I am proctoring an exam. It makes me feel important. I passed out Starbursts, which is a deliberate and undisguised attempt to win the favor of the class. Soon the world will be mine. The Proctologist conquers all.

Over the course of hte past month, I have managed to help fix something like ten or twelve bikes, and I've managed to damage about twice that number. The ratios are getting worse and worse as I venture further into bottom brackets and hubs. The community class that I'm taking down at Sibley is pretty great; there are a few high quality old ladies with whom to banter and cackle. One is convinced that the best way to get people to stop driving is to get Oprah to go on a tour, and suggests that the revolution is impossible without her. The other talks about her Reiki energy therapist as she nibbles Kentucky Fried Chicken. I'm sort of conflicted about how to spend my time; that place has so much potential, could be really great for that neighborhood, but I, unfortunately have no idea what I'll be doing with my life. The subtle desire to feel recognizably legitimate and smart is an irritating voice to have whispering in your ear; it led me to consider dumb things like law school and Fulbrights for far too long.