In the middle of that hub I remember one jazz club...

Today the newspaper came out. I proudly handed out copies outside the door of the meetinghouse--"The Oblivion is here!"--and spent the rest of the day picking copies off of the floor and poring over the mistakes we'd failed to catch. "This is a horrible newspaper," Doug said as I walked into History. "Yeah, it's the worst newspaper I've ever read," said Beni. "That's because you've never read a real newspaper," Julianna quipped.

Mr. Byrne also came up to me in the hallway and, instead of trying to make me move, started telling me how the English office had been talking about how "brilliant" I was.

But enough bragging. I want to go back to last night, when I was biking home from the Used Book Café in black fishnets and a dark-red plaid shirt, freezing.

People have strange thoughts when they're cold. I rode slowly, because it was dark, even thought I was freezing. I began thinking about how futile man's struggle against nature is. No matter how big the building is, you still have to cross the street at some point, and if it's cold, or wet, or too hot, you're going to suffer a little, no matter how important you are or how much money's in your pocket. I usually end up thinking about the futility of trying to reach out to mankind when I get that feeling; but instead I started thinking about mankind as a whole being futile against the vastness and emptiness of everything else. It was strangely liberating. My twisted logic was as follows: I can make no difference to mankind (which usually makes me sad), but mankind can make no difference to the world or the universe or the weather, so it doesn't matter if I can change mankind. It's a wierd application of the standard. Being unable to make a difference previously made me feel invalid. But now, because mankind is incapable of making a difference, it is invalid, making me valid either way, whether or not I ever impact humanity.

Do you see what I'm saying?

I've also been thinking about my feelings about the whole vegitarian thing. I don't know if I'm going back or not. While it's a wonderful theory, the fact is that everything about our culture (to quote Harry) revolves around the death and use of animals. Glue. Plastic. Sneakers. Jello. Most foods. I'm starting to feel like the four years I spent as a semi-vegitarian were useless. I guess I always knew that I wasn't making much of a difference, but I was able to pretend for a while and feel good about it. I felt as guilty being a pseudo-vegitarian at the end as I feel eating meat now. I don't know which is worse; I don't know what I want to do. I'm starting to feel an Emersonian "are they my poor?" rising in me, confusing my previously-held morals. I used to resent women who established themselves socially as superior to me. Then I started telling myself to prove to them that I was as good as they were. I wonder now if I'm unconsciously giving others the message that I'm superior to them--if I've switched sides in my rebellion and become that which I hated.

Anyway, it gave me a sense of liberation. I called Harry and tried to talk about it, but ended up just laughing when he said he had to go and saying "Wait. I love you. Make me laugh some more." I need to laugh more. I don't laugh enough.

Call it hormones, but I'm feeling a little better. The sense of liberation pervaded my day and made the publication of The Oblivion even more cheerful.

I got my dad to read Understanding Comics by Scott McCloud. He resisted for a while, but finally agreed to read it on the plane on one of his business trips. He loved it. He kept saying that it was ingenius and that he needed to read it a few more times and take notes and such, and I kept saying "I told you so."

It's ten minutes to the end of seventh period and I want food. Unfortunately, the cafeteria is closed and I don't have time to go out and get something.



Thought of the day: mixing metaphors should be illegal.
People are okay I guess.