I love dogs, and I dote on my children. But when our daughter started to beg for a dog for her sixteenth birthday, I was determined to resist.

“All I want is a dog. Nothing else. Nothing,” said Charlotte, used to getting her way with her parents. What Charlotte really wanted was a cat, but her father, Jack, claims to be allergic to them. Being resourceful, Charlotte went on the American Kennel Club website to find a breed that was as much like a cat as possible. She found what she was looking for and began to ply me with offhand remarks like “Pomeranians are exceptionally trainable” and “Sixteen is one of the most important birthdays of all.”

We all need to keep up our shapely figures. But this can be hard with the barrage of sweet treats we’re force-fed at work parties. Combine your gorging on ice cream cake for breakfast and that sitting upright has begun to make you wheeze means you might need to reevaluate your current exercise regime. You

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For countless generations, the romantic poetry of the Greek lyric poet Sappho (c. 630-c. 570 BCE) has tickled the ears of man and woman alike. Recent generations have misinterpreted her work as reflecting the demons of homosexuality; right-thinking scholarship, however, begs to differ. It is my purpose in this introduction, therefore, to dispel any and all scandalous rumors regarding the poet, our beloved matriarch and muse.

Though later exported to Japan by St. Francis Xavier (1506-1552 CE), the haiku poetic form dates back to ancient Greece. St. Cacostomos of Lydia writes in his compendious second-century Lives of the Lesbians that the pagan people of Anatolia claim the haiku was given to them by their god Hedone, daughter of Eros and Psyche. A common greeting amongst the heathens of this time, ‘ηδονη κυδος (hedone kudos—lit. “pleasure which is heard of,” perhaps used as a question, implying “Have you heard of pleasure?”), was often shortened to simply he~ku in speech.

The University wasn’t too impressed that I had taught the monkey to speak. No matter what I did, they always required more.

I knew that when I taught Chester to clean my office, put away my books, sweep up the cookie crumbs, and make neat piles of paper on my desk, it wasn’t going to impress the department. But I couldn’t lose with that, so I considered it my first success, regardless.

Everyone knows about the history of Ham Sandwich, left unconsumed in the department break room on the afternoon of December 12th when its then owner, Dr. Perry Birmbo, decided to go out to lunch with colleagues. As most know, the deli-sliced, pumpernickel housed entrée—whose genius had until then gone entirely unnoticed—went on to receive its Ph.D. in Comparative Literature from Yale in 1960. From its beginning as part of the incoming class of ’54, the sandwich defied all expectations by becoming the John Newsmith Fellow in ’56, the winner of the third-year teaching award in ’59, and the recipient of the Dana D. Hampsted Prize for the best dissertation by a non-eating member since Mary Veneble’s teacup had stolen the show in 1892. The rest, involving the mounting accusations of anti-Semitism that led to the “Bad Air Affair” and Sandwich’s subsequent precipitous plummet from public grace in the recent months, is popular knowledge.