Word: fm
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...time you hold this magazine in your hands, I will be holding something else in mine: a very serious problem. I will no longer be part of Fifteen Minutes. Or, at the very most, if I’m lucky, I’ll graduate from FM co-chair to FM legend. But everybody knows most legends are either actually or effectively dead...
...joined FM before I joined a concentration, before I decided which roommate was my “favorite.” The magazine has been the single unchanging fact of my college experience ever since. Roommate favorites come and roommate favorites go. Love interests fade in and out and then they’re gone. But FM keeps on keeping...
...Like the FM editors, I was obsessed with taking nothing seriously, and I worked very hard to make sure everyone knew it. So relentlessly did I make fun of my surroundings that barely one month into my freshman year I contributed to a cover story making fun of freshmen. “Sorry, what’s a handle?” I remember asking my editor shortly after penning the sentence: “His room, with its throbbing hip-hop beat and many self-consciously collegiate posters advertising four years of a raging party, seems closer...
Without a key to a multi-million-dollar mansion on Mt. Auburn Street, it can be difficult to find a community at Harvard. FM is mine. I love this magazine if nothing else because it loves me back. Sometimes the relationship is shaky. I have mixed feelings about the times I made fun of freshmen, about the times I boldly bragged about being “quite the practiced masturbator” by the age of nine. I think this magazine sometimes takes life too lightly, over-analyzes too earnestly, mocks too mercilessly, and prints pictures of casual sex acts...
...conclusion: Am I normal? Yes I am. Am I going to miss FM? Yes I will. Why don’t more women masturbate? I have no fucking clue...