Indiana Jones

As I found myself walking to Frist from Mudd (for the uninitiated: where the University's archives are housed), I found it impossible to wipe that idiotic grin from my face.

Why? Because I was looking over University forms from 1934 to 1986 (I would have gone farther, but alas, Mudd closes at five). I think that in the course of any history there must be a point where what has come before stops being alien: suddenly our forefathers seem modern, there's a spark of recognizability, and poof, you finally feel that you understand.

For me, that point came in the 70s. Maybe it's because that's when the University started admitting women, but suddenly the form changes from something cold and foreign to the familiar, and I felt kinship with what has come before.

And being witness to that change, well, that was really, really cool. But now the high has worn off, and my stomach has suddenly realized that I haven't eaten anything other than that latte, a pain-au-chocolat from Witherspoon Bread Co., and a couple of apples. So, it's off to Whitman for me.