Some dates demand attention: Mother’ s Day, a fiftieth wedding anniversary, your sister’s twenty-first birthday. Usually they are spikes in what one considers just another year, pinpricks reminding us that time is passing, that things must be done before the next like-numbered date rolls up with a different two digits attached to its back. Month, day, and hour take precedence over the long and lazy year in molding our mind-frames. The next test, the next deadline, the next appointment. 2000, however, refuses to be slighted or ignored. As we all grow accustomed to forming those three zeroes and speaking of the Naughts instead of the Nineties, the year is changing us. Although the merry patterns of life continue mostly unaltered, every time we write the date, or refer to the Millenium, 2000 jabs us out of temporality for a brief connection to the majestic spread of human history. For the first time in a long time, a year that will not sit behind the Mays and Junes, the Fridays and Saturdays, the happy hours: a year that will not be taken for granted. 2000 hopped up on our editorial desk and prodded us to look around. Just as individuals set New Year’s Resolutions, or epic varieties of the millenial sort, so do the institutions to which we belong. To reference a favorite of AP English seniors and film students alike, the questions "Where are you going? Where have you been?" emerged simply as the most necessary questions to ask. And we decided to search for the simplest answer: the futuristic crusaders that we are, we followed in the footsteps of our science-fictional ancestors, and demanded of Davidson College, "Take me to your leader." President Vagt, Bobby, happily, graciously, and patiently obliged.