Autumn in New Hope, Pennsylvania, originally uploaded by lenachen.

The Game — as in the granddaddy of college football rivalries — is tomorrow so I’m leaving for Yale today at 5 p.m. with ZAP and my blockmates JB, Terra, and Sue to cheer for the (clearly) better school. Yesterday’s Fifteen Minutes, The Harvard Crimson’s weekend magazine, featured me and three classmates in their list of 15 People FM Wants To See Streak At Harvard-Yale:

6) Matthew L. Sundquist ’09. You may be running uncontested [for the Undergraduate Council presidency], but let’s see you run naked. (Sidenote: another junior has since announced his candidacy)
…
9) The True Love Revolution team, because we can only assume that you guys are getting a lot of exercise, or running around a lot.

10) Lena Chen ’09, because we assume you too are getting a lot of exercise, if of a different kind, and because you have to make a requisite appearance on any list about Harvard nudity.

11) Peter C. “Petros” Shields ’09. The boy can apparently make his body glow.

I’m not streaking (I save that for the biannual Primal Scream) but I’ve always wanted to be on the same list as Petros. Wish fulfilled!

Anyway, I’m not a huge football fan but this is the one time a year when I try to fake it as best I can. It’s also always fun to invade someone else’s campus (especially when mocking its glaringly imitative similarities to your own). Between Penn last weekend and Yale tomorrow, the past week and half has been a veritable Ivy tour.

When I get a chance, I’m posting pictures from my visit to the Social Ivy, which included a jaunt to New Hope, Pennsylvania (see above). I’ve also started to use Flickr again which I gave up on a few months ago because I didn’t see its point if I posted most photos on both Facebook. I think I’ll keep both accounts up since there’s a split between my older/web-savvy pals and my college friends on which service to use. (I actually prefer Flickr but requests for tagging makeme feel more obligated to post photos on Facebook).

I don’t know how I feel about hosting images on my website. It’s kind of cluttery and it’s a THIRD place to upload things. I am literally repeating the same action over and over again. Besides, just getting pictures on my computer itself is a huge pain in the ass and iPhoto runs sooo slowly on my PowerBook. Anyone photo-savvy have advice?

In terms of the New Haven party circuit for Harvard-Yale weekend, it seems like just about everyone I know is going to be at “Foul Play” (hosted by the Phoenix at Alchemy) tonight. I’m actually going with JB to the gay party “The Urge to Merge” at Oracle instead. I haven’t figured out sleeping accommodations yet but I think I’m going to be crashing at Mather’s sister house (Harvard and Yale dorms have sibs). I’d find Currier’s sister but my blockmates are all Mather-affiliated and none of my adopted Quad blockmates are heading to New Haven.

Go Crimson!

I don’t know what the typical college experience is like, but whatever it is, I certainly haven’t found it at Harvard, nor did I expect to. Here, our girls get decked out in pearls, and our guys party in loafers. Your standard dorm room comes equipped with an 18th century fireplace. Everyone writes a thesis. Half of us graduate virgins. Dartmouth may have inspired Animal House, but Cambridge is no frat party.

In fact, sometimes I forget altogether that I’m in college. At a place like Harvard, it’s easy to get caught up in the future, so much so that you overlook the present. I’ve only been here a little over two years, but I feel like I’ve grown at least four. Maybe growing up is supposed to feel exponential at this age, but I’m positive that the effect has been heightened by the adult-sized pressure everyone at Harvard places on themselves.

More often than not, my friends act too old for our own good, so much so that sometimes I actually yearn for a bout of immaturity. Sure, we’re geniuses, future leaders, the American dream, whatever, but a ton of us are also hitting the gas on life and going way too fast to enjoy the ride. For all that we get accomplished at Harvard, we miss out big on just college. I’m not even talking about parties and sex and all that cliche stuff that goes on in the movies, but about important things, like penciling in time to do absolutely nothing or figuring out each other instead of problem sets.

Last night was a good reminder of what Harvard might look like at its best. Harvard played Brown in our school’s first nighttime football match and everyone showed up to watch. We won, but I’m not sure that even matters, because the number of students in attendance was a victory in itself. And here I thought we were too jaded for that school spirit bullshit. My peers regularly inspire me with their talent and intellect, but I think the most impressive thing they’ve done in a while is putting away the books to attend a football game. Yesterday, everyone bled Crimson. I really hope this is indicative of the rest of the year, that it’s not just autumn optimism but a lasting desire among my peers for balance between 20-something kid-dom and post-grad adulthood. Because really, Ivy League or not, Harvard is still just college.

I mean it this time! My interhouse transfer request for Currier just got approved today so it’s official. No more half-hearted attempts to camp out at CK’s Cabot single, no more sneaking into Currier dining hall. Baby, I’m a Quadling.

It feels like I’m getting into college all over again. I don’t care what all you naive rising sophomores say; I’ve won the housing lottery. This is amazing.

In honor of the occasion, here is a photo of me on the Quad lawn this spring, expressing my obvious glee for my surroundings:

Junior year can’t be anything short of awesome. CurrierWire, watch out.

My lack of blog entries over the past week can be attributed to end-of-the-year madness: partly because of late papers, mostly because of a backbreaking moveout from Mather.

Yesterday: Packing and moving from 10am to 8pm. No breaks for meals.

Today: More of the same from 11am to 5pm.

I like my dresses, makeup, and shiny objects like any gal, but I’m not exactly so high-maintanence that I’m above manual labor. I’m perfectly cool with carrying my own stuff. The problem is that I’m not actually physically capable of lifting all my luggage/furniture. That’s what guy friends are for. Unfortunately, by the time Sue and I got around to business, everyone we knew had already left campus.

I used to think that college students who hired movers were spoiled. (Hello, we’re young and robust!) Now I know better. Calling someone to get my shit out of a third-floor walkup and into a fourth-floor walkup six blocks away? More than worth $50.

So, I’m moving AGAIN on Tuesday. This time, several hundred miles to Manhattan for the summer. Can barely express my excitement about the next few months. I can’t believe sophomore year is officially done and I’ve left Mather for good (depending on how the inter-house transfer to Currier goes). In August, I turn 20. When the hell did this happen?

This weekend harkens back to freshman spring. For the most part, I’ve been on a sober, monogamous, responsible streak. Maybe it was Cece’s visit during Mather Lather and my subsequent reintroduction to binge drinking. Maybe it was the festive year-end mood. Maybe it was my enabling friends. Whatever the case, this past weekend was more alcoholic than any other this year. Sure, I’ve had my blackout moments but it’s been a long time since a three-day streak with a different cock and cocktail each night.

Which isn’t to say that I broke the no-sex rule (let’s assume for a moment that oral doesn’t count). I just engaged in a lot of making out a la high school. It was kind of fun, I must admit. Besides the serious damage at Currier Formal (five glasses wine, a Lemon Drop, and a White Russian), I was going strong Friday with a sangria-fueled Quad-a-thon.

Things Lena Did Friday Night (probably not completely in order):
1. Drink three full Solo cups of sangria at Mather Happy Hour. Start feeling good.
2. Put on ridiculously short minidress with ridiculously tall stilettos
3. Quad Quad Quad with ZAP ZAP ZAP
4. Make out with male acquaintance at door of No Pants Dance
5. Make out with another male acquaintance inside No Pants Dance
6. Forget the name of second male acquaintance. Ask friend. Resume making out.
7. At some point in evening, yell at/hit Riley in the face seven or eight times. With permission.
8. Order $50 worth of sushi.
9. Consume $50 worth of sushi.
10. Ply Kay with alcohol. Unsuccessfully.
11. Go home with male acquaintance whose name I only vaguely remember at this point.
12. Get oral sex.
13. Tell him there’s no way I’m going down on him. (Sorry!)
14. Or so much as touching his dick. (Sorry again!)
15. Ask him mid-hookup — totally seriously — “You don’t happen to have a girlfriend, do you?”
16. Get more oral sex.
17. Realize that there’s been sexual tension between us for over a year. This is it?! Disappointed.
18. Roll over as he talks about his commitment issues and how he’s really not that bad a guy. Could care less.
19. Wake up in the morning. It is 12pm and all I have to wear are the ridiculous mini dress and the ridiculous stilettos.
20. His roommate walks in on me while I’m in a t-shirt and thong. Thanks.
21. Am invited to lunch in the dining hall with his roommates. Riiiight.
22. Attempt the Quad to Mather Walk of Shame in ridiculous minidress and stilettos. Get honked at. A lot.
23. Am complimented on ridiculous stilettos (purple peep-toes) by girl coming out of Leverett Dining Hall. Feel slightly validated.
24. Realize last night’s hookup has probably told all his roommates that we had sex in 80 positions. Hate him intensely.
25. Immediately email friends my account of the evening.

Anyhow, I can’t have more than one of these weekends a semester. It’s way too draining. Besides, I really prefer regularity over a half dozen kissing partners, even if all that means is a three-week Reading Period fling.