TAKE THAT HAHVAHD!

Finally: proof that Harvard Sucks Royally. As in, this is the first time I've seen Yale win The Game!!! YEEEEEHAW!!! Better extremely late than never. And to be honest, I wasn't even watching the game, nor did I see Yale win it. But I was sitting in a booth in the Distillery with the combined Yale and Harvard alumni clubs (the one Cantab I met was rather quieter than the Yalies from the start) listening in awe to a fellow by the name of Mr. Rusling (PC '63), whom I fully intend to nominate as the BUTANE patron saint. What prankstering this native Rochesterian accomplished in college. Gutsy prankstering. On the level of taking the lights out over all of central campus on May Day. And employing materials of every type, from countless explosives to ten-foot bamboo poles. I regaled him with a few of our comparable hacks, but was quite content to sit back and listen to how the Alley Cats were as infamous (and arrestable) as they were famous in the days that he was pitch for them. Neither the Pundits (who may well be the originators of that eponymous word) nor the Men of JE could claim such notoriety. And would you know, his office is a stone's throw from me. A cherry bomb's throw, really.

Ended up practicing nearly four hours of carillon after winding my way underground into Spurrier, since the front doors had been left locked. Emerged with wrecked hands, a back all tied up in knots again, to find the winter evening and dinnertime already descended. At least the weather's still bike-worthy.