There was one time in my life when I was an activist. It was in the eighth grade. Thomas and I were passing David Obst's Too Good to Be Forgotten between us, and I thought "The Times They Are A-Changin'" by Bob Dylan was the greatest thing I'd ever heard, in addition to the instigating hits of the FOX97 Ultimate Oldies Concert. Unfortunately, in 1998, there weren't a whole lot of issues we could project our activism on, with the exception of the Monica Lewinsky scandal, during which most of us could only imagine vague, anatomically-incorrect conceptions of "sexual relations" (or maybe it was just me who was a little slow on the uptake). In any case, the Webb Bridge Middle School administration served as a surrogate tyrant. Our primary grievances were:

1. In the morning, why can't we stand in the halls before class instead of being retained in the gymnasium until 8:15?
2. Why are all the assistant principals such dicks, except for Mr. Williamson?

It all started in the Academic Bowl team, I'm sure, but I think we managed to plant the seeds of revolution in the rest of the plebes (arrogant fuckers, we were). I remember making a few copies of a political cartoon depicting administrators mosey-ing cattle through the hallway. I waited all day for that thing to be torn down, and then when it finally was that afternoon (probably by another student), I screamed bloody suppression of free speech. One day Thomas and I made black armbands for everyone. This must have been pre-Columbine if we were allowed to organize ourselves with armbands in a public school; either that or they just looked to everyone else like we had black socks tied around our arms. I think one of us eventually solicited a meeting with the principal, in which we were probably given a very rational argument for why 11-14 year-olds needed to be restrained from running willy-nilly through the hallways. That was a low-point in the revolution for our cred, especially since it was preceded by John being falsely indicted for a chocolate milk fight in the cafeteria. However, we won a victory the following week when I went up and called one of the assistant principals a fascist as they were picking out the dreadlocks of some upstart sixth-grader. I scampered away before I got a reponse. But for a second there... I felt just like John Lennon, you know?

Anyway, none of our demands were ever met, because activism requires a certain length of attention-span that we just weren't willing to commit to. I think remaking Psycho ended up being more interesting, and Thomas got into... Mario Puzo novels? and started pretending he was Italian (don't deny it). I guess the point of this is that I've never been really involved in current events nor have I really been entirely interested in them since then. I love American history and I think modern politics is fascinating until my gag reflex kicks in. I have vague stances on abortion, social security, and gun control, but I'm too meek to condemn the other side for their position. I have absolutely no idea what's going down in the West Bank, although I just recently discovered that all liberals are pro-Palestian and all conservatives are pro-Israeli when before I didn't even think that the simplicity of American politics could even touch the complex knot of Middle-Eastern conflicts. I have a vague notion that we're letting Africa tear itself to hell, but I have no idea what we should do and neither do I really have the motivation to do anything. I never feel guilty like Daniel says he does sometimes, and I don't really feel that strong of a pull to help out my community. I'm not unsympathetic, but I am self-centered. And it really creeps me out that I'm not bothered by that. I guess it's easier for me to lock myself in the Ivory Tower, or promise that I'll contribute something to the world aesthetically. But normally I don't even make the effort to rationalize; it just never enters my thoughts.

I guess I can gloss it up by saying that I hope to change the world by trying not to be a dick to the people closest to me. I am more or less successful with that every day. Less yesterday since I stole Suman's leftover pizza and ate the whole thing.

Well, other things... I saw a staged reading/ production of Glengarry Glen Ross last night. Besides being out of the Mamet loop that includes Daniel and Adam, I wasn't exactly sure what I was supposed to get out of the gender issues that the director (I think it was her senior project?) was bringing attention to: the cast was all-female. This is probably because I'm the thickest person ever when it comes to gender issues. But the performances were really incredible. I wish I could see it again.

I got my lottery number for housing yesterday. Apparently it's pretty respectful for a first-year. I don't know how helpful it will be in getting an ideal room in Shoreland, but it certainly can't hurt me. I'm really jazzed about living anywhere in the Shoreland, though. Especially since there was an article in the Maroon about its inevitable destruction.



Midterms are approaching, and I am looking at a Romanticism take-home exam, a Poetry paper, a Hum paper, and some major French quizzes... all around opening weeked of Accidental Death of an Anarchist, plus my parents are coming for the weekend. And I really have no motivation to do any of this stuff. I mean, all I had to do this weekend is read 50 pages of Castle Rackrent and some French worksheets, and yet I've done everything in my power to delay this. It's because of all the damn leaves on the trees, but mostly it's because everything in theater right now is so much more damn interesting. Ah. I love it.

Also, I think I might be considering changing my concentration to Interdisciplinary Studies in the Humanities. More on this later.

Tonight: 24-Hour Play Project followed by rehearsal, and then the French if it needs me. Je vais retourner.