Fifteen Minutes: Editor's Note: Shoot Me

Our beds haven't been made in over a week. A trail from the bedroom to the bathroom tells the story of our underwear selection over the week. Someone told me my fly was unzipped at lunch. It was. I speak for the FM collective when I say, ouch. We're beaten up.

You say we're acting like whiners. You say, "Hey, Mr. ARC, you're a wuss. FM didn't even put out an issue last week." But you don't get it. We're totally losing our minds! We're looking to pick our successors this week. It's a trying task to say the least. We're seniors. We have theses. Our advisers have forgotten our names and they've penalized us, demanding 1.5 chapters per delinquent magazine staffer.

Outside, it's cold. Alicia claims her Patagonia Guide Jacket has given up the ghost. Anna can't find her North Face. Mica's all set, but I've provoked JP's jealousy with my brand new Mountain Hardware ensemble.

In late August, my co-editor and I met in Bryant Park, New York City, to discuss our magazine. I had a Rolling Rock, Mr. Paul sipped Merlot. That day, I signed myself up for a Scrutiny on the Harvard-Yale game. That balmy cosmopolitan evening, under the din of 1,000 schmoozing yuppies, I decided to make early November a miserable time of year. What was I thinking?

I've always wanted to be a sportswriter; at some point, I took a wrong turn and ended up on the FM track. I figured I'd take a final opportunity to take a stab at sports scribing. In my piece, I try to be serious and to make a valid point about athletics, Harvard and anything potentially smart-sounding.

But FM pushes on. We'll be busy tonight rolling the dice--and tossing black balls--deciding magazine fate. And next week, once again, we wuss out. But this time it's your fault: You won't be here. Venerable Thanksgiving arrives once again, sending us home on the Delta Shuttle. Need turkey-stuffing tips? See "How To: Stuff a Turkey" (page eight). In our hearts will be those left to fend for themselves. We apologize that FM listings (starting page 16) end on Wednesday, just when stranded students might start looking beyond the WB.

Rest assured, we'll be back by early Sunday, clawing away at the first of the final three issues of our guard. Until then, we're plenty busy thinking of future and picking up our underwear.