Word: labeled
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...cantankerous friend of mine once whined that it takes an “institution” to get people at Harvard to even consider hanging out together. By this she meant that we tend toward things that have a label, that are officially stamped as worthwhile or at least excusable by the powers that be, that fit nicely onto our resumes and succinctly into sentences explaining what exactly we have done with our time on earth. She complained, for example, that no one would waste his or her time having a lengthy intellectual debate unless it was for a debate...
...understandable why the realist might steer away from the label of realism, particularly in time of terrorism and war. Realism is a fuzzy thing; it can accommodate both darkness and light. On the dark side, it denotes cynicism, indifference to higher principles, opportunism. On the positive side, though, it implies a lack of dogmatism or ideological blinders, an ability to respond to the world as it actually is. (See photos of Obama's visit to Asia...
...Egyptian is not a label with which Abu Daoud (not his real name) identifies. Many of the Bedouin tribes who populate this mountainous desert region of the northern Sinai Peninsula, where Egypt shares a tense border with Israel and the Gaza Strip, have long been at odds with their government in Cairo. (Watch a video on the tunnel smugglers of the Gaza Strip...
...president of the Harvard College American Music Association (HCAMA), and Deborah Foster, a Folklore and Mythology senior lecturer who helped adapt the department’s annual symposium to feature bluegrass music. Brown and her husband Garry West, co-founders of Compass Records—a record label that specializes in part in bluegrass music—will join scholars to discuss the roots of the genre. The day will culminate with an evening performance by Clint W. Miller ’11, Brown, legendary bluegrass fiddler Bobby Hicks, and mandolinist Sam Bush—who is credited with...
Wispy and delicate, Charlotte Gainsbourg rushes into the lobby of Paris' Hotel Montalembert looking like she might collapse under the weight of her enormous fur coat. Seeing two representatives from her record label, she delivers four decidedly froid air-kisses. "No more interviews," she says, clearly exhausted from the weeks she has spent promoting her new album IRM. Once upstairs in a suite, however, she seems to relax, stripping down to a T-shirt and crouching on her knees, sphinx-like. Would she like the sofa or a chair, perhaps? "Non," she says. "The floor is fine...