other six are dark.

"Office"-o-philia seems to be running high these days. It's a Beckett-worthy meditation on modern drudgery. It transcends moldy sitcom formulae. It is the best, ultimate, super-dee-dooperest television program ever forever period.

Fine. But with all this heavy breathing, how come no one has made the (to us at least) blindingly obvious comparison to the Ivy League? Think about it. It's where tired, fleshy folk marinate for years on end. Where the most prized skill is the evasion of work. Where leaders entertain delusions of grandeur, only to be mocked out of earshot. Where desperation mixed with bewilderment breeds ill-fated romance. Sound familiar?

This can't be coincidence -- and it turns out it's not. Producer Greg Daniels? Harvard '85. Boyishly huggable John Krasinski, who plays Jim? Brown '02. Then there's B.J. Novak, half-writer, half-actor, all Harvard ('01). Don't forget Mindy Kaling, Dartmouth '01, and Rashida Jones, Harvard '97, who graced the inaugural cover of 02138. It's like an actual depressing Ivy-littered corporate firm, except, you know, making fun of that.

Thankfully, "The Office" hasn't become the insufferable weekly pummeling of Ivy references that is "The Simpsons." But they do indulge here and there. Andy Bernard, the Ed Helms character who went to Cornell, bragged in one episode that he "never studied, got drunk every night, and still graduated in four years." Maybe we were too hard on the commenters if Cornell-bashing has made it to prime time.

After crashing 02138's launch parties in New York and Boston, we knew we had to complete the trilogy in Washington. We weren't angry at ourselves for giving favorable coverage to the first two -- just disappointed, and you know that always hurts worse. So we went in determined to hate it. Sigh. We tried.

When David Bradley, owner of 02138 and another rag, invites you to party at his home, you don't ask questions. A sampling of the questions we didn't ask: "Is Bradley Manor visible from space?" "Where did those two Maybachs in your driveway come from?" "How would one go about being you?"

The house -- the former Cuban embassy, we hear -- is a secular materialist's conception of heaven: Impressionist paintings. Statuary. Mirrors, everywhere. A chandelier in the kitchen. Wood-paneled bookshelves. Clocks on every other wall. Couches in the kitchen. Ivy spilling out of massive stone-carved furnishings. A roaring fireplace in the kitchen.

As we soaked it all in, the magazine brass shushed the room and told everyone the evening's guests had collectively clocked 325 years at Harvard -- that's, like, 569 in Cornell years! Editor Bom Kim then took a moment to lie with a straight face that this crowd, compared to the New York and Boston launch parties, was way better-looking.

Only two members of the Harvard 100 showed up: Grover Norquist and Walter Isaacson. We were a little disappointed, considering four of the top five live in DC. (That, and we were totally planning to shave one side of Ben Bernanke's face once he'd passed out). As for the rest of the crowd, thank God for name tags.

On the way out, gift bag in hand (We'd been meaning to read The Namesake! They're mind-readers!), we gave in and climbed behind the wheel of one of the two Maybachs. They weren't there to be driven; only felt. And as we sat there, petting the hand-stitched upholstery and making quiet vroom noises for a good two minutes, it occurred to us: This is what it feels like to be David Bradley.

We're so disappointed.

For weeks now we've been unable to sleep, horrified that our account of crashing the 02138launch party didn't hate enough on the widely-considered-obnoxious magazine. SexandtheIvy.com offered to cover the mag's Boston launch for us, and we had our fingers crossed that she would better resist the open bar and write something scathing -- or at least bed one of the staffers. Alas. Her dispatch:

When the Head of the Charles Regatta comes around, Harvard locks down.

But 02138 would hear nothing of that last night. While its alma mater slept in, the new magazine dared to party. Hosted at Via Matta (owner: HBS grad), the Boston launch event saw no celebrity appearances, though alumni did abound. With a slew of Harvard affiliates from almost every school and year, the only demographic that could be pegged down were the "fallen type-As." That is, those who prefer the company of anonymous fellow alumni to interaction with normal human beings.

No sightings of The Harvard 100, but one guest did purport to be number 101. He also claimed aspirations to his own publication, tentatively named after his mother, Bertha. I'd get the p.r. people working on that title if I was him.

"Do they teach awkwardness at Harvard, or do we just come this way?" I asked my companion after a forced conversation with an alum several generations removed. And here I thought Ivy League social disability was a recent development.

We spent the remainder of the evening downing mysteriously weak drinks and talking to the only other normal people in the room (relatively speaking). We met the acquaintance of pg. 20's Republican "policy doctor" Lanhee Chen and introduced ourselves to three chicly dressed, refereshingly amiable staffers. Then we found out that two were Princeton-educated, the other a University of Wisconsin grad. That's gotta explain it.

When the clock struck 9 p.m., we took a look around. Via Matta was, by now, a few guests short of a crowd. I thought the undergraduate social scene was lacking, but is this what life holds for us as alums?

Perhaps next week's launch event in D.C. will be more hopping, but for the rest of the evening, I retreated to a more surefire good time: Happy hour at the Crimson.

This just in from a well-placed tipster, on the promo tendencies of the magazine for people who went to school outside Boston: 

From: [redacted]
To: ivygate@gmail.com
Date: Oct 16, 2006 1:53 PM
Subject: 02138

Someone who was recently named to 02138's Harvard 100, and whom I know well, just received a care package from 01238, including:  a bottle of Glenmorangie single malt scotch, some Molton Brown shower gel courtesy of British Airways, a six month membership in some kind of concierge service, an invitation to test-drive a Maybach, and a letter mistakenly addressed to fellow Harvard-100er Samantha Power.  All courtesy of 02138's advertisers.  Apparently, all those named to the Harvard 100 were sent the same package.

So do you think the direct marketing will work on Bill Gates? Will John Roberts lather up with some eucalyptus shower gel? We bet Pete Seeger will take the Maybach for a spin. Whatever it is, W. probably won't be touching the scotch. 

They say that Harvard is all about exclusivity. Guess no one told that to the people behind last night's 02138 magazine launch party -- 'cause anybody who's anybody was there!!!

Actually, that's not even remotely true. Our list of instantly recognizable celebs glimpsed while crashing the soiree reads, in full:

1. Bill O'Reilly

And he was there for maybe 15 minutes. Look, don't get us wrong -- we're sure the place was lousy with VIPs. We just have no idea who any of them were. The pomegranate martinis were flowing, the ricotta puffs were delish, and that sweetest of Harvard pheromones was in the air: networking. So many egos, one tiny place -- it was like the orgy scene in Eyes Wide Shut, but with business cards. How could we focus on names, or the specific talk show we saw that guy from that thing on? Did we mention there were pomegranate martinis?

Our favorite minutes of the evening came early: 02138 publisher Meredith Kopit hushed the crowd with a toast ... for about 30 seconds. Oh, you poor, deluded UVA soul. These people went to school "outside Boston" -- you think they want to hear you talk? The roar of the chatter almost drowned out her calling launch sponsor Glenmorangie "the Harvard of single malt scotches," apparently unaware that page 24 of her own magazine notes the school spends up to $1 million annually fighting exactly that kind of use of the Harvard name.

As plasma screens flashed faces from the magazine's top 100 alumni list (No. 5, John Roberts; No. 79, Natalie Portman), we made the rounds from media types to jewelers to 02138 staffers (all of whom seemed fun and funny, damn them) in the close quarters of the Core Club, on East 55th Street in Manhattan. Quickly enough, the scene turned into just another media cocktail party, the Harv-audacity seemed to wane, and we gradually lost the urge to hurl ourselves through the tasteful glass bookshelves/walls of the fourth floor onto the street below.

(Only one thing got away: There was a tall man, bald on top with a teeny little ponytail, who everyone swore was super-important, but no one knew his name. We heard him say only two things, both to no one in particular: "The iceman -- the iceman cometh!" and, later, "La la la la [tongue roll]." Those are direct quotes. We'll try to figure out his identity and get back to you.)

The most telling sign the event was pure Harvard? When we had our picture taken by a pro, and told him our name was "Blake Goodie," the photographer didn't bat an eye.

SHOCKING SHYAMALAN-LIKE TWIST ENDING: On the subway home, drunk and tired, we finally pulled a folded copy of 02138 from our back pocket and began to read. Page after page, story after item after charticle, we realized, to our horror ...

The magazine itself?

It's really good.

We're no longer 0213haters.

TO BE CONTINUED!