• Join The Fed
• Advertise with The Fed

• About Us
• Contact

In This Issue

• My Fireside Chat with El Presidente
• Jesus is Found
• Students Exported to China, Along with Most Jobs
• Facial Hair Suspected
• The Top Five Top Ten Lists of All Time
• Procrastinating Superhero Lets Gothamville Children Die Last Thursday
• The Fed's Slightly Outdated Guide to the 2008 Presidential Primaries
• Go Down Low, Lick Her Kent, and Fayherweather
• Journalistic Integrity is for Weak-Minded Women and Syphilis-Ridden Spaniards, Says William Randolph Hearst
• Get Your Artistic Freak On
• A Pictorial Representation of the Night of the Fed Bash
• Subway Seat Sacrifices: How to Prioritize?
• Still from “George Orwell’s 1984 (2008 Movie Adaptation)”
• "Female Sexuality" - A Research Report by Brian Greenberg, 6th Grade
• Ne-Yo Colonialism: A Foray into the Celebrity Psyche
• Crisis Hits Campus, Students Respond in Reasoned and Rational Manner, Fair and Balanced Dialogue Follows
• Three Millennia Later: Yo' Mama Jokes Still Fresh!
• THEY WATCH
• The Staff of 23.5

Ramsey Scott

6:30 PM: I approach the doorway of 60 Morningside Drive for President Bollinger's Fireside Chat, and I feel butterflies in my stomach. A little nauseous now; could be because I'm about to meet the leader of a global institution, could just be that chipotle mayo I had earlier. Goddamn Café 212.

6:32 PM: I pull myself together, scrape the dust off my tuxedo, and give the password to the security guard. I'm not finished muttering, "What are you missing due to drinking alcohol?" into the guard's ear when I am promptly shoved inside.

6:36 PM: I look around in awe at the house where Dwight Eisenhower, Madeleine Albright, and Jeffrey Sachs must all have smoked cigars and played a mean game of Clue. A bronze statue of John Kluge adorns the entrance, as well as giant portraits of Franklin Roosevelt, Boutros-Boutros Ghali, and Jake Gyllenhaal. Roaree the Lion can crawl back to his dump; this is really the Lion's Den. Also, word on the street is that the mansion's value will certainly ascend with the projected demolition of Wien in 2010 (Dean Colombo just got his mini-golf course proposal approved).

6:40 PM: One of Bollinger's servants offers me a glass of non-alcoholic champagne as he escorts me to the living room. Fifty other students are already sitting on the carpet; I'm instructed to do the same. The presidential staff also explains that while "President Bollinger is one of the nation's leading scholars on free speech, any questions about his verbal ownage of Mahmoud Ahmadinejad shall be punished with expulsion." I chuckle; who would really want to ask him about that?

6:47 PM: A hidden elevator door opens behind a marble bust of Václav Havel, and the man himself appears before us. Everyone gasps, astonished by Bollinger's stylish red bathrobe, mink slippers and mahogany pipe. "I apologize for being late," he states. "I couldn't let Bloomberg get away with beating me at polo. Fortunately I won, so I got to borrow his chopper to get here from the Hamptons." The audience cheers.

6:50 PM: After several students kiss his knuckles, Bollinger takes a seat on his light blue La-Z-Boy. "All right, so you all know we got the permits for the Manhattanville deal. Now that this tiresome chapter in our lives is over, let's move on and focus on the future." The Spec reporters throw down their pencils and storm out of the room.

6:53 PM: One girl raises her hand and asks Bollinger what motivated him to become President of the University. He puffs on his pipe and leans back in his blue La-Z-Boy. "Have you looked at this place, darling? Back in my law school days, I used to live above KFC on 106th and Broadway, and now I've got the sweetest pad in the neighborhood. And just think of all the fundraising it took to put the foie gras on that table! Go ahead! Take all you want! Tonight's dinner is on Papa Kluge." The foie gras is indeed delicious. All inquiries about financial aid are consequently silenced.

7:15 PM: Everyone is having a great time. It turns out that all is going well at Columbia, and all the quarrels about housing, ABC funding and racist graffiti seem like a distant dream. In a lively and cordial disposition, Bollinger proceeds to show us his numerous awards, photo albums, and miniature yacht collection.

7:50 PM: At the end, Bollinger signs autographs and tells jokes about his previous tenure as the President of the University of Michigan: "Ann Arbor is the complete opposite of chic. George Soros once asked me what the fudge I was doing there, and I said I was just warming up for the big time!" Applause and laughter follows. "Have you seen the new infrared ID scanning system on campus? That joke paid for that. Damn, I love that Hungarian."

8:00 PM: We gather to hug Bollinger goodbye. He waves and leaves the room on his Segway, riding off into the elevator with a carbon-friendly whirr.

8:15 PM: I walk back to my bite-size dorm as I breathe in the cold February air, but I feel ecstatic. Note to self: If the oracles beckon you for the upcoming Fireside Chat during the next lunar eclipse, save your pressing concerns for another day. Schmoozing and cavorting truly are the path to wealth, wisdom, and awesome gray hair, and if you disagree, you don't know what you're missing.