Changes

All in all, we don’t know exactly how many Wilbur Trays we finished that year and I was sidelined from my work for 6 weeks with a broken right index finger, my carving finger, but our estimates range from about 85-100. We started with just “Wilbur Sucks”. Over and over, we etched these letters with as much variety as we could muster, with the hopes of covering every piece of flat serving plastic we could get our defacingly creative mitts on. We were unknowing followers of Haring, Basquiat, and, eventually, the Romans. We started to want to catalogue our history, numbering the Trays from the numeral I. Each was different and we were sure to pass on to one anotehr another which we made so we’d know which consecutive numebr number to carve at our next earliest convenience. The simple beginnings morphed into limited edition Trays. There was such as the infamous “Seventeen Lambda” so named for the slip of the fork which caused a lambda-esque mark. These were the Limited Edition Mission Trays:

Junior year saw me off to Melbourne, Australia, away from the friends and co-artists with whom I’d lived in such close proximity. I missed a whole football season and Rack’s shaved head. My return coincided with Kam’s month-long departure for the duration of Winter Study. My artistic soul pined for his return. However, I found another interesting lot of people. Men I knew from the previous two years, people like The Dog and Gregor, who now lived with Radar and Rack placing them closer to me and to my heart. Gregor’s ascerbic humor and outlook on life provided a solid sounding board for DeRosa’s The Dog’s anger over the “Girlfriend incident. Coupled with the usual spark from Radar and the sage judgement from Rack, this was a veritable breeding ground for new Wilbur insults. I was also now living with Goose, whose objective disgust of Wilbur was helpful in balancing our strong bias, as well as Kam, Bee, and of course, the Robot himself, as well as a handful of others: Doc, whose bizarre, no-holds-barred razzing meshed seamlessly with the work of Deaner, Blakely, and more. It was upon Kam’s return that our now enlarged force set to work bouncing ideas off of one another like a New York City taxi passenger against the door frame. We decided that the Wilbur legend must persist in the red brick confines of Greylock Dining Hall. So it was. We decided to put aside our sophomoric yet accurate decree and focus on slightly more pithy, witty, timely, and thought-provoking Trays. Ideas were suggested, shot down, modified until they evolved into the Greylock series. Here is what we recall, in no particular order: