• Join The Fed
• Advertise with The Fed

• About Us
• Contact

In This Issue

• Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend
• Crazy Pill-Popping Cult Lives On
• A Brief History of the Apocalypse
• Letters to the Editor
• The Newest Ball-Suckin' Tea Craze
• Young Lady Changes Sex, Founds Frat-nerd-ity
• Columbiatron Chatbot Advises For Success
• Reasons Why Those Two Seniors Got Caught Cheating on the GREs
• DVD Features Will Make This World a Better Place
• Thousand-Foot Monsters "Battel" for the Future
• Duuhnuh.... Duuhnuh... Dunudunu... SHARKWALK!
• Dean Quigley: Oracle, Comedian, Swell Guy
• Jesus Freaky Christ and His Many Dopplegangers
• I Done Mediocre
• Future's A-Gonna Be Swell
• Sports Riots Portend Downfall of All Mankind
• The Four Stages of Zombification
• Super Novi Bros.
• Wacky Fun Whitey
• Now With Added Filler!
• The Staff of 18.5
• THEY Watch

It's now been fifteen hours since the end of Shark Walk 2000+2, and I am still unable to move my legs. That's the kind of thing that happens when you walk sixty miles in a 24-hour period.

What is Shark Walk? To show solidarity with the shark, I would fully emulate the activities of this noble beast for 24 hours. The rules defined at the outset of Shark Walk 2000+2 were simple: 1. Since sharks can never stop swimming, I would not stop walking. 2. Sharks cannot sleep, so neither would I. 3. Sharks only eat fish, so I would only eat canned tuna. To aid my walk, I established several checkpoints throughout the city, where I would switch walking partners. With these rules in mind, I embarked at 6:00 am on a chilly Friday morning, bent on representing this relentless machine

Mission #1 - Broadway @ 116th Street to Central Park Zoo; 6:00 am - 9:00 am

92nd St. and Broadway, 6:20 am

I happened upon a derelict who, as derelicts often do, asked me for a quarter. Despite being in possession of an entire roll of quarters, which my mother had given me for laundry, I insisted that I didn't have one. The bum then asked for a dollar, then five, then ten. As I continually refused, the bum grew more insistent, until finally he shoved me down 92nd St. and asked, "Why don't you just give me everything you's gots, then?"

It was at this juncture that I finally realized that I was being robbed. While my adrenaline was kicking in, I noticed that the "gun" the bum had been pointing at me was his index finger under his hoodie. With renewed determination I decided, "I am not going to be robbed today, especially by a guy like this."

I reached in my pocket for my trusty roll of quarters, and made like I was going to give it to the attacker. However, instead of relinquishing my only means of defense, I socked him as hard as I could in the solar plexus, effectively knocking the wind out of him. As the bum doubled over, I pounded him in the right kidney, and as he was still bent over, kicked him as hard as I could in the grundle. He stumbled forward, face-planting into the street.

I immediately ran away as fast as I could, until I regurgitated my tuna in front of a building called "The Apthorp." Regaining my composure, I congratulated myself for a job well done. I had turned the table on my mugger, and had found a new motto for Shark Walk 2000+2: "Nobody fucks with the shark."

Central Park, 7:30 am - 9:00 am

It was in Central Park that I discovered that not only is dog man's best friend, but that they are excellent instruments for flirting. My first encounter that morning was with two large sheep dogs, owned by a well-dressed man, whom I did not realize was hitting on me until twenty minutes into the conversation when he began to caress my deltoid, and whose phone number is probably still sitting in the garbage can that was next to me when he handed me his card.

Shortly following this incident a German Shepherd jumped me by Shakespeare Garden. The animal was owned by a girl who lived on Park Ave., who minutes later asked me for my phone number. I handed her my card (Yes, I have a card). Five minutes later I pulled out one of my cards to check the number and saw, "3-4723." Fantastic. I gave the hot German girl whose name I didn't know my extension, then didn't ask for her number. I rule.

Mission #2 - Central Park Zoo to Washington Park Arch; 9:00 am to 12:00 pm

Central Park Zoo, 9:00 am

My pacing upset a worker for the Parks Department, who thought I was to something. My demands to know his name, number, and supervisor's name were all answered with a "No," and the Parks Department's request for my name was answered with, "Mitch Pelosi." The gentleman put his hand on my shoulder (much less gently than the gay gentleman had) and personally escorted me all the way to 59th St.

Apparently, the Parks Department doesn't want a shark loose on the premises. I don't blame them. They're only doing their jobs.

Rockefeller Center, 9:20 am

While waltzing past Rockefeller Center, I watched six EMTs remove a body from a neighboring church. Suddenly there was an explosion of light from behind me, which turned out to be about a dozen flashing cameras. I grimaced, as I realized that I had become the gawking loser always present in newspaper crime scene photos.

An officer at the scene refused to answer my questions, as I could not produce any ID to prove my affiliation with a reputable paper. I told him he was as bad as the Parks Department, to which he responded with a confused look.

Mission #3 - Washington Park Arch to Brooklyn Bridge; 12:00 pm to 5:00 pm

Staten Island Ferry, 1:00 pm - 2:30 pm

My attempts to continuously circle the ferry were thwarted by a dutiful member of the crew. I was forced to pace back and forth at the aft of the ferry, much to the chagrin of confused onlookers.

Mission #4 - Brooklyn Bridge to Columbus Circle; 5:00 pm to 8:00 pm

At this point, walking partners from the Fed finally decided to join me and immediately slowed me down by stopping to buy a banana. It was then that I decided that walking continuously was, for the sake of my feet and knees, no longer my bag. I revised Rule #1 to include standing still as being okay.

It was around this time that it occurred to me that I didn't know if the derelict was alive or dead when I ran away. It was fully possible that I had been on the lam all day, evading the cops at every turn. It suddenly dawned on me that I should have robbed the derelict.

Mission #5 - Columbus Circle to Grand Central Station; 8:00 pm to 11:00 pm

After walking forty-four miles, I was becoming a tad delirious. We visited the apartment building from the movie Ghostbusters and the church to its immediate left that the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man stepped on. I screamed, "Nobody steps on a church in my town!" all three times I passed the church that night, and it was funnier each time.

Mission #6 - Grand Central Station to American Museum of Natural History; 11:00 pm to 2:00 am

The pain in my feet and knees was getting to me, so I revised Rule 1 again, deciding that once we reached our destination, I was sitting my shark-walkin' ass down. Somewhere around the French Consulate on Central Park West I went almost fully delirious, and I don't clearly remember much of what happened for the rest of the trip.

Mission #7 - AMNH to Lincoln Center to Broadway @116th St; 2:00 am to 6:00 am

I remember severely misbudgeting the amount of time it would take to get to Lincoln Center, resulting in a lot of comfy, comfy sitting. As events after Lincoln Center are a complete blur, I asked editor Mike Ilardi to fill in the blanks:

As the hours wore on, Matt's deliriously good spirits began to spread in the form of triumphant giddiness to the rest of the now sizable group. We stopped in a diner, in order to gain enough energy for the final (slow) march back to Columbia. At 6:00 am, Matt finally stumbled through the gates of the campus and all rejoiced at this momentous occasion.

I would have to say that Shark Walk 2000+2 was a successful failure, in that while I didn't actually walk continuously or eat only tuna, I stayed true to the spirit of the Shark Walk and went the distance. I also have a newfound respect for the shark and its ceaseless movement, while at the same time being struck by a sense of pity. Although it was fun to be a shark for a while, that noble beast will never get nearly as much high-quality, sleep as I did starting 6:05 that Saturday morning.