Word: vag
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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...several academic gems which sparkle through the dull lode of thousands of ordinary lectures each year and pass the good word along to the student public--generally enhancing the picture with a few precious baubles of his own opinion on the subject. Yes, the Vag knows he ought to get down to business. But he also knows he can't dictate subjects to himself. And today just seems to be not his day to rave of scholastic oratory. It's Saturday--the first one of the New Year--and the Vag will probably spout about more vital matters. Such...
...alarm clock with a mighty blow. The fact that it was a bright morning penetrated his brain, and he wondered why he'd set the clock at all. A blurry glance at his desk calendar told him it was Friday, September 23. Resisting an impulse to say so what, Vag took to scrutinizing his room in order to discover what he was doing semi-awake at the depressing hour of eight-thirty. He noticed a familiar, ugly gray catalogue entitled "Official Register of Harv----." In a flash he understood: it was registration day for Freshmen. Work to be done...
Only when the first Freshman slipped past him into the clutches of 'Poon salesmen and laundrymen did Vag realize that Fall had come again, and that he was collaring Freshmen for subscriptions to his paper once more. It made him think of the distant days when he first made the voyage through Mem Hall--learning how to sign his name on the way, signing up for all the periodicals. He remembered his initial trip across the Square, how he had wanted to take a taxi back to the Yard; he recalled the sign he'd put on his door warning...
...Vag turned a deaf ear to the throaty gurgles of Guardian editors catching their first sight of hard cash in over a year and lapsed again into reverie, permitting a mental tear to soften his brain. Oh, to be a Freshman one more. To have four years of certain free summers ahead. To be free from having to think of something to be. Vag experienced slight nausea at his own nostalgia, and his thoughts swung to what courses he might sit in on this year. There was always Merriman's first lecture, a phenomenon in itself. There would be Holcombe...
Back on his lookout, Vag lifted his eyes above the forest to the sky-line of distant peaks, in the high back--country. Here was the grandest sight of all. Against a violet, cloudless sky they reared in mighty heaps--some smooth and rolling, others leaping up in jagged swoops to abrupt pin-points. Their naked reds and greys were broken by blue-white patches of glaciers, slowly slipping down their inaccessible ravines. Vag could imagine the icy wind currents which ever-lastingly moaned along down these ravines...