Am I the only one disturbed by the treatment of Iranian President Ahmadinejad at the hands of Columbia University? Rallied on by a faux-humble Bollinger ("I am but a mere university professor... who happens to be president of this university"), the students peppered their visiting diplomat with questions: do you want to wipe israel off the map, do you hate gays? Meanwhile, student protestors outside were angry Columbia had given "voice" to the Iranian President because of current Iranian policies. Protestors demanded Columbia retract the invitation to speak.

But Columbia University officials held fast and allowed the diplomat to speak only to use it as an opportunity to heckle him. You would think that our nation's elite universities would be populated with the intelligent and open-minded. People who would want to here what Ahmadinejad had to say himself. The closest recorded sentiment to that was a student on NPR yesterday who said "We have freedom of speech so I guess I want to hear what he says, so then I can get really mad".

And this from Columbia University, a university plagued with its own dirty history of suppression of freedom of speech, quotas limiting jewish admission, zero percent acceptance of black applicants, and blatant pro-nazi support in the not so distant past.

Columbia was an embarassment. This certainly wouldn't have happened at Yale or Harvard.

At 34 her ovaries were conspiring against her. You would think for a boring person with boring dreams, she would have no difficulty finding an equally boring soulmate to share a boring life together. And yet, she was single. She picked the wrong guys.

She had sex with men she found on the internet. She swore they were great. She told all of us, her trusted coworkers, of the men she held hands with. How their souls touched. How that very night, before they had sex, he had told her that he did, afterall, want to have children sometime. And how, the next, he called at 11:30p because he missed her so much and wouldn't she mind if he stopped by, pardon the hour, to see her again.

They lay panting after their session. His naked hand in hers, he leaned towards her and whispered, this is nice. This is nice, but, you see there is this other girl... And instead of throwing him out, she raised an eyebrow. This other girl is alot older, and you are prettier, but she makes a lot more money...

The next guy, was the same story. Except, when he invited her home, he drugged her had sex with her and then kicked her out of the house to drive home in a spinning world of blinking lights and fuzzy feeling textures. But he meant so well.

My coworker was recently dumped. The story of their meeting was classic hollywood. Witty banter over a petty offense, a humble exchange with smiles and awkward pauses and shuffled feet, and a parting only to reunite by fortuitous and arbitrary circumstances. He was a triathelete student with a bright and promising business future, and she, like me, was a slave to the 80-90 hr work week. Of Human Bondage, William Somerset Maugham didn't know shit.

It was probably more out of schadenfreude than concern that I asked how it happened. Single people, as do coupled folk, love to commiserate in their misfortune of their (non)marital status. I expected dramatics, as drama is greek for theater, which is, in a word, my coworker. Instead, it was simple. They had dinner. He paid. They walked out and he told her that they probably shouldn't see eachother anymore because, now wait for it, she worked too much.

Nothing caused a more crushing blow to my potential amusement than this answer. It foretells of many future broken relationships. I, too, work too much. I work like a dog. I am destined to hear that same phrase many, many, many times.

Rachael Ray

Why is this woman paid? Why does she have more cookbooks out than (NY Times minimalist cook) Mark Bittman? Her show is about cheez whiz. About making the things we all already know how to make. 30 minute meals is a recap of America's Most Obvious. Macaroni & Cheese? Green Lettuce Salad with Italian Dressing and Cherry Tomatoes?

Rachael Ray is a best selling chef because she sells us reassurance. She tells us that a good wholesome Mac&Cheese justifiably occupies the same screen real estate as Emeril's Remoulade, or Batali's Parmesana. Somewhere, someone at the the Food Network felt like they had to quell the collective anxiety of America's Suburban Housewives and return the network to a commitment of mediocrity.