This week The Eye (weekly magazine of the Columbia Spectator) investigates the eerily eugenics-y world of Ivy League egg donation via pseudonymic sorority girl Alex Greenbaum:

How has she been feeling since her egg-removal surgery in September? She takes a long gulp from her Ethos water bottle and pauses for a few seconds. “You know, I felt like shit for days,” she finally says. “But they were able to extract 10 eggs from me… my check just cleared, so that’s $9,000 I can put to post-graduation travel and apartment-hunting.”

Alex’s financial woes stem from her lack of a “viable major” (fertility jargon infecting every area of her life, apparently) and “My parents said they won’t pay for my BlackBerry [after graduation].” Kind of makes you miss the good old days, when impoverished lady students just plain whored themselves for extra cash, right? Like high-end prostitution, high-end egg donation requires a certain nubile je ne sais— oh, who are we kidding. We know exactly which quoi they want, and it’s the same Barbie doll nonsense as everywhere else. In Alex’s words:

“If I was short, overweight, or a minority, I’m sure I wouldn’t have found immediate success or made that much money to start. I made more money than what’s typical because I was deemed an ‘ideal type’ by the agency.”

As the article continues, the only thing creepier than the $500K payday “for an Ivy League donor who was taller than 5 feet 10 inches and scored at least a 1400 on her SATs” is author Sadia Latifi’s rhapsodic description of Greenbaum’s statuesque Aryan glory. (Despite “50-percent Jewy-ness” — a minority who doesn’t resemble a minority! Jackpot!) Read the rest of this entry »

It’s hard to hate on Andrew Bujalski, Harvard ‘98. Maybe that’s why film critics, seduced by his effortlessly fawkward dialogue and pasty-face characters, seem to forget all English words except “generation,” “poet,” “authentic,” “Cassavetes” and “zeitgeist,” which isn’t even English. The guy’s new movie, “Mutual Appreciation,” got a 100 percent rating on Rotten Tomatoes. (Meanwhile the brilliant “The Skulls” got a seven. Sometimes we want to climb up a clocktower.) Come on, people! Where’s the dissent? Will no one step up and hate Andrew Bujalski?

Fine, if you insist.

How to Make an Andrew Bujalski Film: First, choose the six most annoying people you know. One of them should be marginally attractive, if only when backlit. Next, think of the ten most insignificant conflicts imaginable (like a Froot Loop fell on the floor, or you forgot to pick the lint out of the dryer filter). Now outline a series of conversations dealing with those conflicts and shuffle the pages into a random order. Inject your actors with Quaaludes before shooting. Onset, avoid tripods and well-lit areas. If an actor accidentally finishes a sentence or makes a coherent point, yell “cut!” and start over. Repeat until famous.

Disclaimer: We actually admire Bujalski’s work. Grudgingly. True story, though: two film buff friends of ours, in a fit of rage after watching his film “Funny Ha Ha,” microwaved the videocassette.

Cornell Cornell President David J. Skorton has, if nothing else, huge balls. First he sleeps among the unwashed fresh-masses, now he ventures off into the drug-doing, brow-piercing, Morcheeba-listening, God-hating, cross-dressed (but otherwise naked) den of iniquity that is Risley Hall.

Our undercover Cornellespondents tell us that Skorton and his wife, Robin L. Davisson, dined chez Risley last night. When they entered the dining hall, one student reportedly sprung up from his table and gushed over Ms. Davisson: “You’re beautiful! You make Jackie Onassis look like a crack whore!” (Kind words, but you be the judge.)

They then proceeded to eat dinner as ironically as possible.