Gugg's party is tonight at the Beat. I can't make it (stupid house-sitting responsibilities). But you all should. Let us all know how it was.

HEY, WOAH: For some reason a Reist quote seemed apropos to the following question: Is it cool with y'all if we use the Beat for Mr. Gugg's bachelor party on the 26th of December (which, btw, every single one of you is invited to)?

Let me know (1) if we may use the house/fire pit, and (2) which of y'all can attend the festivities, hereafter dubbed "The Gugg Hitchin' Christmas Time Festival: Let All Women Rejoice and All Men Make That Funny Little Expression With Furrowed Eyebrows Expressing Something Between Confusion, Surprise, and Despair."

I think you lazy blog slackers at the Beat should join in on this crazy little shindig. This way, you get to see who is like me and who would complement me well. Aren't you thrilled?

Um...right...

Or, you could just join in to start some action in this ghost-town-ish corner of the web already.

SimilarMinds Compatibility Results okoye ||||||||| 95% |||||||| 90% pulchersentio ||||||| 81% ||||||| 79% hebe |||||| 69% ||||||| 81% bobgolding |||||| 70% ||||||| 78% tildegauche ||||| 57% |||||| 68% ockhamist ||||| 57% |||| 54% djhugger |||| 50% ||||| 62% similarity complementarity

How compatible are you and your friends?

THE UNDEAD: Boo! I'm back from oblivion.

I remember the Beat being a much more exciting place when I was there than it seems to be now. Where are the crazy little posts about Sato's ad hominem attacks on everybody? Where are the ludicrous quotes? Where are the stories about good ol' Beat near-nudity? What gives?

Did y'all get boring or something?

Maybe you're all dead.

The party seemed to be a pretty decent time for all, or at least most, involved. Lots of good costumes. Post your vote for the best one as a comment. Maybe the winner will get a taco. Or a cookie. Or nothing. Or something. Pics are forthcoming, I'll let you know when and where they're up.

Tales from the Upstairs Closet

Silliman wants some stories about the organ, eh? Well, for now, this is, sadly, as exciting as it gets.
The Organ (I think we should name him "Spleen") has finally found a home. Migrating first from the back hall to the kitchen, it slowly worked its way up the stairs to what had been Wazoo's room, and was The Beaver's room before that. There it sat, for days upon days, in the middle of the glorified closet, merely taking up space that nobody was bothering to use. Then came the fateful day of... *du dum dauuuhhm* the arrival of Phil's PS2! Sitting on the floor unused (as Phil refuses to buy any Playstation games) in the main room, he finally decided to move it upstairs to the other TV. Hating the current location of Spleen, he and Wazoo (I believe; if Wazoo had no part in this, correct me) found a nice spot for it next to the keyboard.

Now that the PS2 is connected, I had an idea for a low-key party that would be very much in-line with the way we often do things around here. Some night, when we're all really bored in the dead of winter, we get every DVD-capable machine playing a movie. Everyone picks one to start with, and then switches every 20 minutes, give or take. By my count we can get at least five, probably six, flicks playing, and given some of our selection options, it could prove to be a pretty... interesting result. Allow me to repeat, "When we're all really bored." And maybe whoever is watching one on the Playstation can provide their own score on The Spleen.

Gugg: You are so fired. You want a blog for your dorm, you go ahead and make one, but step back from the brink, man. We may be negligent of the blog as of late, yes, but that's no excuse to say we've "abdicated" jack or squat.

Ok, that's annoying. No sooner do I take over the BeatBlog than someone else posts something again. I am mightily peeve-ed.

Oh well...so it goes. Did that package come yet for Wazoo, btw?

I wish to make an announcement. Due to the recent abdication of the Virtual Beat by the residents of the Actual Beat, I am officially laying claim to the site on behalf of the singles dorm here at Holy Cross Greek Orthodox School of Theology here in Boston. This is the introduction to the new and improved BeatBlog.

The dorm is called Polemanakos Hall, after a couple Greek brothers with a typically excessively lengthy last name. I don't know what it means, but my nearest guess would be "Many Monks."

Which isn't quite accurate. The guys who live here are, for the most part, those who are hoping against hope to avoid being many monks...they all want to marry, and are all just waiting for the right Miss Perfect to throw herself at them in a perfectly innocent and modest manner. Don't ask me how that works, because it doesn't. The only time I've ever see it work is in my case, and that was only after I chased my bride-to-be for a year and a half.

But enough of that. The point is, this website is now the inner grace witnessing to the outer symbol of Polemanakos Hall. So let me introduce the cast of characters.

Seraphim Danckaert: as he once was, so he roareth now, save that his manly mane is much increased--there is nary a patch of space on his leonine face not buried at least an inch beneath a thick carpet of flaming red. He's also taken to wearing a long black dress to church.

J. Anthony Gugg: also as he once was, the once bare face again thickly be-fuzzed, the ponytail longer by the day, and also to be seen frequently in a long black dress. He recently acquired a sofa, a loveseat, a desk, a bookshelf, an apartment, much debt and will soon acquire a wife. More blessings are sure to follow, God being gracious and the crik don't rise...

John: Standing in for Sato (and possessing not a few of Jonathan Metzger's characteristics) is John, purveyor of film and lover of anime. Sato can rest assured that, even in his absence, the Gugg is still hearing the incessant praises of Trigun. Albeit from a Greek. But Vash looks Aryan anyway. Long live Vash!

Gregory: He's taking Wazoo's illustrious place. Let me explain why. He's crazy. He plays the saxaphone. He throat sings. In the shower. He sounds like a buffalo. Some of the specifics are not Wazoo-ish, but the general effect is unmistakably from the same mold. I'm not sure who broke it first, but by now it must be beyond repair.

Nebojsa: Standing in, though more vaguely, for the inimitable Prosp3ct, is Nebojsa. That's NEH-bo-sha. He's Serbian. Not Cuban, but still pretty cool. He certainly thinks so. Serbian is apparently the best language ever: it has seven noun cases and can accomodate 16 negatives in one sentence and remain intelligible.

Then there's Lou: I'm putting him in Will's place. I'm not sure why. But Lou is cool. He has a nice hair-do. One day he told me I didn't talk enough. So I asked him, "Lou, did you ever woo a Jew?" "Yes I wooed a Jew...not only one, or even two, but more than a few. In fact, I also dated a Chinese girl named Shu-shu Fu. She had quite the hair-do! I hope one day to woo some Sue with a good brew that she will spew back into my mouth with a view no longer to woo but to eschew solitude forever. But she got news of my tobacco chew and my character was thenceforth skewed--she viewed me as a rough-hewn character from a zoo." So I said, "Ooohh," with sympathy. What else could I do?

I'm sure there are analogous characters for Phil and Bjorn, but I don't have time to find them right now. It doesn't really matter anyway...in a few months, this Blog will move with me to married housing and the characters will all be replaced with whatever mice, beetles and spiders infest the future abode. When I find them, I'll post pictures.

Word to the wise...the Beat will continue to host such ludicrosities as this until the Reality Beat returns to the internet. Which is to say, come back often...they won't be here for awhile, I suspect.

STUPID BELLY BUTTON

You know how sometimes the fact that a well-known personage agrees with you is almost enough to make you change your mind, just so you cannot in any way be associated with them?

That just happened to me. Read this. Apparently Britney Spears thinks we should just trust George W. Bush...something I've been saying or thinking for the past several months. Suffice to say, I'm reconsidering.

If the Babe with the Bodacious Belly Button says it, it can't be right.

I hate it when this happens.

EXTRA ON THE GUGG

Here's the latest news from Barbarians Central here in Guggville. According to my lovely and discerning fiancee, my beard is moldy. Needless to say, I was surprised. Apparently my soap doesn't quite reach to the recesses of the beard (which was completely shaven only 7 weeks ago). Perhaps I should use Clorox. Or just trim.

Stupid hygiene. This could only happen to me. Other people have normal problems.

I don't think moldy beards in any way, shape, or form can be called normal.

Stupid mold.

Sato's birthday went quite well last night. Professoress York was over here until the wee hours, packin' 'em down and having a wonderful time with the rest of us. There were more Honors Freshmen than I've ever seen at any kind of legitimate social function before, which says a lot for this class. Speaking well for the party, Nik said she was having a good time, which I don't think has ever happened at a party we've thrown. Sato's food was tremendous. The house was clean. The new strobe light was a hit, albeit a small one. Four professors were here. All in all, quite the success.

As one can see, there is now a brief alum section over in the sidebar. It's a work in progress, certainly, and I'm not sure where we want to go with it. As it is, there's something to start with/work with.

A SUGGESTION TO THE MAN: Could we add a little alumni section on the left column, equipped with fitting descriptions, or are we not worthy now that we are gone?

Hey, Hey, the Gang's all Here
As of last night, all of this year's Beatniks are now in residence. Phil and Wazoo are snug in their little room, and Bjorn finally showed up in the dead of night.

Today truly is an occasion, as we are all here, Mars is close, and Sato is 21. Come on over for the festivities.

Blah...I hate packing. You guys who just moved IN to the Beat are so lucky...don't have to worry about that for another year.

A BEAT MANIFESTO: I'd like to wish all those still in the house a successful senior year.

At the risk of sounding like a ridiculous alumnus, I offer the following thoughts about how life at the Beat could get even better (btw, thanks to everyone: despite any troubles, it was a lot of fun living at the Beat with y'all):

*Study more, pray more, clean more, party more.*

That's pretty much my advice to y'all. You'll get more out of the house and more out of your senior year. The times when I was doing such things with consistency (as opposed to here and there, when my life and the Collegian would let me) were the best. And now, in retrospect, I wish I could do so with even more practiced dedication.

More could be said about how and why these things help, and in what way they should be balanced, but I imagine everyone at the Beat has the wisdom and experience to intuit the proper relation of one cause to another (to borrow from Aristotle). Many people will tell you to make sure you "don't waste your senior year," or "to treasure it, because it goes by so quickly," all of which is true and good. But I'll couch things in a bit more helpful terms (at least they have been for me this summer). Adopt the motto of St. Anthony when it comes to planning, organizing, and living your weeks and months: live as though dying daily.

Live as though dying daily.

If you possess such a mindset, then the studying, the prayer, the cleaning, and, yes, even the partying, will fall into a regulated and inspiring pattern.

Keep me in your prayers. May the Lord, through the prayers of His Mother, protect you, and grant you all things needful for health and salvation.

A gallant effort there Prosp3ct...but it didn't help...this time we have ads for Wood Floor Cleaner (the Special Safe Streak Free Formula) and for Soien Wood Oil Soap. The funny thing is, the Beat doesn't even HAVE any real wood floors. Oh well.

Here is a link for us all to examine. A competitor to us here at BeatBlog...A blog called "The Beat"

To my mind, it can't hold a candle to us.

Incidental thanks to Mr. G. Konrad LaPrade for pointing it out to me.

Well, what do you expect? If you center a blog around a house, you get house stuff. Though you'd think we'd get some ads recognizing Wazoo's bad rug poem early on in the life of the blog. You know: "World's worst poetry here--come and be nauseated!" Or something like that.

In other news, Seraphim pointed out to me the other day that my summer room in his parent's house is the same as my room at the Beat...junk piled high against all the walls, but a clear floor in the center of the room. It appears I like it that way. But fear not--the Guggian ways will soon change--for blessed matrimony looms, with the Valedictorian of the Class of 2003 and the world's greatest Neatnik. A Beatnik and a Neatnik...a match made in heaven. Or in a dirty kitchen. Which brings up a little word to the wise. Dish washing is a very romantic activity if a man has in mind to woo a woman well. And competence at wiping a table will make her swoon. Almost.

Try it...it really works.

Kind of sad that BlogSpot's context-sensitive ads yielded the following for this blog:
"Whirlpool Tubs: Low Prices & Free Shipping. Great Selection - Luxury Brands. Kitchen Sink: Large Selection of Kitchen Sinks. Get Your Home Project Done Right. Related Searches: house cleaning, bathtub, dishwasher repairs." Wonder what most of our posts are about.
W.

This probably should have gone up earlier, but news in the Beat world is Beatnik-to-be Phil Koerner is now engaged to his Italian-German girlfriend, Paola. So, as much as it freaks me out, props to Phil, and there will be much teasing in the fall, rest assured.
W.

YIKES: Where be everyone? Anyway, I just wanted to point y'all toward my blog, wherein I recount a highly scandalous and sinful deed: the shaving of Mr. Gugg's entire beard by his very hand! It is worse than Tullia's offense. ;-)

ADIEU: The Beat is now empty—and relatively clean (no thanks to y'all). ;-) Perhaps as atonement, perhaps because of senior love, the Gugg and I cleaned out the house yesterday and today, delivering a whopping 22 big black bags full of trash to Hillsdale's stinky dump. I also cleaned up the kitchen and emptied the fridge, which was left in a narsty state, to wit:

1) I threw away at least 5 tubs of "Cool Whip"-like things, 2 of which were full (and very old). (Ahem, Sato).

2) In the very back, I discovered a half-full liter of vitamin D milk. I yanked it out and held it upside down over the sink, as I had done to the 3 or 4 other containers holding varying amounts of liquid. Huge chunks of milk squares splatted into the sink. I checked the expiration date: Dec 5, 2002. (Ahem, Sato).

3) Mr. and Mrs. Gugg threw out a number of eggs sitting in a carton that had expired in November. (Ahem, I dunno: mebe Sato, but definitely not me).

4) About half way through the middle shelf I found an old ice cream tub. "Weird," I thought, "what's this doing in the fridge?" I opened it up to find the leftovers of Will's excellent South American rice/bean glop. Unfortunately, the grainy, mushy substance had acquired a massive culture of equally grainy, mushy, fuzzy mold. (Ahem, Will).

In short, there were two big black bags full of food-like items, most of which were quite old, many of which had some "cultures," a few of which were basically empty. The fridge still needs a wipe down, but at least it won't be the fetid home of the world's most effective science experiment by the time August rolls around.

Btw, for future reference: It is not a good idea to move the trash behind the house if you want to get "rid" of it in time for a party. It may make the house look cleaner, but the other side of the back does not have a gutter, which means that all of the water from that side of the roof pours into the trash cans for two weeks, soaking the trash and creating a tremendously disgusting quagmire of soggy bread, smelly, expired food products and used tissues. (Ahem, Wazoo).

As I said, dear ones, the Gugg and I had quite a time. Consider it our senior gift to the house. And with that, adieu!

Some pics from the toga party are up on my site. http://faintinggoat.prwdot.org/toga No html to accompany them yet, and most of the files are pretty big (about 1.2 megs), so be forewarned.

STOLEN FROM SILLIMAN: I took this from Silliman's away message. I thought it rather fitting for this venue.

"A cap of good acid costs five dollars and for that you can hear the Universal Symphony with God singing solo and the Holy Ghost on drums." said Hunter S. Thompson to William F. Buckley, who added: "Though one should be prepared to vomit rather frequently and disport with pink elephants and assorted grotesqueries while trying, often unsuccessfully, to make one's way to the toilet."

Well, the toga party seemed to be quite the success. There were about fifteen of us betoga'd. Though all were regaled in classical attire, it cannot be denied that the resplendent Nik glided through the party as a shimmering Greek goddess among mere mortals. I'm sure all of you who saw her will agree, and if you did not, well, your loss, I must say. In other respects it was a good time, too. Silliman delivered a crushing defeat of Sato. The furniture flamed and the dancing bodies flailed. I shaved my body and coated my oh-so-white self in lustrous olive oil. Caleb, Wazoo, Mitchell and Seraphim nearly caught themselves on fire. The police told us we were violating open burning laws. Stack tried to seduce Krupa. Metzger was monitoring the student population. Tom improvised a denim toga. Silliman told the world what he really thought of it. Lampshades became apparel. Prosp3ct miraculously turned wine into spicy grape juice. Mr. Gugg donned the infamous Party Jacket. Danck brandished his "Photon Light" gun. All in all, an enjoyable time. Pics should be up on my website soon enough.

Due to some... interesting ShoutOuts, I had to delete this post. But, here it is again, from the Gugger:

Here is the first episode of BeatNotes, from me. It's fairly disturbing, so consider this a warning and disclaimer, all ye of tender disposition.

I am sitting at Prosp3ct's computer as various others have what they themselves describe as an "orgy" on the bed.... I'm not sure what they're doing, but only Prosp3ct is drinking, which makes me question the truly orgical nature of the event. But somehow it involves tickling, taking ones socks off, strange cuddling and seeing how many people can fit on one small bed. It's very strange.

I now only have one shoe and sock on, and everyone is laughing. Methinks it is ridiculous. But anyway--they are also listening to strange music. I'm not quite sure how this qualifies as an orgy (as I said before), but it is certainly not something one might see anywhere, or any day. So come to the Beat. The Orgy is ongoing.

But I'm not involved. Nothing of this sort happens to happen in MY room, let it be known once and for all.

I'm going to go study Greek now.

OHHHH BABY: The long-awaited piece in the Collegian about the Beat is here. Check it out. Unfortunately, the pic of us burning the sofa isn't on the Web site.

Sigh.

Haiku for Hamsters
those hamsters sure reek
their stench flows throughout the house
oh please, clean the cage

It just occurred to me that I've probably had more contact with Seraphim this weekend over the blog than in person. That's a little unnerving and more than a little sad. We're up around Geek Factor 17 with that one.
Semper te video.

POTS, KETTLES: I invite all y'all (even you Beat types) to come down to Fort Wayne for the Paschal service. Its beauty, joy and solemnity will surpass anything seen or dreamt of in your flimsy quasi-American religious heritages. Plus, we'll have some great food afterwards. Every fast leads to a feast, ya know.

All are welcome to sleep at my house if you don't want to drive home (it will be over around 3 a.m.).

Speaking of celebrations, we're having one at the Beat this Friday (that okay, guys?). It's supposed to be a wing-dinger, end-of-the-year, this-is-the-classicists'-attempt-to-make-up-for-less-parties, combination-of-all-the-parties-we-wanted-to-have kind of ordeal.

Here are some of the possible motifs (of which I imagine there will be a combo):

1) End of the year hoorah
2) Meet the lovely Anna, my girlfriend
3) Toga party
4) Costume party
5) Take a break from finals
6) Beer
7) Burning of various items
8) Silliman vs. Sato: The perpetual brawl that has come to blows! Don't miss this grudge match between two of the most notorious loud-mouths on campus!

The list goes on...

Well, this weekend is "Easter weekend" for the two heathens that live downstairs. We keep trying to tell them, "Hey, Danck, Gugg: Get with the program, Easter was last Sunday," but they just say, "No, we prefer to deny the existence of the moon." Well, at least that's the general timbre of the conversation. But hey, if them thinking last night was Good Friday means they aren't around to leave more dirty dishes lying around every-which-way, then I suppose I can quietly sit by while they bow to Mammon sometimes.
Ya voy.

OH BABY: I'll be posting the Collegian article about the Beat soon.

On a different note, I think this quote, from Ermenric of Ellwangen, is fitting for us:

"Since even as dung spread upon the field enriches it to good harvest, so the filthy writing of the pagan poets are a mighty aid to divine eloquence."

No wonder we keep Sato's hampster-thingys around here!

This the much-maligned Gugg posting something to demonstrate to one ignorant Richter type how to do so. He wants to be able to post here--I told him nothing doing. :)

It was fun.

All, welcome Prosp3ct to the blog!

In other news, I finally remedied Gugg's laziness and hooked us up with some feedback links, as you can see.
Out.

Well, we Beatniks had a rather... let's say "interesting" write-up in the Collegian today. It wasn't bad, but it certainly paled in comparison to Krupa's drunken ramblings. At least it mentioned our favorite housemate, Drowning Bob.

Regarding the previous post: This man does not represent us.

From Wazoo: I should note that, under more normal circumstances, Mr. J. Anthony Cook would probably love a movie with talking and singing animated vegetables. This time, however, he lacked a few necessary elements in his usual fortnightly television vigil - namely, Guinness and Sam Adams Lager. Which also means, incidentally, that he was in no danger of declaring his eternal romantic affections to anyone.
And I got his permission to say that.

Humph--I just stayed up until 2:30 a.m. watching the new Veggie Tales movie "Jonah." It sucked. What's the Big Idea anyway with peddling such tripe.

And what a way to ruin the Pirates who don't do anything!! They didn't even sing about never going to Boston in the fall.

I am sorely disappointed.

I am also sorely disappointed with this post. But at 2:30, what more can one expect.

I'm going to bed now.

SUP, DAWGS?: I, Seraph the Dank, am up and pontificating on this here blog.

For those unaware, my original blog is Pensate Omnia. I must say it is one fine blog (when I am on a roll and posting regularly). In fact, I believe I am the most seasoned blogger of the Beat bunch: I started Pensate Omnia more than a year ago.

But who cares about that?

I offer you two things in my debut post. 1) What the hee-eck is up with my name 2) Some poetry.

First things first: My name is Seraphim. Not Serafin. Not Sarafiiii(drop off into unintelligable noise, affected so as to sound as if you know what you are doing!). Not even Seraph (although I readily accept Serafim).

Come on, people! This is a common name for Orthodox people, especially those non-Greek Russian/Romanian/Latvian/Bulgarian/Serbian types. That's because St. Seraphim of Sarov (that's in Russia) was a very popular, influential saint from the 19th Century. Many faithful named their children after him, although both "Seraphim" and "Cherubim" are names not unheard of before St. Seraphim's time.

Now, I refer you to this set of definitions of Seraphim. Seraphim is indeed the neuter plural form of seraph, which is a fiery angel that stands before the thrown of God. It is a name that appears in both the Hebrew and Christian Scriptures. Before you go bustin' a premature move, frontin' because you think I should be named "Seraph" and NOT "Seraphim," consider what Easton's 1897 Bible Dictionary has to say:

"Seraphim: mentioned in Isa. 6:2, 3, 6, 7. This word means fiery ones, in allusion, as is supposed, to their burning love. They are represented as "standing" above the King as he sat upon his throne, ready at once to minister unto him. Their form appears to have been human, with the addition of wings. This word, in the original, is used elsewhere only of the "fiery serpents" (Num. 21:6, 8; Deut. 8:15; comp. Isa. 14:29; 30:6) sent by God as his instruments to inflict on the people the righteous penalty of sin."

Need I say any more, foo'!?

But, just in case you are truly wanton, I have one other explanation (aside from the obvious fact that I am named after a Saint). It is the neuter collective, you see! Which means I am 1) full of love; 2) able to bust out some serious wrath; 3) pleasing to all those who have ever taken a Garnjobst class.

Again: need I say any more?

Let that rest, never to be mentioned again.

Oh, and here's the poetry. It a snipet that comes from Ron Silliman's book, N/O:

                         O parking lot
                         oh parking lot
                         I'd give my arm
                         to find a slot
                                 
                                            shattered umbrella

                                    bent

                            awkwardly as a broken bird

                    morning markets meaning maybe

              old disposable
              diapers
              tied in knots
              atop the black asphalt

                            almost blue
                            barely visible
                            smoke spews
                            from a red brick chimney

weird social movements

                     (save the snails)

              my little chubbette

                            imagine Nobel laureate in chem
                            as political, as pathetic
                            as those in lit

              homeboys in the rain eat brain

Beat Night I was a huge success. We'll definitely be doing that again sometime for anyone who wants to come and especially for those who were otherwise engaged last night. We'll keep you posted.

Tonight, in a last-ditch attempt at procrastination, I sold out and started my own blog (he said with a sigh). You can find it at pulchersentio.blogspot.com. There's not much there yet, but then, it's not 2:30 in the morning yet.

Bed: What's That
I sit here at the desk:
Cluttered, grimy, loose skin and paper.
Keyboard! Under my hands.
Keyboard! Clacking away.
Keyboard! Keeps me awake.
Keyboard! Purveyor of wisdom.
Keyboard! Joy of my soul.
Keyboard! Terror of my existence.
Keyboard! Romancer of my fingerprints.
Keyboard! Jealous of my dark deep sheets.
Keyboard keyboard keyboard keyboard!
The keyboard beckons the typists
To sit and live and love
And never to sleep in the blackened night.

W.

Beat Night

Residents of the Beat are proud to announce the first-ever Beat Night. Friday, April 11 here at the house. Ginsberg, Kerouac, and coffee abound. Stop on by and watch the happening happen.

W.

Welcome to The Beat

Defn: Beatnik (1958)--A person who rejects the mores of established society (as by behaving unconventionally) and indulging in exotic philosophizing and self-expression.

"Hillsdale College is entrenched in time honored tradition. Because we have been indoctrinated with this sacred ideal, we wanted to establish our own tradition. This blog establishes our tradition.

--from the picture archive of THE BEAT, as paraphrased by the Gugg upon the founding of this illustrious item of web-lore.

But to speak for myself, the Beat has been the first home I have ever really had away from home. The constant mess, the piles of unwashed dishes, the mountains of dirty clothes, the unsmoked or half-smoked tobacco on the porch, the loud music, stenchiferous "safety"s from Sato, late nights with beer and theology in Seraphim's room, the dart board on the sadly perforated wall and a thousand other small quirks of this, the finest off-campus establishment ever conceived have contributed to make this, my senior year at Hillsdale College, one of the best of my life.

But enough of nostalgia. This blog is hereby established to permit any who desire to visit a small corner of the Beat any time they might wish to do so. Our doors never close. The beer may flow less freely here than in reality, but the bad jokes will be in no way scarcer than the material Beat. For, indeed, Wazoo will always be here.

That said, ENJOY!!