It is Monday night. June and James and I have just returned from dinner at Quincy House. I had something that was billed as "falafels" but tasted suspiciously like "vegetable flautas." I don't eat meat, but maybe I should've made an exception tonight to avoid the flautas. It is James' opinion that "you can't go wrong with Escalloped Turkey." He could be on to something, there.

Anyway. For some reason Quincy House was playing music--George Winston and his New Age-y piano. We determined that it was supposed to relax us and make us forget about the vegetable flautas decision. I don't think it worked. But it did remind me of good old Leverett House, where, during my sophomore year, they brought in a jukebox to enhance the dining experience. I'm told that that didn't work, either.. It only made Leverettites bob their heads to the thumping bass, slaves to the rhythm, as they ate their peas and mashed potatoes. Go into Adams House, and you can assemble your salad to Marky Mark's "Good Vibrations."

The design of this magazine is both late at night and musically inspired. James listens to bossa nova stuff on the radio as he finishes up the Scrutiny and contemplates how much he has left to do on his problem sets. Last week, I thought it would help him out if I substituted ABBA for bossa nova. But it didn't seem to work, much like Leverett's juke box experiment. Oh well.

Soundtracks are a theme, kind of, in this week's FM. The Endpaper will introduce you to the sports department, where Men and Women come together for philosophical debate and ABBA singalongs. They dig the BeeGees, too--as does Marios who has dreamed up the Hall of Disco Fame.

It occurred to me just now that my House's dining hall has no music, except polka tunes during "German Deli Day." What I'd like is to see our serving line utilize music on a daily basis--rave music, really really fast terrifying rave music. It would be good for me: I wouldn't waste so much time sitting around in the dining hall. I'd go in, get my dinner, eat, and get out. Fast.