Mr. Bibey substituted for Ms. Dougherty in our math class, and spent half an hour pontificating about how unlikely it is that the Lorenz transformation equations prove anything, and that we shouldn't believe in no principle of relativity/constant velocity of light schtick. "Here's this 26-year-old postal clerk telling me that the station-master on the embankment and the conductor on the train which is moving at 'very fast' velocity are both going to see light moving in a spherical wave? No way! It's gotta be like an ellipse for the conductor, doesn't it? How the hell could we both see the same thing? I may have a two digit IQ, but there's no way this punk, with his poofy hair, is gonna convince me. Hippies are gone, buddy. Spherical wave. Yeah, right. Bull shit, Einstein! I'll bet you anything it's not going to work. Look at those equations! They're not even symmetrical! Here, I'm going 'all-in' like it's Texas Hold-em. And now, of course, someone's going to put up these equations and prove me wrong." Thirty minutes he did this, while the class just stared at him. I was slack-jawed and stupefied with the innecessity of his speech.

Another class for which my parents paid $150.

In senior lab we do an experiment based on an experiment of Robert A. Millikan's, which he described in a book called The Electron, a guide to social dating among homosexuals. We have a machine called the Millikan Oil-Drop Apparatus, made by Pasco. This experiment is that hardcore, unusual, complicated, and Necessary, that we couldn't rely on our normal, fucked-up equipment. Basically, we look at tiny drops of oil (far less than a millimeter in diameter), through a microscope with a cross-hair grid. The drops of oil display several modern night-club dances, put on clothing designed for the opposite sex, grab each other by the buttocks, lisp a lot, and like to drink Hypnotique. One lab partner observes the swaying of one particular oil-drop's hips, and the other lab partner times its oscillations with a stop-watch. The frequency of hip-sways, omega, is determined, in an attempt to discover what song the drops are dancing to. According to seniors who graduated last year, most found that the song was "Smack My Bitch Up" by The Prodigy. Others guessed "Ladykiller", by Lush. Advance reports claim that this year the oil-drops have gone goth, acting as though they didn't even have hips with dance moves such as "Digging the Grave" and "Closing the Lid". We'll need to observe the drops for several hours, some times as many as fifteen, in order to get the most accurate information about how the drops tire, and to make a fluid chart. Fluid charts usually get about as complicated as you'd expect; these drops are always horny.

This is the first experiment we've done at St. John's that I can appreciate. Usually I enjoy them about as much as pulling iron filings that have lodged themselves in my leg, but this one has an obvious educational value. For once I feel secure about the purpose of lab at St. John's.

Things I am happy about:

1. Camel Wides. They have the feel of a straw sucking up really delicious soda, soda that lasts for at least five minutes of dizzying consumption.

2. Infinite Jest, which is the most entertaining book I have ever read. This at least suggests (not verifies) that everything Anne says is right. Speaking of:

3. Anne is blogging at her pre-Cayman pace (even if it is more downtrodden information than normal . . . wait, no it's not); and even Scott is picking up steam.

4. The unidentified insects that like to sneak in to my house when I'm not looking don't seem to like going on my mattress very much. They prefer to die quietly by the side of the mattress, where I find them in the morning and shriek.

5. Einstein and Hegel make good sense. Just imagine Kant on LSD-25. (I plan to write my first semester essay on Hegel, and to call it "Kant on LSD-25".)

6. There is a tutor here, Mr. Carl, who went to grad school with John Darnielle. He relates that John was really into Latin literature, pre-modern history, and performing as The Mountain Goats before anyone had heard of him. I am trying to get Mr. Carl to renew the acquaintance, so that John might come for Reality, or at least stop in New Mexico on a tour.

That's a complete list of things that make me happy right now. It accounts for roughly 3% of my time. Maybe 4% if I keep getting Camel Wides.

You know how, over the summer, I occassionally said I wasn't doing anything? How being in school gives me enough of a format that I could do things in it, even though I had less free time? I was lying, like I normally do.

Can I have some of my readers' opinions of hippies? Let's have an archetype, shall we? Tie-dye t-shirt with loud-colored unmatching pants, walks around barefoot either out of laziness or pleasure, eats a lot of raw food, showers maybe once a week, at least on a first-name basis with marijuanna, smiles more than average person, knows everyone in a quarter-mile radius, often found sprawled out almost to the point of uncomfortableness, rarely or never shaves, messy, greasy hair, likes Bob Marley a LOT. Some opinions, please? Your opinion need not be of the archetype specifically, but of what you associate with that kind of person, what other traits you think they'd have, stories about hippies and you, etc.

Let's have some comments.

A freshman came up to the library desk looking for recent reports on the college by faculty members. He was interested when he read about such reports in a book on the college from 1954. He checked out The Meaning of a Liberal Education, and will probably read it. Awed by the fact that I'm a senior he asked with sheer, giddy, fresh-faced optimism, "Do you feel like you're any closer to the Truth?" Well, do I?