Well actually, if truth were to be known it as neither dark nor stormy this past Tuesday as Erica and I tried to put our very first (and in all probability last) mag issue to beddie-bye, but hell, literary references seem to be a dime a dozen these days, and besides, we felt dark and stormy on our insides. The Crimson doesn't have any windows, and this mag was rapidly turning into the sort of perpetual crisis that destroys marriages and causes previously sane individuals to spend the rest of their days in a "rest home."

Indeed, I used to pride myself on the razor-sharp intellect that I displayed when under intense and overwhelming pressure, and I was feeling up to the challenge of lashing together 24 pages of some of the most incisive wit and elegant writing at Harvard, or anywhere, for that matter.

And maybe that's what we have here, but I sure as hell can't tell anymore. At 2:30 in the morning, we realized that we had inexplicably left two pages totally blank.... and Pat, our fearless production supervisor was starting to get restless. "I'm not staying here for you two clowns," he said. Erica just laughed, but I could tell by the gleam in his eye that he was not joking, and Pat is not the sort of person to fuck with

So I sat down and tried and write. It was not pretty, and now that the whole thing is over and done with, I'm awful close to throwing in the towel once and for all and forgetting that I ever heard of any two-bit rag called The Crimson.

But I'm not one to make rash decision, so I guess I'll stick around. After all, there's only two more months till I graduate, and I'm finally realizing that I get more out of these mono-maniacal first person little ditties than anyone else does...in fact, it's questionable if anyone else even bothers to read the drivel that I sign my name to anymore.

So here it is: FM's spring break issue. Page after page of juicy anecdotes detailing both the harrowing and the idyllic moments that filled each and every one of our days away form dining-hall food, crappy sections and dead-end crushes. We went to Ecuador. We went to Washington. (Well, actually I went to Washington and did not get to go the Ecuador, and needless to say, was quite upset about all that.)

And now that it's over, I feel like going and breaking into the Lampoon, stealing their chairs and drinking their gin. Now that would be witty.