Matt Mitchell

November 1997

I try.

Really, I do.

But what exactly am I supposed to do? I mean, I can't rant about nothing. In order to rant properly, one has to be worked up about something, and there just isn't one thing that I'm so angry about that I can rant coherently about. [Perhaps you should rant about ending sentences with prepositions. -Ed.] And just because my columns aren't cooler than God anymore you all throw me out like a sack of moldy tangerines!

I'll show you, cruel world!

* * *

If there's one thing that bothers me, it's people who talk about nothing.

I suppose a lot of the problem is that there are lots of people (most of whom are A-1 caliber MTV-watching, consumerist, fascist, soma-taking, bullshit-eating-and-much-enjoying morons), lots of talking (most of which is not even worth the time it takes to dismiss), and lots of nothing (which is a metaphysical discussion for another column). It's just so hard to cull the interesting from the vapid.

I'm not contending that I am perfect (even though I am). I'm simply saying that there's nothing interesting to read and no one interesting to talk to.

"Lower your standards!" I hear you cry. "Give the little people a chance! Most of them learned how to tie their shoes; maybe some can learn to be interesting!" Oh, my little droogies (yes, I can read too), you've hit the nail right on the gulliver, you have: you cannot learn how to be interesting.

It's a simple fact: ninety percent of the population will never have a single original thought in their entire lives.

The trick, then, is finding the other ten percent and latching on to them like there's no tomorrow.

How to do it? Who knows what the best way is. Oasis is certainly a decent approach; there are usually a few columns every month that are more interesting than the average "boy, I wish my life was more exciting/boring/valuable" free-associating morass of uninteresting stories and you-had-to-be-there jokes. And I'm just as guilty as anyone of writing a column like that just to get things off my chest, and that's fine, but Oasis should be a magazine, not a collection of diaries.

I suppose this rant has morphed into a commentary about the State of the E-Zine (tm of wired (tm) magazine). While I'm at it, I noticed that in last month's edition, the average age of the writers jumped up quite a bit. Counting myself, less than half of the "active staff" is under the age of 20. Interesting.

Perhaps this signals the rise of the new Oasis -- a place for ideas and reasoned pieces from mature authors directed at a constantly-aging audience.

God, I hope not.


The author of this column takes full responsibility for what is written between the lines. He stole the idea for the autobiographical section of each column from Matthieu (where did you go?). The author would like also to apologize for his lengthy absence from Oasis. It's not every day that you move off to college, after all. Please write him some email...he gets bored sitting in his room hung over all day.

[About the Author]

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