Diary of a Madman

During this past week, FM's crack-team of Under Glass researchers, writers, and editors was sad and confused. The days wasted away as the Under Glass staff paced nervously across the floor, pulling out hair and going through fingernails like Bogart went through cigarettes.

Every day, the mail carrier would walk by our office and look in sadly, shrugging his shoulders as he rushed past the dank stench of decay that loomed ominously across our threshold.

At the end of the week, we could no longer avoid the horrible and strange truth that had reared its ugly head. Brother Fifteen Minutes received no letters from churning young minds, metaphorical mouths agape as they waited in exquisite anticipation for answers to their most disturbing questions.

And to be perfectly frank and forthright, we did despair. At times, we sobbed out loud. We tried to distract ourselves by going to fancy corporate affairs, but got kicked out for throwing croutons and shouting obscenities.

By Monday, the situation had turned ugly. Our initial team fell apart when one of our best writers suffered what we thought was a horrendous nervous breakdown; it turned out just to be a nasty case of epilepsy, but our beloved writer is still recuperating and will not be available until she returns from her stay in the Tropics.

Her replacement was, to say the least, nervous about the task that lay before him. Before he collapsed in a heap of tears (fear not, gentle readers, for he is being consoled by his trustworthy compatriots even as your eyes travel across this page) our new Under Glass correspondent trekked patiently from department to department, edifice to edifice, seeking answers to the questions that burned fiercest in his chest. Here are some of the responses:

Under Glass Correspondent: Pardon me, but would you, per chance, happen to be aware of the underlying logic that dictates Harvard's assorted libraries' borrowing and lending policies?

Widener Checker: I'm sorry?

UGC: Please.

WC: I mean, I didn't quite catch your drift?

UGC: Let's just forget the whole thing. This really is pointless. I feel so stupid.

Under Glass had no idea that this column would be so darn scary! But Mother Crimson was adamant: the column must run! The paper must come out! So Under Glass went back out on the street, with tail tucked appropriately between his legs, to try his luck again.

UGC: Pleased to meet you, sir.

Man in front of Lamont: We haven't met.

UGC Thank you. I'm the Under Glass corespondent for The Harvard Crimson, and I was wondering if you knew what the story was behind that sculpture over there.

MIFOL: Yes, I do know.

UGC: Hmmm....

MIFOL: Thank you. Have a nice day. Refusing to give up, even with his feet bleeding as a result of the past days' journeys, our faithful writer trudged on tirelessly. Seeking refuge in the warm arms of those tireless purveyors of Harvard trivia, the Crimson Key Society.

Our correspondent stopped a Key Tour that was just finishing up the "Three Lies of the John Harvard Statue" spiel. Knowing that Crimson Key folks went gaga for good humor, FM decided to crack a joke.

UGC: Yeah and did you guys hear about the fourth lie? That's not really even a staue, but a breeding ground for aliens that plan to take over that universe from their headquarters deep in the bowels of University Hall! Why don't you tell the tour that, Mr. Crimson Key?

Crimson Key Representative: Look, I really don't know what you're talking about. Now please, leave me and my tour alone!

UGC: You wish I'd leave you alone, loser-face. The truth must be heard! Aliens are breeding in the John Harvard statue!

CKR Waaaaah.

UGC: Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it, it's just that I'm supposed to write a question and answer column for Fifteen Minutes and it hasn't really been working out. I just wanted to be funny.

CKR: Get out of here, you pernicious little freak! I should have known.

UGC: C'mon, I'm really sorry...no hard feelings, right? I mean, I think you guys are great!

CKR: Well you suck. Get out of here you snivelling sore of a humanbeing!

After this intensely traumatic interaction, our Under Glass Correspondent disappeared entirely. Trustworthy sources report that he has been seen wandering naked around campus, whispering ecstatically to himself. "Ain't no use in talking to me, it's just the same as talking to you! Hee hee hee!"

Such is the sad but all too common fate of working journalists in today's ultra-competitive market. But fear not! Under Glass will trudge on as always! We await your queries!

Send any questions concerning Harvard to: Fifteen Minutes Q & A, 14 Plympton St., Cambridge 02138. Any information concerning the writer's state of health can be sent to the same address.