Tufts University - Jumbo Yearbook (Medford, MA)

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My third ball I decided not to aim, decided instead to be spon¬ taneous. It steared itself into a Seminar on Kerouac. A beautiful ball. Responding delicately, racking up the brownie-points, then it began to fall, and my flippers masterfully saved shot after shot, seemingly to learn a new discipline: the flippers would naturally flip each other in succession spontaneously, without a calculated destination. It was my greatest ball. I thought I was on the verge of a free game. After a brilliant array of pin-ball fantasy, and a recognition of my unique pin¬ ball skill, (and after a few quick pushes for a save from the snag,) I almost cheerfully let the ball take its course down a lost slot that multiplied my score three times. I was very close. My fourth ball was a flash in the pan. Creative Writing, a superb experiment in drawing attention to my game. I gathered an audience, screaming and shouting, coaxing the ball and so forth, persuading the ball to forget about the snag, exhibiting fast flipper action, putting on a fine dramatic performance in Pin Minor for the crowds. Then, at the last minute, to the ooh ' s and aahh ' s of the crowd, I dropped my fourth ball, inches away from a free game. Confident, I logically assumed my last ball would have to be the one to break through. A theory lay like a stagnant pool in my mind, a theory that needed a spark to create life. So I took careful aim, and I shot the ball into the groove of a course in Logic. I had to find the flaw in this machine, exploit it. The problem did not stem from my inability to play; however, the flaw was there, hidden within the basic structure of the game. The snag. I flipped furiously, almost nearing the mark, when I discovered and pursued the flaw. I needed the points, and I needed the snag, but I had to save the ball afterwards. I knew I was risking suicide. The Drama of it all overwhelmed me, and I tried for the snag, and prepared to give it the push. Ding ding ding Free Game! and I pushed and TILT!! And there I was, devastated, with my free game tilted out of the machine, and no more quarters. Good story, mused Drizzle. But what was the snag? Norman arched his eyebrows and said, The Question Why. The very next day Norman had gone to talk to another English professor, one who was being denied tenure because he had been too busy being a good teacher to do any research or publish a novel. One thing you have to remember, he told Norman confidentially, and that is how to con your professor. Most of them are set in their views because they ' ve done so much research in a certain field. They don ' t want to see new things, just what is already standard knowledge and reasonable opinions, and whether you understand them. And you can find this information and polish it up, regurgitate, only you could rephrase it better. You can show him a portrait of himself instead of just holding up a mirror. Try it and you ' ll see. Norman pondered these things as he typed his college information. For an hour he played mental solitaire with an uneven deck, all unimpressive college courses, all unimpressive grades. Nothing to show for years of anguish. 18

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Dorothy had woken up. She was beautiful in her sleep-smelling clothes. No, Norman, she yawned, looking goofy-beautiful, pushing aside Norman ' s impressive bulge. Not until you finish your resume. There was a time when you would stop the world for a ball, mused Norman, smiling at recurring visions of Janis running through fields. She did not answer. He returned to his typewriter and typed ACTIVITIES, and sat back in thoughtful wisps of smoke. Activities like playing the harmonica on the quad on wintry after¬ noons? Like doing LSD on the Library hill discussing the Diamond Sutra? Like running for student class president with a campaign entirely consisting of bathroom graffiti? Remember the dream about the campus party, about a guy who comes to a frat party and sits in a corner all night while strippers dance and a band plays and everyone has a good time, except him, and at the end of the party he goes home and hangs himself. Norman, psyched out to write this story, asked Zukie and Leo Di Genero and others in and out of his room to describe parties on campus, and recorded the two hour symposium and wrote its transcript, of which an exerpt follows: Norman: Zukie: Leo: Zukie: Norman: Zukie: Nelson: Bartholomew Leo: Janis: Nelson: Spacy: Nelson: Norman: Zukie: Janis: Norman: Zukie: This story ' s gotta be fluid, I gotta use real characters, like you guys. How would you act when you ' re partying? First of all, I wouldn ' t show up until 10:30. He ' d be fashionably late! And I ' d bring my own pot, cause everybody ' s cheap at Pufts. And I ' d probably bring my own booze, I hate the guilt-trip of drinkin ' up somebody else ' s. Yeh, but what about the people you meet? All different, man. Some nice, some unfriendly bastards, some wild, some indifferent, some downright pathetic, depressing, even! OOhh! How poetic! :Some geeks! Some get drunk, some smoke pot, some eat out their assholes! Some just lookin ' to jerk off their desire for a mother. And a lotta Princesses from Scarsdale! Hey, Nels - You ' re from Scarsdale! I know! And I ' m ... I ' m the exception that proves the rule! Wait a minute. Don ' t we have fun at parties? YEH, Man! It ' s the dance of life! We need more parties. We ' re just a bunch a wild orangutans lost in the jungle. And sex — I knew this guy who wanted to do a survey about promiscuity on campus, y ' know, how many women would say yes to a guy without hesitating. He walked around, ask ing women if they wanted to fuck. He got four no ' s, two maybe ' s but not right now, and one positively yes! and he stopped his survey and a year later they were married! Shit! He shoulda asked me. What about parties? Aren ' t we — Yeh! Let ' s have one! Break out the wine! Got any papers? 20