In my mind, I can see you all right now, huddled round your computers, eagerly anticipating the time when next update to the page might come. Pajama-clad and bleary-eyed, you stand vigil faithfully by your machines through the wee hours of the morning, nervously awaiting even the minutest editorial gesture on the part of the web-curators, hungry for new wisdom. Lonely for the solace that only the deranged, poorly-written poems and retouched photos provide, you sit for hours at a go, often times without eating or sleeping, and certainly not attending class, for some new glimmering of hope, some new promise of meaning, which can come only from this solitary place. Like a bunch of deluded, bewildered little X-generation Siddharthas, you sit, and you wait. And nothing happens. Reloading compulsively you wonder to yourself : What of the promises unkept, the articles left unwritten, without even one of those little "under construction" men to keep us company amid the suffering and turmoil brought about our own false hopes? What of the plight of the boys, er, ahem, men of the Eta Nu? What of their story? To demonstrate to our vast oceans of faithful followers that we have not forgotten thee, we offer to you these modest leavings, if not to relieve altogether your torment, then at least to keep you at bay until the riot squads arrive to ensure that you don't take to the streets in droves, leaving behind you a great wake of death and despair as you vent the angst which has mounted inside of you as a result of the existential crises brought about by the dreadful lack of recent activity here on the page. The urgent questions above will go yet unanswered, but in the place of their answers we offer to you the next best thing: Lots of pictures of Carl.