Guest Editor's Note

At 2:43 am on Halloween there is a knock on my doorless doorway as I try to fall asleep in my newly flannel-sheeted bed. Chuk needs to get pictures off my digital camera for the paper. He holds only the memory card in his hand; I tell him I need the whole camera.

He asks how ready I am for bad news. I tell him I am very ready despite it being 2:45 am. He retrieves said camera. The battery holder, it appears, is broken, and the batteries will no longer stay in the camera. What about the cover for the memory card? What cover? And so it goes. The camera, it is quickly discovered, is kaput. I change the batteries. Still kaput. I explain that I knew this was going to happen and was told by him that most people have this sort of karmic connection with their twins, not their digital cameras. Mine is not a karmic connection with electronics but rather it's that I've known Chuk and Nico for far too long.

Chuk, still drunk, tells me the story of how he got jumped by hockey players and shows me a small wound on his hand. I was bleeding, he says. I tried to take Schiller and they stomped on my hand. I nod. It is OK. He is apologizing profusely, offering to pay for a new camera despite the fact that I know he's broke, at the same time wondering how to get said pictures off said memory card. Enter Nico and Drew. The story is related. Awe is expressed.

Security is called to assess the state of technology on campus at 3 AM. The Carl office, it appears, is open. Problem being that it's 18 degrees out, our heroes are lazy, and two of them are drunk. Drew is pressed into chauffeuring up to the Carl office, which I would like to say is a hike from here, but honestly, it's Northfield and we live on Division St.

Now it's 3:26 am and all three degenerates have returned. The memory card has disappeared. Chuk was given control for reasons that are unclear and is now protesting his innocence and yelling "I'm sorry, Kate," at the same time. Drew is complaining about his 8:30 class tomorrow. He is dragged out of the room in order to drive said editors back to the Carl office and told to move it if he knows what's good for him. The scary part is, this isn't even extraordinary behavior. And me? I just live here.