h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

Day 3ish

Posted Oct 3, 1999

Here I sit, at 6:33 on a Sunday afternoon, blatantly ignoring the immense volume of work that I should be doing. The fact that I am hundreds of pages behind on my reading for both of my Anthropology classes, as well as the need for me to practice my routines for Clowning, do not faze me in the slightest. Why? Because I have bigger fish to fry.
At the moment, those larger fish are embodied in the Snoopy online store. Having recently acquired a tape of "You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown" (featuring Anthony Rapp), I find myself absorbed in a wash of the ever-more-existential work of Charles Schultz. I am particularly glad to see that the old Snoopy Sno-Cone makers I remember from my youth are still available. How gratifying.
Another reason for my perusing the Store is this: as long as I am sitting before this Library computer (for I am and ever shall be too poor to have one of my own), I need not interact with real life. Yes, when I give it the chance, my conscious mind occupies itself with the events of this past Friday night. I went out (remarkable enough in itself) to a new swing club with a friend of mine of whom I am rather fond. The course of the evening leads me to believe that there is a strong possibility of a romantic relationship here. Given my abominable track record with such situations, the thought is as unnerving as it is enticing. She has been away all weekend, but returns this evening, and it seems that I ought to call her before I see her in class tomorrow morning. But what, after all, does one say?
That's a question for the ages, I think. What the hell does one say, ever? I, for one, have very little to say to people. Aside from things like, "nice weather, eh?" "pass the salt" and "I would like to purchase the musical Halloween Snoopy doll", what is there to be communicated? One can only talk about oneself for just so long, and on what other subject can one speak reliably? Phone calls are even worse, because the participants are sharing nothing but language. When you're sitting on a park bench or some such, one can say "Look over there" or "What was that?" but there is absolutely no common ground over the phone. I think it's more of a conversation-tester than we realize. Fortunately, it is also easier to end such a conversation, for the other person cannot know for sure that a) an armed terrorist has not just burst into the room, b)something in the oven isn't burning, or c)whatever other excuse makes itself convenient is not in fact a fiction.
Where was I going with that? Oh, right...it's almost seven o' clock, and I'm still here. Despite the comic strip that needs drawing (and, before that, to actually be written). I can no longer justify my electronic presence, so I am headed back to my room. Perhaps the Gods of Sociality will smile upon me tonight...
 

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