Dressing Up Like a Mardi Gras Mental Patient and Hitting People With Light Sabers is Art, Okay?

Ivy League students with God complexes are a dime a dozen, but Ivy League students that dress up like Sun Gods and run around waving light sabers are another story. That’s what Johnathan Recor, a graduate student at Dartmouth, likes to do in his free time–although his term for it is “art,” and he’s doing it for “love.” (Huh. Like that excuse hasn’t already been beaten to death by Woodstock hippies and necrophiliacs.)

Recor–who has been lurking in the shadows of Dartmouth walloping people with his light stick for a few years now–just posted a new video on YouTube. It’s pretty, uh, epic. It also sort of implies that he is Jesus. Anyone who wants to avoid watching clips from The Passion of the Christ should probably quit after about five minutes in:

Hey, it’s art, people. Don’t kill him for it–because if you do, you might have to wait a bazillion years for a Third Coming. You know, just in case he’s actually Jesus.

Harvard Student Tells World That Harvard Does, In Fact, Suck

Every once in a while, some poor sadsack will break his way out of the Harvard dungeon, and try to tell the world that Cambridge is actually a freaky Stepford hellhole where people wear crimson sweatshirts because they hide the blood. Usually this does nothing more than give Yale a superiority hard-on. But this time the sadsack is a Harvard junior named Alexander Heffner, and this time he’s writing for US. News and World Report.

Heffner’s piece, which has been making the rounds on the Internet, says what most of us already know about going to Harvard: don’t. His biggest complaints concern the faculty/student ratio in most classes, and the fact that people would rather gather in little groups and flash their Final Club rings à la Type-A Captain Planet than talk to you in the dining hall. Heffner writes:

Click here to find out more!For nearly the past three years, I have been a student at Harvard, a university whose formula for undergraduate prestige has created an international reputation far beyond that of even its closest competitors. But as any undergraduate who actually attends the school knows, the Harvard education is overrated. Harvard’s traditional emblem of Veritas, in practice, is a one-dimensional search for truth that weds students more to cold facts than to their teachers or classmates.

….For three centuries, Harvard has led a masterful public relations campaign to claim the mantle of what is best in American education, even if that means less community, less intimate interaction with professors and classmates, less “we” and more “me.” In reality, more often than not, faculty here are inaccessible, students are unengaged interpersonally, and two way education is an anathema.

Down with cold facts! IvyGate hates those. Heffner isn’t the first to express ambivalence about his chosen education, or remark publicly on his unhappiness. Complaining about Harvard seems to be a requirement of attending Harvard, in the same way that owning a Ferrari gives you license to bitch about the price of premium gas. But Heffner, to be clear, isn’t looking for sympathy. He’s trying to warn the girls over at Harvard, Please that they should tranquilize themselves while they’ve still got the chance:

Don’t make the same mistake. If you receive a notice of acceptance from the Harvard admissions office next month, enjoy the moment, but consider how disappointed you may be three years from now. If you aren’t accepted, or if you never applied, consider yourself fortunate: you will receive a better education in the bargain.

Just in case you’re starting to think that Heffner is some kind of grassroots hillbilly with a full scholarship and a heart of gold who woke up one day to find his nose to the Harvard grindstone, we should probably also tell you that the kid went to Andover. And if his raves about its intimacy are any judge, apparently courses at Andover consist of sleepover powwows on the area rug and fresh-baked cookies from somebody’s grandma:

I remember being impressed by the student-teacher ratio—small classes, sometimes just four or five people—and by learning so much about and from each other. I often feel obliged to tell people, even if they don’t ask, that it was Andover (not Harvard) that taught to me to think and write critically.

We don’t want to disparage Heffner too much, because he has a point about those huge lecture courses–it’s hard to do anything but play Sporcle and sporadically drool. But that’s the beauty of an Ivy League education, no? Skip the kumbaya and go straight for the bonus! We’re betting Heffner will last another week before Harvard calls in its PR SWAT team–or before he’s sacrificed and eaten by a group of rabid McKinsey interns.

Princeton’s Debaucherous Cannon Club Returns! Well, Maybe

Back in 1973, Princeton’s venerable Cannon Club–not a backwoods haunt for Civil War reenacters, but an eating club for swanky Tigers–sadly shut its doors for good. Or did it? Yes, it did. Or did it? Yes, it did. Or did it? Yes, it motherfucking did, for the love of God.

…OR DID IT?

No, it did not! Aha! After about a bazillion empty threats to reopen over the past few years, the Cannon Club is finally, finally, finally going to resume its status as a glorified mess hall for Princeton keg warriors. The graduate trustee board–ever the eager spokesgroup–has sent an email to Princeton freshmen announcing the return of the club during the 2011-2012 academic year. The club been rebranded the Cannon Dial Elm Club following a consolidation with the nearby Dial Lodge and Elm Club (two other defunct eating clubs). It will be as exclusive as it’s always pretended to be, with an acceptance estimate of roughly 110 students.

And this time, the board is serious when they say it’s back. We know that because they used caps lock a lot, like when they wrote this:

WE ENCOURAGE YOU TO COMPLETE AND SUBMIT YOUR APPLICATION THIS SPRING AT YOUR EARLIEST CONVENIENCE. YOU SHOULD NOT WAIT UNTIL NEXT FALL.

Don’t wait! Apply today! Tomorrow the building may be blasted into oblivion by a gigantic spaceship full of alien muskrats. You should probably email your application, because all paper will likely be incinerated. But wait, there’s more!

Read the rest of this entry »

IvyLeagueBitch is Like Montaigne, if Montaigne Were a Hot Chick

We’re always looking for fellow Ivy League snarkoleptics, and so we’re thrilled to have found a kindred spirit in the hellaciously funny @IvyLeagueBitch. ILB is the would-be Gossip Girl of the Ivy scene (seriously–she signs her emails “X No X No”), with a healthy helping of scorn for J. Press and CollegeACB. Recent examples of her wisdom include:

Anyone know somebody with H1N1 that I can make out with before my midterms tomorrow? Everybody wins.

And:

The library has been taken over by Asians and there’s nowhere to sit. I’m pulling the fire alarm.

And:

I got into Princeton, but I’m scared of guidos.

We love this shit, obviously, so we got in touch with IvyLeagueBitch to ask her a few questions about her sass.

IvyGate: What’s your relationship to the Ivy League? Are you undergrads/nostalgic alums/beat poets who hang around in campus bars during the day?
IvyLeagueBitch: Well, one of my ancestors founded Harvard, so that’s one relation. Let’s see…my maternal great-grandfather has a building at Yale, and my father was president of St. A’s at Columbia during his senior year. I also currently attend an Ivy League university. Do I sound like a dirty beat poet? Jack Kerouac is so last century.

Now the ten-cent Captain Obvious question: what made you start this Twitter account?
Well, I was actually quite late on the Twitter train; I mean, why would I care about what other people are thinking and/or doing? It’s like, “Sorry, I’d rather finish Aeschylus.” But then, I thought, why wouldn’t anyone care what I think and/or do? So I totally started this Twitter during my study break from Stats (gross).

Read the rest of the interview after the jump! Read the rest of this entry »

Ivy League Dating Website Promises to Help You Meet Your Sugar Daddy

Forget money: all you need to buy love these days is an Ivy League diploma. At least that’s the word according to IvyDate.com, a new online matchmaking site for (you guessed it) Ivy League alums.

IvyDate was founded by two graduates of Harvard Business School, which–given that school’s sheer abundance of white-collared yuppies with $500 glasses and $2,000 laptops and ten cents of common sense and zero percent compounded interest in the sex department–frankly surprises no one. Beri Meric & Philipp Triebel, both former investment bankers (which also explains a lot), have thrown themselves into the business of Your Sad Pathetic Love Life with a blessed fervor characteristic of coked-up, laid-off wheeler-dealer types. Their big sell is to help you have the social life you never had because you were too busy being an Ivy Leaguer:

We developed our idea for IvyDate based on the fact that exceptional singles often sacrifice romance for their careers and community. So we set out to create a simple, easy-to-use, members-only platform that makes outstanding romantic connections a reality for highly driven men and women who value intellectual curiosity, love of learning, drive, and determination.

Meric, Treibel and their dedicated team of Harvard-grad lackeys do all the work for their clients: there are no databases to peruse, no sketchy emails from Bob@ILoveNathanHale.net. Instead the folks at IvyDate spend hours mysteriously matching up “likeminded (sic) individuals” in dark smoky rooms behind closed doors in the dead of night at the top of the Tower of London. Or something.

The site, which is based in New York, London and Boston, has expanded its list of qualifying schools to include MIT, Stanford, Oxford, Cambridge, and the London School of Economics. That says a lot about the sorts of people involved in this Ivy-League-Yenta trading-card game: not only are they very choosy about college sweatshirts, but they’re also quite keen on dental health care and 401(k)s. They also don’t mind pimples and robots. Hey, there’s no way we’re getting dental in this line of work–where do we sign up?

Oh, wait. You have to be accepted before you can meet your future Daddy Warbucks:

We review all prospective members, and award membership to a diverse range of exceptional individuals with truly engaging profiles.

Well shit. Guess that excludes everyone who isn’t a former investment banker from Harvard Business School.

In Heartfelt Display of Friendship, Princeton Swim Team Gets Naked and Lip-Syncs to Katy Perry

We at IvyGate are cynical people. And ordinarily when Princeton students decide to film themselves acting like fools in public places, we have no problem whipping out said enormous cynicism and cockslapping them with it. But even we occasionally feel genuine emotions, and this video made by the Princeton swim team for their sick teammate has made us feel–dare we say it–gooey.

The video features members of the swim team in various states of undress and/or various colors of J. Crew pullover, all lip-syncing to Katy Perry’s “Teenage Dream.” If all this weren’t on behalf of teammate Daniel Hasler, we’d all be asking ourselves why the swim team is doing water ballet and making cardboard construction hearts instead of, oh, swimming. But given the context, we’re wondering instead whether Hasler is some kind of sex slave.

…Which would not be a bad thing at all, frankly, considering some of those washboard abs. Our heart grew three sizes today. Or at least, something grew three sizes. Check out the video below (and make sure to stay tuned for the hilarious outtakes at the end):

The Social Network Inspires Harvard Final Clubs to Be More Depraved, Kind Of

IvyGate founder Nick Summers may have moved on to bigger and better things, but he clearly hasn’t forgotten his roots. Our alumnus emeritus has picked up his old Ivy League mace for a story for The Daily Beast, in which he exposes the chilling truth about Harvard final clubs: namely that they’re exclusive, they’re boozy, and they’re a lot like the clubs in The Social Network. Except for the parts where people have sex, obviously.

Summers reports that Harvard students were seriously jazzed about director David Fincher’s attention to detail, and impressed that he got so much right. By “got so much right,” we actually mean that he titillated them with strategically placed stickers on fireplaces. Actually. In fact, the only thing that Fincher missed the mark on was “the degree of depravity” at final club parties.

That may be changing, though. Apparently the clubs were so inspired by their depiction in the film that they’ve taken to the sorts of antics that only Winklevii can pull off with aplomb. For instance:

Last semester, with The Social Network and its sexed-up Harvard in theaters, alcohol-poisoning incidents originating at final clubs nearly doubled, according to a college tutor who has seen the privately held statistics.

But don’t worry, parents and prep-schoolers! Harvard’s still classy, as evidenced by its disdain for anything remotely intellectually passé and/or below their pay grade:

Meanwhile, Zuckerberg himself has become something of a punchline. A full class has turned over since he dropped out, so to current undergrads, he’s just another billionaire alum at a school with a lot of them.

Lots of billionaires, lots of alcohol, no overt depravity? Final clubs sound like day spas. Fortunately there’s hope for at least one group: @HarvardHoochies, a.k.a. monomaniacal husband-hunting crazy girls who stalk the final club members and then tweet about it. (Now that’s something we’d pay $10.25 to see.)

BREAKING: Lupe Fiasco to Perform at Yale’s Spring Fling

Yale’s Spring Fling Committee has yet to release the official lineup for this year’s Spring Fling, but it looks like Lupe Fiasco is already doing his warm-up exercises. The rapper has added Yale to the list of upcoming shows on his website, suggesting that either (a) he’ll be onstage on April 26, being all thug-life for throngs of Yale’s hipster bootyshakers, or (b) he’s coming to see whoever’s actually performing.

Either way, Yale’s not pleased, seeing as how they were trying to keep  mum about the whole thing. The Yale College Council’s events director, Michael Chao, declined to comment, but he got a little twitchy when we asked him. Someone’s publicist’s assistant is gonna have hell to pay, yo.

Yale Hackers Singlehandedly Take Down Game of Assassins, Thereby Winning Game of Assassins

The Sophomore Class Council at Yale learned an important lesson today: don’t give Elis weapons and challenge them to kill each other. Especially if some of those Elis are Computer Science majors.

The Yale Daily News reports that the SCC was forced to shut down their grade-wide game of Assassins, ELIminate, because people were hacking into official email accounts and sending phishy emails to their classmates. Apparently the council’s first mistake was to email all the game’s participants from the address eli.mination2011@gmail.com, which was promptly ripped off by con artists, and eventually just plain hacked. A council member then tried to shift communication to her own Yale email account, and that was hacked too.

ELIminate has since been canceled indefinitely. We’re not fussed about that, frankly, because we’ve never understood why people think this game is fun. One minute you’re snug in your bed like a little Hot Pocket, and the next you’re standing on the fire escape of the Languages building in your underwear, holding a water gun shaped like a dolphin and clutching an emergency sock grenade. Unless you’re also in a parody of a porn video, that situation probably won’t have a happy ending.

More concerning and/or inspiring, perhaps, is the fact that Yale student email accounts are more vulnerable than a sack of sedated kittens. Either that, or Yale’s Comp Sci department has way more chops than anyone could have fathomed. We prefer the latter, because we sort of like the idea that the Ivy League is marshaling a secret army of nerds to ambush the Second Life campus of MIT.

One final note of caution to Yalies: in real life, assassins use anthrax and sniper rifles. This does not count as training for the CIA.

Cornell Students Fall In Love, Things Get Big and Red

Remember the time that Cornell students were all awkwardly in-our-faces about how much sexy sex they had with their vag rings and pink betties? (Oh wait. That was yesterday.) Judging from this Valentine’s-Day-themed page at the official site for Cornell alumni, they’ve got a lot of sexy sexless babymaking to look forward to.

The page invites Cornell alums to share their “Big Red Love stories” about other Cornell students. Big red love sounds like the kind of love you should probably see a doctor about, because it might turn out to be chlamydia. But for anyone who still thinks that Cornell sweats are the world’s most effective chastity belt, we now have real evidence that not all of them die virgins alone:

Priscilla and I were both new Freshmen when we met during orientation. We stayed in the same dorm and always had a connection. That connection blossomed into a wonderful relationship and we have now been married for almost 10 years. Our first date was on Valentine’s Day when she invited me to a movie and bought me a Ring Pop. To this day, we watch The Wedding Singer on Valentine’s Day and reminisce about our first date 13 years ago in Ithaca.

How quaint and 1990 of them. We haven’t used Ring Pops as sex toys since the third grade, but hey, we were advanced for our age. Or this one:

I was struggling with my German class and knew Nate was also taking German. I innocently asked if he would be my tutor and he not so innocently agreed. After a few tutoring sessions we starting hanging out more. Nate being a Vermont boy and me a city girl I asked if he would take me on a night walk to see some deer. Lucky for him we spotted some on the golf course near North Campus. And that is where it all began. We have been married 7 1/2 years and have a 2 1/2 year old son who only cheers “Go Cornell” no matter what sporting event he is watching and no matter which teams are playing (usually not Cornell at all).

Attention world: if someone ever asks you to go on a long walk in the middle of the night in a forest to go “see some deer,” bring mace. At least they’re raising their son to be a good Cornell student–he’ll know how to cheer for nonexistent victories, which is indispensable.

One thought predominates when we read this stuff: Christ on a bagel, are we supposed to be meeting the loves of our lives right now? Why are we in our sour little rooms writing this crap when we could be having big red love? …And then we remember that there’s nothing to do in Ithaca but go on long deer-watching walks, and we feel better.