Five...four...three...two...one... SMASH! Ow!

And with a last little bit of ceremony, the young Professor Cello
smashed the bottle of champagne against the post of the newly
installed sliding doors.  The new seventh floor vision lab and offices
were officially open for business.   Looking around to see who had been
struck by the glass, he quickly realized that the proclamation of pain
had come from the door's control software and was another little joke
left in the system by the undergraduate, Hugh Ropp, who had coded the
V.A.S. (vision-augmented security) system in under a week.

	``Sorry, VAS.''

	``It's alright.  Welcome to the LV-Line.''

and with that the doors slid open and people filed into the new
workspace in order to have a celebratory glass of champagne and listen
to the music that was coming from someone's office stereo.  

Three weeks later, the music and champagne were gone, but the
environment had become what Cello had hoped -- people were discussing,
working, laughing, and simply having fun while being productive.  This
was the environment he had hoped to create and it had come to
fruition.  Finally.  Delays and cost overruns due to asbestos and the
not-to-be-mentioned ``soffit incident'' had put the project in
jeopardy, but a last-minute donation from, of all places, Proctor &
Gamble helped to grease the wheels and finish the project.  All P&G
had asked for was that the group come up with some sort of novel,
technology-based advertising medium.  What could be more novel (or
technology-based?)  than interactive advertising in V.A.S.?

    	``Good morning, Professor Cello, you're looking well today.
       	  You must be taking your One-A-Day, with Iron, Vitamins.''
    
    ``Of course Vas, thanks.''  (O.K., so the advertising is a little
      cheesy, but it is novel.)
    
    ``Vas, could you open the door, please.  I need to get my notes
      for class'' (This thing seems to be drifting away from its
      mission, quickly.)

    	``I'm sorry, Cello, I'm afraid I can't do that.... Cello, 
          have you purchased that Mind-Ex brand St. John's Wort
    	  that we've been discussing?''

    ``Vas, I do not DISCUSS things with you and NO, I am NOT depressed
      and do NOT need St. John's or any other Wort.''

    	``But St. John's Wort isn't just for depressed people, Cello,
   	  it's a mood ENHANCER.  You'll just be the same Professor Cello,
          only with the mental energy that you need to keep going.''

    ``Open the vision lab doors, Vas.''

    	``I can't do that.''

    ``VAS!''

    	.
    	.
    	.


    ``Vas, open the door!''

    	``I'm afraid I can't do that.  Why don't you just take a short
          trip down the street to the Kendall Pharmacy and pick some
          up.  Here, I'll print a little map for you off of Expedia.''

    ``VAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAS''


Judging by the number of Girl Scout cookie boxes that he'd eaten to
survive, it must have been several days before they found Professor
Cello.  After several weeks things seemed somewhat normal, but even
people coming by for a short visit had to be warned not to mention
vitamins in his presence.  We'll probably never know who, or what,
removed that essential support vector, which people had half-jokingly
referred to as ``impulse control,'' from VAS's working dataset, but it
was clear that things had gotten out of hand when it was found that
VAS had submitted an R01 grant application and was committee chair for
an upcoming conference.



Come discuss our own irreplacibility at this week's

G I R L   S C O U T   B E N E F I T
7ai.  See you there.