Whether you are a freshman or a senior, Massachusetts resident or foreign national, manic-depressive or ADD, filthy rich or dirt poor, VAX-geek or stoner, for as long as you've been at Clark, no single activity comes with such regularity as the inevitable Friday-evening search for something to do. It surpasses even the usual Sunday evening telephone assault from the parents.

 Six pm rolls around and your stomach demands full attention. Before you can go eat, you must, of course, find a friend to join you because God knows how lame your sorry ass will look sitting there all alone dipping soggy fries and humility in ketchup. So you start calling friends, and as always, one by one, no one is home. Where do they all go?

 The truth is, your friends are way cooler than you, and had Friday night figured out in ten am Astronomy. None of your friends are around, so you start calling people you barely know but swore you would get to know better last semester. Forget it. Laurie is already stoned, Ari's washing his cat, and Heather is studying her accounting textbooks. In desperation, you dial some random numbers.

 "Hello?"

 "Hey, so, uhh," you say, "did you get the reading for that, uhh... class?"

 "What class? Who is this?"

 "Psych."

 "Oh, yeah, of course."

 "Yeah, so, uhh... I'll meet you in the UC and we'll go to the Bist--"

 "I just ate." Click.

Turn to Page 2.