R.I.P. T.L.R.

The Tuchman Living Room, known to patrons as the TLR, will be reincarnated by next year as a “reading room” (whatever that is) from the spilled beer and cigarette ashes of its days defining “lovably sketchy” for Harvard.

“When I was a child, I used to comfort myself whenever I felt scared by imagining a big castle,” said Ryan A. Petersen ’08, Cabot House resident and madman. “When I came to Harvard, I found that the Castle really DID exist! It was called the Currier TLR, and it was good.”

The TLR was, in fact, a castle belonging to all of Harvard. Or something. From its birth in 1970, noisy, irresponsible shit has been going down in the TLR–and overworked and under-socialized students have been able to pretend from Friday night to Sunday morning that they go to a normal college.

Robert M. Koenig ’06-’07, former Currier House Committee chair, says of the TLR, “It’s the first place we’ve been able to have so many people get together.”

Koenig went on, poignantly recalling events of semesters past: “We threw a No Pants Dance, for which we had a pants check at the door. At 12:45, my roommate and I started screaming with rapture that we had had a whole party with no pants whatsoever.”

Those moments of intoxicated ecstasy, belligerence following that last shot of Karkov, and some awkward super senior “accidentally” brushing against your butt again, is what the TLR was all about. Currier’s HoCo promises that the space will live on in spirit, in the new “Super TLR” due to be built in an art studio. But, HoCo, how can you be more super than awesome?

The Tuchman Living Room is survived by the Fishbowl and the Ten-Man. In lieu of flowers, Currier’s remaining dens of iniquity request that party-goers pour one out, be it Beast or PBR, and then keep drinking.

Thanks for the obliterated memories, TLR.