I was not one of the founding members of TheStrip. I was not an officer in our little organization. And of course, sometimes I felt as if I did not belong in this boys' club. But for some reason, I stayed. I stayed for the laughs, the drama, the skills, the friends, the theories, the excitement, the disappointment, the feeling that we were making a difference. Or at least I stayed hoping that eventually someone would hear us screaming at the top of our lungs.

Maybe our clubhouse was too high up in the tree. Maybe we were too exclusive, too closed off, too difficult or stubborn. Maybe we were too scary, too crazy, or too loud. Maybe we weren't crazy or loud enough. Maybe we were too sarcastic and pessimistic. Or maybe we weren't as sharp or as witty as I thought we were.

Of course, my confused reflections shouldn't surprise me. TheStrip has always been more about questions than about answers. I am not leaving our scene--our clique--with any closure, let alone answers to any of the questions we have generated. I suppose it was inevitable. But it is still disappointing.

I find myself nostalgically recalling our late-night caffeine highs, our drunken debates, our attempts to improve our computers with cheap or pirated software. More than a few times we hatched harebrained schemes to improve our academic position, ranging anywhere from powersaw stunts to fictitious grant proposals. Usually common sense prevented the carrying out of such pranks, but the relief we all felt at their suggestion was enough to momentarily pacify our frustrations. Sitting here giggling at the screen, I realize that this is what I will miss the most.

As I ponder over my year of involvement in TheStrip, I have but one regret. I find that as usual, I came to class late. Just as I am getting the hang of things, it is over.