Personally.... If you read Schrof s running insult first, here's an opportunity to swing back into a mood more conducive to good health. A collective shame-on-you from all of us, Robb. Ah, the ides of fall semester. Forty degrees in the morning, seventy by lunch, footballs and softballs colliding in mid-air and a pledge paddle attached to every-other passer-by. I like this time of year. As a matter of fact, I'm really beginning to enjoy this time of life. Teenage traumas can be looked back upon with a wizened giggle, and one can get down to the bare essense of having a bunch of good fun and learning a bit on the side. When someone tells you that these years are of the finest kind—the best that you'll have— I hope you'll have no doubts. Oh, granted, we still have our problems, its just that they've matured a little. I'm 19, so while I seldom worry any longer about waking up with the bigdipper across my forehead, I do arise occasionally and sprint for a mirror in order to determine whether or not my eyeballs still exsist. One of my sportswriters, Lloyd Rachels, recently wrote a classic letter home. He agreed, reluctantly, to a reprint: Dear Mom, Please send much money, a reasonable facsimile of food, and Visine. Love, Lloyd Lloyd is a person with whom I get along very well. despite the fact that he is so in love he rarely hears a word that I say to him. This is no light affair. We're talking serious, engagement is in the saddle and riding hard, wrapped around all ten fingers and a few toes, anatomy-whipped love. This brings us to another sticky facet of young adulthood, infatuation. This is a threat which is always just around the corner, ready to disrupt anything from studies—which constitutes a mild case— to ego,—which is average— tot he act of breathing.which is reasonably extensive. Actually, and quite truthfully as my colleague Schrof has just reminded me, infatuation on this campus runs much more along the lines of drinking heavily and trying to reproduce the species with anything that moves at a slower pace than yourself. Film at eleven. While we're fly-casting in my stream of consciousness, one more problem, this one a tad more serious, pops to mind. Robb Schrof writes some things that I personally disagree with very much, however, he does hit home when he speaks of campus closed-mindedness. The furor being raised over the formation of Lavender Bridges is really very embarrassing. Those of us that wear greek letters and are worthy of them realize that we are no better than anyone else, and that it would be asinine to think otherwise. The same premise serves everyone on this campus. If one can't be secure enough within his own sexuality to accept the preference of others, then perhaps one hasn't come nearly so far as he thought since the age of fourteen.