Dik's Ravings

Dik Saalfeld '80
Washington correspondent

The thumping you hear is not a skip in the Black Sabbath album you are playing to drown out the sound of your kids' whining and your wife's nagging. It is also not the hangover you are nursing following last night's all-nude Twister Tournament at the VFW. It is the approaching hoof-beats of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

In cheerier news, Paul Weston '79 will be joining the armed faithful at this year's Deer Camp. He attended last year, but sans artillery. This year he bought a license and a shotgun, but to get the former he had to take a hunting test, the answers to which he bought from a wildlife ranger down on his luck. His wife, Dreamgirl Leslie Dombrowski '80, is giving him a crash course entitled "Observable Differences Between Wild Deer and Your Daughter's Horse." (Paul's brother-in-law, fraternity brother Tom Carbone '82, is the husband of Leslie's sister Carson, which I have been told is in no way an incestuous relationship. People think I am so stupid. Their kids are cousins, for Pete's sake! When will the perversity end?)

Tom Berg '80, his luscious wife, Dreamgirl Val Moulton '83, and their 3 daughters have returned from their two-year hiatus in Saudi Arabia, where Tom was pursuing his lifelong dream of being the only person in his nuclear family not to be covered head to toe in thick, black fabric.

Jeff Taub '80 continues to live an uneventful life as a Navy officer on duty in the Pentagon, although he wonders where that pesky draft is coming from.

Ed Catto '84 is taking another stab at bachelorhood, bringing joy to the hearts of every floozy and pop-tart in the tri-state area. I roomed with Ed back in the day, and I'll never forget the advice he gave me about fat chicks… no, wait. That was my dad. Never mind. (Ed didn't know squat about fat chicks, but not for lack of research.)

Those of you who are computer literate have typed your names into Internet search engines to see if the Ithaca Journal has computerized its Police Blotter files from your undergraduate days, an era otherwise known as the Pleistocene. It turns out prospective employers do this, too, as kind of a cheap background check. (Learned that one the hard way: "Dik Saalfeld" AND "indecent exposure.") Anyway, the rag you're holding is also published on the Web, so if you don't want your name coupled with words like "bestiality," "transsexual," or "incontinent junkie," send me ten bucks. It's too late for the guys listed above, but you're safe if you act now. Ralph Bischof. John Olsewski. You know who you are. Dave Miles. Ken Hull. The choice is yours, purveyors of pornography. Matt Schiff.

Frank Koh '79 still keeps bootleg Grateful Dead tapes stashed in his afro. There may still be a joint or two up there, even though he has long since given up the follies of youth. He thought about getting the 'fro cut, but barbers have a tendency to close when they see Frank coming.

Bob Dores '79 continues to yank teeth for a living. I refuse to patronize his dental establishment, given his draconian pain policy, namely "no morphine for routine cleaning." (I happen to have sensitive teeth.)