You got your hands on a Rock (Issue). How does that feel?

I introduce this issue mainly for lack of any letters to the Editor, but partly, too, because it does deserve a minor preface.

Essentially, the ever inspirational Said provided one of our regular contributors to suggest we focus on rocks, those seemingly reticent critters, and how they feel when hurled recklessly thorough the air at armed Israelis. Unfortunately, the immediate next thought by all was of that he-man wrestler dude with that stupid eyebrow, but it was clear many good ideas were to follow.

After a couple rounds of hide-and-go-freak with the new recruits, we literally had millions of rock ideas and beginnings of articles, the bulk of which you read before you. The only comment I have left to contribute is: Did you ever guess at the pervasiveness of rocks in our lives? I mean, Presidents, music, works of art, chemical substances, and actual rocks? Could you possible imagine that we would receive seventeen articles on crack from Columbia students, some completely unsolicited and independently submitted? Finally, do you even care, even now having all these rock articles before you? Is it possible to have an actual bond with a rock, even when it chemically alters your brain? These are not cute and fuzzy responsive animals, I say. They cannot lick my face and communicate their unconditional love with little fur lined eyes. After a whole issue of forced excitement, I still hate them. But the articles are great!

Poor rocks are doomed to an eternity of unrequited support. They may hold us up and serve to make some killer fire pits, but we do not do anything for them as a species of conscious mammals, beside chiseling our names in them every so often. I maintain that this is one relationship that will not change. We will never see a protest or a march on Washington to protect a rock.

Well, that said, I will briefly update our readership on recent Fed activities. The staff got perhaps too much stimulation altogether at Activites Day on September 8th. The sun was out, we had enough water guns to outfit the entire staff, a dope phat table with some sassy booth babes, and a coffee can overflowing with tickets for our Win a Date with the Fed raffle.

And far from damping our spirits, much of the staff was around to witness WBAR carting naked screaming members around in, well, a cart. Later they stationed themselves, none the quieter, across from the Tai Chi group, which practiced their moves all day. I, at least, wondered if they ever wanted to snap out of wax-on wax-off formation to give WBAR one good, "Shut the f- up." It never happened, and they remained peaceful as jellyfish all day.

Midday, some staff realized all that was missing from the perfect afternoon was to storm Low Library and get their paychecks. Armed and ready they proceeded ninja-ly up the steps and penetrated the highly perched edifice. After scaring various civilians and administrators enough to make the Fed proud of the evidence on the steps, they left Low with triumphant paychecks in hand. Luckily, there was time to cash them and buy more Poland Spring for the water pistols, and the rest of the afternoon was given to unproductive intra-Fed battling.

We did hold the raffle and announce our prizes as loud as we could without such helpful devices as megaphones, microphones or speakers. Sadly, no one came to claim their prizes save one lone winner. Paul won our Editor-at-Large, Ted, and although beside himself with joy, he ultimately had not a clue as to what to with Ted. At that point, Ted was dismissed, they parted amicably, and Ted devoted the rest of the afternoon to shedding a feeling of abandonment.

But, the Fed left with a successful number of names and dateable raffle contestants. The date did happen (see page 6), and although it was not consummated or successful in the traditional sense, we had a terrific time.

Well, enjoy the issue and should you actually react to anything, write us about it, mmmkay?