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In This Issue

• Blind Guy Shows Us the Way
• Columbia's Cruel Iron Maiden
• Letter From the Editor
• Daddy Was a Shrink; Momma Was a Street Corner.
• Columbia Socialist Pronounces ‘Bourgeois’ The Right Way
• Holiday Thoughts for the Dysfunctional
• Dear Alma Mater
• Columbia Vs. Colombia
• WHAT TYPE OF DYSFUNCTIONAL IS YOUR FAMILY?
• Uncut Tales of Dysfunctional Literacy
• White Boys Need Money
• I Am So Not a Man
• Thanks, My Ass: Mohican Joe speaks out
• Press 'M' for Mezzanine... if Ye be Brave Enough
• Your Daily (read: Monthly) Horoscope
• Wacky Fun Whitey: Evil Just Like your Mom
• Newsbriefs
• THEY Watch
• The Staff of 17.4

You don't want to know where his left hand is, because that's where the drill is going.

Have you ever wondered where the M button on the Carman elevators will take you? No, it doesn't stand for Main, Mailroom, or even Masturbation (although that last option is arguably the most accurate on account of the scarcity of females on this 1/8th of a floor). Yup, that's right, the Mezzanine, as well as the second floor, of Carman Hall have the distinction of being the only all-male floors for freshmen in all of Columbia University. Attractive young ladies/guys/farm animals take note: 34 lonely bast-err... bachelors are waiting there just for you!

M means Mezzanine, which is rumored to be Latin for "Columbia hates you." Located between floors 1 and 2 in Carman (think Being John Malkovitch), there are only 2½ suites on this floor, which means that there's no R.A. This is quite beneficial, as it has afforded many a student the opportunity to run a meth lab where his roommate's bed used to be. The occasional explosions rarely attract attention, and the business is paying quite a few college tuitions. Another common occurrence on the Mezzanine is that of its inhabitants scent-marking their territory, which does have its advantages. The lounge couch may reek of urine, but at least now everyone knows it belongs to that weird Dungeons and Dragons kid in the suite by the elevator, so stay away.

Life on the second floor of Carman also has its upsides. The unsociable atmosphere gives its men the peace and quiet they need to do homework or sleep or search the Internet for adequate girl substitutes, and the drinking of unconcealed Forties in the lounge has often gone unnoticed. Occupants are free to explore the floor's manifold mysteries, including the spooky Emergency Equipment room, the partially-used mailroom, and three unmarked doors. (Rumor has it that one leads to utter contentment, while the other two just lead to the dining hall.)Yet the negatives of living on these low-lying floors far outweigh the positives, it seems. M and 2 have become something of a tourist trap for drunken freshmen seeking cheap kicks at their fellows' expense, much like vacationers to a third world country dangling scraps of food in front of the natives whilst discussing how cute they look when their stomachs are all distended and you can see their ribs. It is not uncommon for tourists to blurt out "Oh my God! It's so small!" upon viewing these sorry excuses for hallways, as a cheap whore might do upon seeing her customer naked. (There is a growing movement among Mezzanistas to install landmines in front of the elevators as deterrents to future visitors).

The proximity of the Carman Mezzanine and second floor to the ground has proved to be a mixed blessing. Since the probability of injury or death resulting from a tumble from a resident's window is relatively low, several suicide attempts have been thwarted. "When I accidentally fell out of my window last month," one anonymous second-floor occupant said, "all that happened was that I got kicked out of University housing. But given that I'd been living on Carman 2, I didn't mind at all."