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Articles by Charles Lin

SENIOR EDITOR
November 8, 2011
Since J.M. Barrie’s inaugural London stage production in 1905, countless iterations of Peter Pan have graced film and the stage. Each form has its charm; the intimacy of Wendy caring for the Lost Boys shines on the small stage, whereas the majesty of cavorting through the London Sky on the way to Neverland seems a feat best left to cinematography. All of these iterations form a collective memory of the Peter Pan story, but no one adaptation can stand alone.
SENIOR EDITOR
November 12, 2010
I found the remnants of Gen X last Wednesday. They were stoned at the Dandy Warhols concert at the Royale on Tremont St. This must have been their last bastion of sanctify from the crippling recession, overdue payments on the BMW, and the fact that mom and dad borrowed away their future for that house on Nantucket.
SENIOR EDITOR
October 8, 2010
My unfortunate tautological infatuation with tautology peaked around the same time as the Ratatat show Thursday night. This was fortunate because it allowed me to answer such questions like, “how do you play a Ratatat song?” Answer: you play a Ratatat song.
September 10, 2010
<b>I</b><b>’ve been a digital groupie of many a band over the years. </b>Back in the late 90s I tape traded Phish, Dave Matthews, and Grateful Dead shows. I don’t mention it to most people now because Birkenstocks are out and it was awfully OCD, but it was my main hobby in high school. I’d find other fans on bulletin boards and we’d exchange addresses, burn a bunch of CDs and two weeks later, I could put on my headphones and hear something no record store carried. These listening sessions — think staying up late on a school night and sneaking a beer from the garage fridge — were some of my fondest memories growing up. Most of the time the songs were the same, but that wasn’t the point. I grew to love every nuance. I became a collector. In the same way that a band evolves from practicing the same material and playing together, so did my experience as a fan. This is the show where they did the six-minute vacuum cleaner solo. This is the show where Phish covered the White Album on Halloween.
SENIOR EDITOR
May 7, 2010
<i>The White Rabbits put on a show last Saturday night I can only describe as a whirlwind of rhythm someone lobbed a grenade into. Their songs are constructed from the shambles and wreckage. A descending piano line here, a trebled vibrato of guitars, and the strain of vocals, all scattered and re-assembled in the deafening echo chamber of that neverending percussion.</i>
SENIOR EDITOR
April 30, 2010
I miss Aleks Campesinos. The waifish redhead keyboardist seemed even smaller in person when I saw Los Campesinos! last year. Dwarfed by the keyboard, she looked straight out of a college band recital. Same went for the rest of the band. Average height, average looks. I don’t know what parts indie rockers are supposed to play, but none of the members of Los Campesinos! were cast to fit the bill.
SENIOR EDITOR
April 9, 2010
My main issue with Vampire Weekend has always been that 30 seconds out of every minute of their music is pure genius. Doesn’t even matter which album, song, or minute.
SENIOR EDITOR
March 12, 2010
<b>It’s Sunday afternoon on OkCupid.com, and 27,942 people looking for love on the Intertubes. They are shooting digital winks and kissy missives into the ether, trying to chat up that cute girl who loves Nabokov, or Mr. Tall-Dark-Handsome-Good-Job-Outdoorsy-on-the-Weekends. It’s humanity’s oldest social ritual, now 110 percent electrodigitized.</b> Is there really love out there? Can two-dimensional interactions on an LCD screen really substitute for brews at the Thirsty, or an after work softball game? The four former math majors from Harvard who founded OkCupid.com aren’t completely sure, but the social experiment unfolding on their website is already changing everything you thought you knew about dating.
SENIOR EDITOR
October 16, 2009
At the core of Bicycle Diaries, David Byrne’s foray into cycling fan-(non)-fiction, is the notion that being on a bike provides a unique viewpoint of the world. Through offerings that are captivating and thought provoking, Byrne dispenses his insights from eyes perched above the cars and pedestrians. Being on a bike probably helps, but the real trick is being David Byrne. How else could you explain diary entries from Buenos Aires bike rides that devolve into meditations on canine hierarchy and lewd dog behaviors?
SENIOR EDITOR
August 28, 2009
You did it! You graduated! And now this fall you are going to leave MIT and enter the world as a man. That’s right. Class of 2009, bitches. Think of all that lies ahead of you. A new apartment, rocking the lower middle class with your entry-level salary. On your own now, limitless possibilities, unbounded awesomeness. Moving to the big city, impressing the ladies with your status, you professional auteur. Isn’t this exciting?
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