Prescott W. Schlaffenberg to Harvard, with Love:

Oh, the Places You'll Go

Hello, Harvard! Prefrosh weekend is once again upon us, or shall I say we are upon it? With our pants down--and yet we are just friends. Though few of even my most intimate companions (e.g., Larry Thompson, 212 West Meadow Heights, Duquense, Iowa) know this, I am not just an obscure journalist; I am also a little-known diarist. Perhaps I will someday find fame and fortune and untold millions will crave the secret of my success. Perhaps I will someday be shot before I reveal where I've buried my Beanie Baby collection. Either way, good thing I'm keeping a diary, huh? But the wisdom of my diary is not wholly for another day! Looking back over my leatherbound storehouse of secrets last night, I found the section from my prefrosh weekend and thought, "Oh! Prescott! You must share! And also, later, alone in the bathroom, you must floss!" And so I will: April, 1997: Pre-frosh weekend!!! Friday, 3:02 pm: Enter Guam International Airport. Hail cab, demand that driver bring me to Harvard. Driver informs me that I am in the entirely wrong hemisphere. Miss important prefrosh orientation. Weep for my future. Sunday, 4:13 pm: Guam has been an incredible experience. Well worth the herpes. Defer enrollment for a year. April, 1998: Pre-frosh weekend??? Friday, 2:45 pm: Arrive at Harvard. Immediately obtain a very cosmopolitan red folder. Do a little dance. Make a little love. Get down--wait, must find host. Friday, 3:16 pm: Change outfit to complement free Science Fiction Association t-shirt and afore-mentioned red folder. Hey, handsome: looking good! Friday, 7:35 pm: Off to Harvard Computer Society keg party. I try to contemplate the many supple coeds that await me. College girls are pretty! Friday, 9:16 pm: The "kegs" were actually computers. No girls--just one fat kid named Larry with really big boobs who gave me his phone number. As if! Saturday, 11:30ish: Can't find watch. Despite this difficulty, I will continue to keep accurate records of my travels. Saturday, dark out: All these kids are going to some place called the Grille. Who would have a barbeque at this time of night? Man, these kids are real squares. Not me! I'm here to party! Saturday, still dark: There are no parties here. I'm going to find that barbeque. Saturday, kind of dark out: Called Larry. No answer. Was it something I said? Saturday, checking out some blonde girl: Checked out some blonde girl. Saturday, really dark out: Lost. Will wander until host is found. Sunday, 5:22 pm: Enter Guam International Airport. Attract the "attention" of many "women" with my Science Fiction Association t-shirt. Now, what on earth did I do with that red folder?