When those humid winds begin to add warmth to an already unbearably exam period, little irritations seem to boil over with mounting regularity. But minor complaints, and the passions that fan them, have never seemed quite right for a coolly argued editorial. Accordingly, we have bowed to the twin gods of Research and Significance, consistently showing that reorganization of University Hall could provide the dollars for any number of revolutionary projects. Should it prove possible to support the needy with administrative salaries, that too will be advocated. The problems of the State Department have proved no more perplexing than Dean Bundy's, and occasionally we have even carried the word to the Western Allies. If the topic occasionally lacked proper weight, it was naturally obscured in a whimsical haze. These are all the dog days, however, and we are ready to bark up al the little trees at once. Following are a number of minor steam releasers, conveniently labeled so you can pick and choose:

Lamont Laments

It seems almost unfair to Kick Lamont, especially after it has been down for so long. Hours have finally been extended, and the air conditioned palace is open on Sunday for those who labor. There is a rumor, of course, that the circulation system has been flipping the same air, like a stale pancake, from level to level for six years. It is also hinted that the blinking and gurgling neon lights are designed to keep people awake. If so, success is not entirely apparent, for some drowsy lads always sleep through the 2:15 grind, only to get the Administration's axe. Perhaps the aggressive girl who fires the buzzer late in the evening could give it a short squeal before the afternoon exams. This might have the additional advantage of frightening away the yearly surplus of panicked law students who invade Lamont. The librarians do nothing about the crowd except count it, and, wisely enough,say that it would be downright impolite to yank away chairs used for foot rests. But why they don't open up the extra space in the conference rooms is unknown, although the University may be hiding General MacArthur's honorary degree there.

Insistent Insects

The Buildings and Grounds people have never professed a talent for weather ciphering, yet it is currently engaged in an experiment that must be scientific, or at least controlled. The warm air brings both insects and open windows, and the combined disaster is easily predicted. Our theory is that the University is waiting to trap the bugs inside the rooms yet unscreened.

Linden Street Stench

Between Claverly Hall and Massachusetts Avenue on Linden Street is located the Cambridge merchants' contribution to higher learning. Here the Social Relations Department conducts daily seances to discover the symbolic meaning of the refuse regularly piled there. The Square's free enterprisers must dare police regulations to provide the scattered trash, and this is for their greater credit. If the Cambridge City Council decides to unclutter Linden Street for more parking space, the Social Relations men might well visit the exhibit at the Student Activity Center. A few occupants of the wood framed house have kindled the building's hallways in case there is ever sudden need for its disposal.

Growing Pains

In the Freshman Union, that never-never land of mysterious regulation, life is systemized--from the distance you can carry a magazine to the number of playable pool balls. Everything, in fact, except the under-the-counter dealings. Despite signs to the contrary, certain kitchen boys hired from the streets to paw out the French bread have never seen Ivory, or what it floats in.

And, to turn over an old leaf, the Freshman Yearbook is like the party for twenty-five year old debutantes. Everyone is glad to see it, but by the time it arrives all the faces are already similar.