Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Friday, April 17, 2009
Goodye Lion's Roar (uncut)
Well this is it; this is my last article. We’ve had some good times, haven’t we? Like that time I called out the librarians. What about that time I wrote from the airport in Michigan? Oh God those were good times. It’s not over yet- I still have 500 words. I’ll leave south with some advice.
If you read satire literally, then you have a problem. That goes out to the whole athletic department- if you think I endorse drunk driving, look up the word satire and read a couple sample essays. If you still have any questions we can schedule a meeting and I’ll bring my sock puppets.
If you are a track kid, be careful when you say “I’m a track kid” because if you don’t annunciate, it could sound like “I’m attractive” and then you just seem like an arrogant douche- not good. Or… just don’t tell anyone you’re a track kid.
If you’re a senior sitting in the commons, notice that campus aides will sometimes hang out in the room next door with the door open. Yes, they are listening in. No, that is not what they thought they would be when they grew up. Mess with them a little: “Hey listen up- if you plan on going to the ecstasy rave in room 2306 during j-block, it’s BYOE.”
That crazy mural with all those weird monsters bugging out near the cafeteria and across from Dr. Agress’s office was put up to catch kids who get high during school. If a kid’s running down that hallway, you know he’s stoned and made eye contact with one too many of those things. It’s seriously worth taking another route.
A word of advice to the custodians: If someone spills rotten milk in a central stairway, don’t just mix it with cinnamon toothpaste and call it a day… it’s still going to smell like shit. And if you’re that kid who “spilled rotten milk,” don’t lie. You clearly threw up and soiled yourself while running up and down the entire staircase. This is exactly why we shouldn’t give sophomores free blocks.
Have you heard of “safe rides?” It’s a free taxi system that gives minors an alternative to driving drunk or getting in the car with someone else who is drunk. I might just be the first to call: “Hey, yeah, I am hammered right now at the airport with a lot of luggage and I’m scared. Help me.”
A word of advice for the new principal: don’t give any kid an office in the school. That will not fare well for ANYONE.
BSU: keep fighting the good fight.
GSA: keep fighting the good fight.
Rich: keep fighting the good fight.
Anime club: keep fighting the good fight.
Cheerleading squad: stop.
Wait WHAT? I’m not done. If you like what I write look up my blog → www.lifeofskyblog.blogspot.com
I just hope you all treat the next arts columnist with the same compassion and respect you have shown me over my short-lived career. And a special shout out to Zack Mareskes- we are yet to ever talk.
If you read satire literally, then you have a problem. That goes out to the whole athletic department- if you think I endorse drunk driving, look up the word satire and read a couple sample essays. If you still have any questions we can schedule a meeting and I’ll bring my sock puppets.
If you are a track kid, be careful when you say “I’m a track kid” because if you don’t annunciate, it could sound like “I’m attractive” and then you just seem like an arrogant douche- not good. Or… just don’t tell anyone you’re a track kid.
If you’re a senior sitting in the commons, notice that campus aides will sometimes hang out in the room next door with the door open. Yes, they are listening in. No, that is not what they thought they would be when they grew up. Mess with them a little: “Hey listen up- if you plan on going to the ecstasy rave in room 2306 during j-block, it’s BYOE.”
That crazy mural with all those weird monsters bugging out near the cafeteria and across from Dr. Agress’s office was put up to catch kids who get high during school. If a kid’s running down that hallway, you know he’s stoned and made eye contact with one too many of those things. It’s seriously worth taking another route.
A word of advice to the custodians: If someone spills rotten milk in a central stairway, don’t just mix it with cinnamon toothpaste and call it a day… it’s still going to smell like shit. And if you’re that kid who “spilled rotten milk,” don’t lie. You clearly threw up and soiled yourself while running up and down the entire staircase. This is exactly why we shouldn’t give sophomores free blocks.
Have you heard of “safe rides?” It’s a free taxi system that gives minors an alternative to driving drunk or getting in the car with someone else who is drunk. I might just be the first to call: “Hey, yeah, I am hammered right now at the airport with a lot of luggage and I’m scared. Help me.”
A word of advice for the new principal: don’t give any kid an office in the school. That will not fare well for ANYONE.
BSU: keep fighting the good fight.
GSA: keep fighting the good fight.
Rich: keep fighting the good fight.
Anime club: keep fighting the good fight.
Cheerleading squad: stop.
Wait WHAT? I’m not done. If you like what I write look up my blog → www.lifeofskyblog.blogspot.com
I just hope you all treat the next arts columnist with the same compassion and respect you have shown me over my short-lived career. And a special shout out to Zack Mareskes- we are yet to ever talk.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Slump
Welcome back. If you’re a senior, then you know how I feel. And you like it. I underestimated how much slump would affect me. I thought things would feel different, but everything just seems “right.” It’s hard to explain. The last three and a half years were a blur; I can only recall faint memories of getting kicked out of a powderpuff game and some kid getting railed by a car.
First semester was dark and brutal. Nothing felt familiar: thinking about the future, staying in. Even people’s names on facebook were different. But now, as I tune out the words of my teachers, my brain has time to slow down and enjoy the easily missed wonders of day-to-day life.
Did you know that there’s a button on your calculator that just says “MATH.” I can’t tell if Texas Instruments is messing with me- what’s the catch? If you ever find yourself in one of those situations like, “I don’t know any of this s**t” Just press MATH and be done. They should come out with a CHEM button.
I used to fear the pop quiz but now my biggest concern is where I’m getting lunch. Now that I have so many free blocks, I am trying to break out of the ordinary Tango Mango or Bob’s run. I learned of these two burger joints, Uburger and Five Guys. I have been thinking a lot about which one is better. They are both about the same price but Five Guys gives more food and has better fries. Still, I feel more comfortable saying “I could do Uburger” than “I could do Five Guys.”
My friends like eating at this place in Brighton called Moogies. I don’t. I don’t like eating at restaurant whose name sounds like something you find in a fat kid’s bellybutton.
I’ve developed the ability to zone out for an entire long block eg. government b-block this morning. Here is the train of thought: a kid was wearing plaid. It reminded me of my Dad, a genuine plaid enthusiast. Suddenly, I felt grateful that my Dad dresses like a Dad and doesn’t try to be cool.
Then I was overcome with grief because maybe he was cool way back in the day. Then I thought of the perfect halfway point: a clothing line called Plaidass (for the badass Dad whose down with the plaid). Plaid throwback jerseys, plaid Nike pumps, even plaid doo rags. Then I thought of my dad rolling up in his mini cooper with his plaid doo rag wondering, “Where tha party at?” If you ever see me laughing by myself in class, now you know.
I’m making an official statement that the next couple months (I’ll call it four) are designated “me time.” If there is something important, let me know, but don’t tell me to summarize, conjugate, multiply, balance, or W.I.S.E. For all intents and purposes, I am officially over it.
First semester was dark and brutal. Nothing felt familiar: thinking about the future, staying in. Even people’s names on facebook were different. But now, as I tune out the words of my teachers, my brain has time to slow down and enjoy the easily missed wonders of day-to-day life.
Did you know that there’s a button on your calculator that just says “MATH.” I can’t tell if Texas Instruments is messing with me- what’s the catch? If you ever find yourself in one of those situations like, “I don’t know any of this s**t” Just press MATH and be done. They should come out with a CHEM button.
I used to fear the pop quiz but now my biggest concern is where I’m getting lunch. Now that I have so many free blocks, I am trying to break out of the ordinary Tango Mango or Bob’s run. I learned of these two burger joints, Uburger and Five Guys. I have been thinking a lot about which one is better. They are both about the same price but Five Guys gives more food and has better fries. Still, I feel more comfortable saying “I could do Uburger” than “I could do Five Guys.”
My friends like eating at this place in Brighton called Moogies. I don’t. I don’t like eating at restaurant whose name sounds like something you find in a fat kid’s bellybutton.
I’ve developed the ability to zone out for an entire long block eg. government b-block this morning. Here is the train of thought: a kid was wearing plaid. It reminded me of my Dad, a genuine plaid enthusiast. Suddenly, I felt grateful that my Dad dresses like a Dad and doesn’t try to be cool.
Then I was overcome with grief because maybe he was cool way back in the day. Then I thought of the perfect halfway point: a clothing line called Plaidass (for the badass Dad whose down with the plaid). Plaid throwback jerseys, plaid Nike pumps, even plaid doo rags. Then I thought of my dad rolling up in his mini cooper with his plaid doo rag wondering, “Where tha party at?” If you ever see me laughing by myself in class, now you know.
I’m making an official statement that the next couple months (I’ll call it four) are designated “me time.” If there is something important, let me know, but don’t tell me to summarize, conjugate, multiply, balance, or W.I.S.E. For all intents and purposes, I am officially over it.
Welcome back. When I think about how I will be graduating this year, I get nostalgic. I think back on my high school years and how the fads have changed so much over time: wearing livestrongs to getting piercings to flipping jeeps. So far the junior class is beating us 4 to 1 in drunken car accidents, but you just wait until graduation weekend- there will be rubble. 09 baby. Here are some unconnected thoughts:
I have gotten good feedback about my column; it turns out some people actually read this so I will take this opportunity to ask an important question: who is putting that stuff in the urinals? I’m not mad- I’m kind of impressed. You have got to be the most creative person at Newton South: a balloon, a feather, a tube sock, a roll of thread, etc. But all jokes aside, you should see someone. What you do is really messed up.
I shouldn’t have skipped that senior assembly, I heard some pretty vital information was given. Caps and gowns cost 35 bucks. Really? If I’m paying 35 bucks for something I’m going to want to wear it more than once. I probably won’t even have the money for that after the 110-dollar prom ticket. I might have to be the first to trade in the gown and cap for a rain-pancho and top hat.
The senior scavenger hunt really isn’t that bad of a thing. For a lot of us it will tie high school together. Before you pass judgment, remember that we started high school on the first day with a scavenger hunt. But instead of finding the wheeler house office and getting Mrs. Daviau’s signature, it will be crashing your mom’s minivan into an Asian market and stealing a baby.
I am so stupid for waiting until senior year to take chem. But it’s stupider that there is even a curriculum 1 class. Chemistry is a subject that you have to know in and out for some specialized fields like medicine, but is completely useless for the rest of us. It’s like teaching a stockbroker basic dance moves just in case he decides to go a different route. Mark my words: if I ever have to balance a chemical equation in real life, I will show up at my teacher’s house (probably at some odd hour in the night) and shake her hand. You can hold me to that.
TOM HASKIN I FUCKING DID IT! I WENT MOST THE ARTICLE WITHOUT SWEARING OR USING CAPS! SHIT-TITS!
I need to sleep. Until next time, Newton South.
I have gotten good feedback about my column; it turns out some people actually read this so I will take this opportunity to ask an important question: who is putting that stuff in the urinals? I’m not mad- I’m kind of impressed. You have got to be the most creative person at Newton South: a balloon, a feather, a tube sock, a roll of thread, etc. But all jokes aside, you should see someone. What you do is really messed up.
I shouldn’t have skipped that senior assembly, I heard some pretty vital information was given. Caps and gowns cost 35 bucks. Really? If I’m paying 35 bucks for something I’m going to want to wear it more than once. I probably won’t even have the money for that after the 110-dollar prom ticket. I might have to be the first to trade in the gown and cap for a rain-pancho and top hat.
The senior scavenger hunt really isn’t that bad of a thing. For a lot of us it will tie high school together. Before you pass judgment, remember that we started high school on the first day with a scavenger hunt. But instead of finding the wheeler house office and getting Mrs. Daviau’s signature, it will be crashing your mom’s minivan into an Asian market and stealing a baby.
I am so stupid for waiting until senior year to take chem. But it’s stupider that there is even a curriculum 1 class. Chemistry is a subject that you have to know in and out for some specialized fields like medicine, but is completely useless for the rest of us. It’s like teaching a stockbroker basic dance moves just in case he decides to go a different route. Mark my words: if I ever have to balance a chemical equation in real life, I will show up at my teacher’s house (probably at some odd hour in the night) and shake her hand. You can hold me to that.
TOM HASKIN I FUCKING DID IT! I WENT MOST THE ARTICLE WITHOUT SWEARING OR USING CAPS! SHIT-TITS!
I need to sleep. Until next time, Newton South.
Profile
Welcome back to Life of Sky. As you know, in an attempt to reinstate dominance over us columnists and writers, the senior staff has created a theme for this edition’s arts section: profiles. They have been trying to take me down for months now, adding stupid lines to my articles like “snooch to the nooch.” You would think putting boundaries on my article would get me down- but no. It gives me a chance to do something completely bizarre and socially unacceptable.
Obviously when you think of the word “profile,” you think of facebook. Everyone uses facebook- that’s an established fact. But an unadressed fact is that every user (including myself) will occasionally pull back from their computer and think “how the hell did I get to this person’s profile and why am I looking at thier pictures…” Then you get up and look at yourself in the bathroom mirror and wonder how you got to this point in your life where you’ve lost all sense of sociability. You turn on the shower so your parents don’t hear you cry.
I decided to do this. I found a random freshman on facebook to write about. JON GRAY (all CAPS to catch his attention). Jon Gray is a Jewish freshman who is single and interested in women. His favorite activities include sports, sleep, and hangin’ out with friends. As he may appear as an average NSHS freshman, there is a whole other side to Gray- a side he chose to leave out of his list of activities. Judging by his pictures, Gray also enjoys jumping into lakes, giving the middle finger, and putting human hats on dogs.
His interests include avoda (whatever the hell that is), music, and girls. It is important for Gray to reassert his sexuality by adding “girls” to his interests, considering his profile picture is a diagram of the male phallus (something I too may have found funny as a freshman). He believes strongly in terseness. He will not try to bore you with excessive facts about his life. His favorite music: rap. Favorite book: who reads? I hope you read, Jon Gray, or you just might miss your 15 minutes of fame.
He is a noble citizen with firm beliefs. He added the “causes” application so he can stand united with those who agree with him that “THERE SHOULD BE A LACROSSE VIDEO GAME!” He is also enthusiastic about the art of debate. In a picture of him at the beach with his dog and what appears to be a little brother, Gray disputes with a sophomore over whose mother is more promiscuous.
The boy craves human contact. His “about me” is only his x-box live and oovoo account names with one simple demand: add me. He feels something missing- some sort of lack in his life- and he wants you to fill that spot. If you have x-box live or oovoo (again, whatever the hell that is), lend out a friendly hand to a boy in need of affection. If you see him in the hallway, slap him on the shoulder and remind him he’s a good kid. Ask him about girls or sports or the male reproductive system. On that note, I would like to say Jon Gray- if there was a way to hug you with my words I would. I am on your side. God bless America.
Obviously when you think of the word “profile,” you think of facebook. Everyone uses facebook- that’s an established fact. But an unadressed fact is that every user (including myself) will occasionally pull back from their computer and think “how the hell did I get to this person’s profile and why am I looking at thier pictures…” Then you get up and look at yourself in the bathroom mirror and wonder how you got to this point in your life where you’ve lost all sense of sociability. You turn on the shower so your parents don’t hear you cry.
I decided to do this. I found a random freshman on facebook to write about. JON GRAY (all CAPS to catch his attention). Jon Gray is a Jewish freshman who is single and interested in women. His favorite activities include sports, sleep, and hangin’ out with friends. As he may appear as an average NSHS freshman, there is a whole other side to Gray- a side he chose to leave out of his list of activities. Judging by his pictures, Gray also enjoys jumping into lakes, giving the middle finger, and putting human hats on dogs.
His interests include avoda (whatever the hell that is), music, and girls. It is important for Gray to reassert his sexuality by adding “girls” to his interests, considering his profile picture is a diagram of the male phallus (something I too may have found funny as a freshman). He believes strongly in terseness. He will not try to bore you with excessive facts about his life. His favorite music: rap. Favorite book: who reads? I hope you read, Jon Gray, or you just might miss your 15 minutes of fame.
He is a noble citizen with firm beliefs. He added the “causes” application so he can stand united with those who agree with him that “THERE SHOULD BE A LACROSSE VIDEO GAME!” He is also enthusiastic about the art of debate. In a picture of him at the beach with his dog and what appears to be a little brother, Gray disputes with a sophomore over whose mother is more promiscuous.
The boy craves human contact. His “about me” is only his x-box live and oovoo account names with one simple demand: add me. He feels something missing- some sort of lack in his life- and he wants you to fill that spot. If you have x-box live or oovoo (again, whatever the hell that is), lend out a friendly hand to a boy in need of affection. If you see him in the hallway, slap him on the shoulder and remind him he’s a good kid. Ask him about girls or sports or the male reproductive system. On that note, I would like to say Jon Gray- if there was a way to hug you with my words I would. I am on your side. God bless America.
Maybe it’s me but I don’t get people anymore. I don’t understand why the librarians didn’t think my last article was funny. First, I don’t get why they didn’t read it on their own. All librarians fit into two stereotypes: bookwormy, studious old ladies, or mild-mannered, intriguingly mysterious, young models. Unfortunately with all the budget cuts we could only afford the former. But if the librarians fit into the first category then they will read anything and everything. But why not our own student-run paper?
Someone explain why they didn’t read my article. Why did I have to be like “so… did you read that kids article? Oh, it’s just a funny little tidbit PAGE 25 LION’S ROAR, ARTS COLUMN, LIFE OF SKY.” Until one glorious day I sent a kid over to ask them if they had read it and one snapped sharply, “Yes,” and stared coldly (unlike the other type of librarian who, in the same situation, would take off her glasses, let down her hair and say, “Yeaaah. Oh. Yeaaah.”) Long story short: I took them down. Who’s next?
Seniors. I love my class but this “senior superlative” shenanigans has blown up too big. Maybe I’m just bitter that none of the categories apply to me (ex. best hair, best dancer, etc.) BUT AT LEAST I ADMIT IT. Some people have gone so far out their way to secure their superlative they the actually go against everything they’re pushing for.
Example: “Hey sky! Sup my man? Don’t forget to vote me best personality.”
I can’t lie, this whole thing really messed me up. At first I was unphased, but then I realized my traits and qualities are meaningless if they aren’t validated in the year book. I don’t care what it is, I just want to be remembered. I might just camp out in the senior lot for a week with a sign that says “Vote me most likely to be seen in the lot.”
Life would be easier if there was one that I would undoubtedly take. Like “Best senior columnist on Lion’s Roar” (Cam I hope you’re reading this- if you want column war, I’ll give you column war. Don’t push me. Jk ily. No, but I’m dead serious).
Speaking of the yearbook, I got a look alike for Michael Cera. Yea, I have heard here and there that I look like him, but I didn’t know so many people thought that. Whenever I say that, a girl will say, “Nooo, don’t be mad! Michael Cera is so cute!” But I ask you today- what kind of you cute? Want-to-date-and-introduce-to-my-parents cute? No. Best friend cute. The yearbook staff might as well put a giant picture of me with the caption: ATTENTION GIRLS- THIS KID SHOULD STRICTLY BE IN FRIEND ZONE AND SHOULD NOT TRANSCEND THAT ROLE IN ANY CIRCUMSTANCE.
On a totally different note: 2010 presents the masquerade ball; you can’t drink, but it’s okay- everyone will have a mask on anyway. Personally, I’d rather look like Michael Cera than socialize with a mask on. But just a heads up, your going to do the exact same thing in the spring but without a mask, so I guess you can see this as an impersonal practice run. Good luck and God bless.
Someone explain why they didn’t read my article. Why did I have to be like “so… did you read that kids article? Oh, it’s just a funny little tidbit PAGE 25 LION’S ROAR, ARTS COLUMN, LIFE OF SKY.” Until one glorious day I sent a kid over to ask them if they had read it and one snapped sharply, “Yes,” and stared coldly (unlike the other type of librarian who, in the same situation, would take off her glasses, let down her hair and say, “Yeaaah. Oh. Yeaaah.”) Long story short: I took them down. Who’s next?
Seniors. I love my class but this “senior superlative” shenanigans has blown up too big. Maybe I’m just bitter that none of the categories apply to me (ex. best hair, best dancer, etc.) BUT AT LEAST I ADMIT IT. Some people have gone so far out their way to secure their superlative they the actually go against everything they’re pushing for.
Example: “Hey sky! Sup my man? Don’t forget to vote me best personality.”
I can’t lie, this whole thing really messed me up. At first I was unphased, but then I realized my traits and qualities are meaningless if they aren’t validated in the year book. I don’t care what it is, I just want to be remembered. I might just camp out in the senior lot for a week with a sign that says “Vote me most likely to be seen in the lot.”
Life would be easier if there was one that I would undoubtedly take. Like “Best senior columnist on Lion’s Roar” (Cam I hope you’re reading this- if you want column war, I’ll give you column war. Don’t push me. Jk ily. No, but I’m dead serious).
Speaking of the yearbook, I got a look alike for Michael Cera. Yea, I have heard here and there that I look like him, but I didn’t know so many people thought that. Whenever I say that, a girl will say, “Nooo, don’t be mad! Michael Cera is so cute!” But I ask you today- what kind of you cute? Want-to-date-and-introduce-to-my-parents cute? No. Best friend cute. The yearbook staff might as well put a giant picture of me with the caption: ATTENTION GIRLS- THIS KID SHOULD STRICTLY BE IN FRIEND ZONE AND SHOULD NOT TRANSCEND THAT ROLE IN ANY CIRCUMSTANCE.
On a totally different note: 2010 presents the masquerade ball; you can’t drink, but it’s okay- everyone will have a mask on anyway. Personally, I’d rather look like Michael Cera than socialize with a mask on. But just a heads up, your going to do the exact same thing in the spring but without a mask, so I guess you can see this as an impersonal practice run. Good luck and God bless.
Librarians
I just wrote my fourth Life of Sky article, but I deleted all of it. It was about some funny encounters I had working at Jp Licks, but a dreadful truth has been brought to my attention. I am sitting in the library and I’m horrified.
Have you ever been to our library? At first glance, you see groups of studious teenagers applying themselves academically and taking advantage of the ample provided resources. Unfortunately, this picture-perfect image is a mere façade, hiding a very grim truth: our library is a police state. This state is run by a duo of dictators, both seemingly kindhearted old ladies, who work hard to achieve an idealistic learning environment- but at what cost?
A student in the library has no rights. The duo sees everything. If you break a rule, they will find you. Their totalitarian method of ruling is genius; Each sits at a different side of the room, overseeing their respective subjects. If you are speaking too loud or if you move a chair from its table, you will be confronted. I’ve been there, and believe me, it’s not worth it.
Their need to see and know everything is a product of their insatiable thirst for power. If you go on a website that they deem “inappropriate” (illegal), your computer will be immediately locked. A picture of a lock appears on the screen with the text, YOUR COMPUTE HAS BEEN LOCKED. LEAVE THIS COMPUTER IMMEDIATELY. Trust me, you better run like hell.
I just can’t learn like this! I fear of the dire punishment involved in going against their flawless society. What punishment is this? The worst of them all: exile. To my left and right, students who don’t coincide with the authoritarian regime’s plans are getting banished.
Fortunately, I know exactly why the library is so oppressive. If you travel just across the hall, 15 feet at most, you find the cafeteria- chaos, noise, theft, and the occasional fistfight or catfight over French fries (I still can’t believe I missed that). There is almost no form of management or control- anarchy.
The duo understands that the only thing separating their world and a world of disorder is 15 feet of hallway. Therefore, they must protect what they have with an iron fist. If students start emigrating from the cafeteria to the library during their lunch periods in search of a quieter, cleaner place to socialize, the rowdiness level would grow to overwhelming heights, and the duo would lose power. Then there would probably be a Reign of Terror.
But the regime circumvented this problem by strictly banning food and drinks. No kid is going to sacrifice eating lunch to socialize in a quiet area. As a result, this crowd was successfully deterred to the indie-kid hallway where they sit on the floor in misery.
Next time you go, just remember you were warned. As for me, I’ve been here too long and they are probably reading this from their desks. I’m gonna e-mail this to myself and get the hell out of here. Peace.
Have you ever been to our library? At first glance, you see groups of studious teenagers applying themselves academically and taking advantage of the ample provided resources. Unfortunately, this picture-perfect image is a mere façade, hiding a very grim truth: our library is a police state. This state is run by a duo of dictators, both seemingly kindhearted old ladies, who work hard to achieve an idealistic learning environment- but at what cost?
A student in the library has no rights. The duo sees everything. If you break a rule, they will find you. Their totalitarian method of ruling is genius; Each sits at a different side of the room, overseeing their respective subjects. If you are speaking too loud or if you move a chair from its table, you will be confronted. I’ve been there, and believe me, it’s not worth it.
Their need to see and know everything is a product of their insatiable thirst for power. If you go on a website that they deem “inappropriate” (illegal), your computer will be immediately locked. A picture of a lock appears on the screen with the text, YOUR COMPUTE HAS BEEN LOCKED. LEAVE THIS COMPUTER IMMEDIATELY. Trust me, you better run like hell.
I just can’t learn like this! I fear of the dire punishment involved in going against their flawless society. What punishment is this? The worst of them all: exile. To my left and right, students who don’t coincide with the authoritarian regime’s plans are getting banished.
Fortunately, I know exactly why the library is so oppressive. If you travel just across the hall, 15 feet at most, you find the cafeteria- chaos, noise, theft, and the occasional fistfight or catfight over French fries (I still can’t believe I missed that). There is almost no form of management or control- anarchy.
The duo understands that the only thing separating their world and a world of disorder is 15 feet of hallway. Therefore, they must protect what they have with an iron fist. If students start emigrating from the cafeteria to the library during their lunch periods in search of a quieter, cleaner place to socialize, the rowdiness level would grow to overwhelming heights, and the duo would lose power. Then there would probably be a Reign of Terror.
But the regime circumvented this problem by strictly banning food and drinks. No kid is going to sacrifice eating lunch to socialize in a quiet area. As a result, this crowd was successfully deterred to the indie-kid hallway where they sit on the floor in misery.
Next time you go, just remember you were warned. As for me, I’ve been here too long and they are probably reading this from their desks. I’m gonna e-mail this to myself and get the hell out of here. Peace.
BACK 2 SKOOL
Welcome back to Life of Sky I hope you had a fantastic and eventful summer. For me it is still summer. At least right now, while I write this, It is still summer. Barely, but nonetheless. I can proudly say that I have beaten my record for doing the least amount of “stuff” with my time this summer. If you think I’m lazy and unmotivated, you have it all mixed up.
These last few weeks of summer are like being in the eye of an enormous storm: I understand that I am going to have to work hard in a couple weeks. I know that the sun will go into hiding, the clouds will grow darker, and life for the most part will suck. But for now, all is well. Lets not rush things.
It’s like this: I am on death row. Tomorrow is the big day where I will be put down, my soul sent to judgment, and probably condemned to an eternity of hell. But tonight, I enjoy a last meal of all my favorite foods. No reason to get all sullen and lose my appetite. That said,
MOM and DAD– if you ever read this, LET ME ENJOY MY LAST F***ING MEAL.
Yes, I will do my college applications. Yes, I will take out the trash. Yes, I will take a shower. All on September 4th. So as of now, I am enjoying my last big bucket of kfc, and no one should interfere for any reason.
On a similar note, summer reading: not only tedious- cruel. The teachers see all of the gleeful expressions on students’ faces as the end of school and beginning of summer near, so they give us these books to read in order for them to get the last laugh. Students must have looked especially merry, because WE ALL HAD TO READ FARENHEIGHT 451. Whoever assigned us this book either didn’t read it or just loves making children unhappy.
Seriously, why did we have to read that? Why couldn’t we have just ripped pages out of Orwell’s 1984 and read that? I’m sure at some point you have gone to CVS to buy some Gillette ® shaving cream and saw the CVS brand sitting next to it. You know that the CVS brand will have a worse texture, work less effectively, and be overall crappier, but it’s cheaper. Congratulations, Ray Bradbury, you are the CVS brand of George Orwell.
Senior year engenders a bizarre effect on members of other generations. This effect grows exponentially intense with a person’s age. My parents’ friends and other people their age, for example, approach me with a contrived playful “slugger-like” manner, mess with my hair, pretend to hit me on the shoulder a couple times and ask, “are you excited for your senior year, big guy?” After I catch my breathe from their oppressive jolliness, I realize they are asking if I’m excited to go back to school. What do you think? Are you excited for old age and arthritis? No. But it is going to happen anyway.
Senior year is an inevitable right of passage into the better part of young adulthood. I don’t want to do it, but it looks like I have no choice. I am going to have to work hard for one more year. Just kidding, one more semester. But until then, I am going to enjoy every last bite of my last meal. Welcome back.
These last few weeks of summer are like being in the eye of an enormous storm: I understand that I am going to have to work hard in a couple weeks. I know that the sun will go into hiding, the clouds will grow darker, and life for the most part will suck. But for now, all is well. Lets not rush things.
It’s like this: I am on death row. Tomorrow is the big day where I will be put down, my soul sent to judgment, and probably condemned to an eternity of hell. But tonight, I enjoy a last meal of all my favorite foods. No reason to get all sullen and lose my appetite. That said,
MOM and DAD– if you ever read this, LET ME ENJOY MY LAST F***ING MEAL.
Yes, I will do my college applications. Yes, I will take out the trash. Yes, I will take a shower. All on September 4th. So as of now, I am enjoying my last big bucket of kfc, and no one should interfere for any reason.
On a similar note, summer reading: not only tedious- cruel. The teachers see all of the gleeful expressions on students’ faces as the end of school and beginning of summer near, so they give us these books to read in order for them to get the last laugh. Students must have looked especially merry, because WE ALL HAD TO READ FARENHEIGHT 451. Whoever assigned us this book either didn’t read it or just loves making children unhappy.
Seriously, why did we have to read that? Why couldn’t we have just ripped pages out of Orwell’s 1984 and read that? I’m sure at some point you have gone to CVS to buy some Gillette ® shaving cream and saw the CVS brand sitting next to it. You know that the CVS brand will have a worse texture, work less effectively, and be overall crappier, but it’s cheaper. Congratulations, Ray Bradbury, you are the CVS brand of George Orwell.
Senior year engenders a bizarre effect on members of other generations. This effect grows exponentially intense with a person’s age. My parents’ friends and other people their age, for example, approach me with a contrived playful “slugger-like” manner, mess with my hair, pretend to hit me on the shoulder a couple times and ask, “are you excited for your senior year, big guy?” After I catch my breathe from their oppressive jolliness, I realize they are asking if I’m excited to go back to school. What do you think? Are you excited for old age and arthritis? No. But it is going to happen anyway.
Senior year is an inevitable right of passage into the better part of young adulthood. I don’t want to do it, but it looks like I have no choice. I am going to have to work hard for one more year. Just kidding, one more semester. But until then, I am going to enjoy every last bite of my last meal. Welcome back.
things I really, really don't like
I’m not much of a complainer. That said, however, I think its necessary to make it clear to people what you like and what you really, really don’t like. These are the things I really, really don’t like:
I don’t like the Edgar Allen Poe poem that lines the staircase to the third floor in the English department. Too many times I have tried to read it and nearly fallen to my death. Like any other kid, I am attracted to the eye-level writing on the wall, but like any other human being with average motor skills, I can’t read it and walk down the stairs at the same time. A classroom is a place for poetry; a stairwell is not. In fact, I can’t think of a more lethal place for such literature.
My theory is that whoever is watching the tapes from the overhead, smoke-detector camera got seriously bored of watching kids walking casually with their friends; they wanted to see some falls. I must admit, however, their methodology is genius: they target the ones who would deserve it most. It’s the people who would read a Poe poem coming to or from their English class who suffer the dire and humiliating consequences.
I don’t like the way girls are inclined to type on the internet. NoT sO mUcH LikE ThIS, but likeeee thisssss. The extra letters at the end of words are the bane of my existence. Like any considerate person, I type online in terse, informative language, e.g., my facebook status: “At the gym. Home at 7:00,” whereas generic ditzy girl’s status: “at the gymmmmm. Cominnn home at 7:00000000.” Listen to me, I DON’T KNOW HOW TO PRONOUNCE THAT. That’s not coherent language. The sound I hear in my head when I read something like that is like that of someone falling down a bottomless pit, their final words trailing off in the distance. So unless your status is “Plunginggg to my deathhh. Good-bye worlddd,” just don’t do it.
I don’t like the “h” letter in Spanish. I don’t know why they would use a letter that makes no sound in any word. It’s like having a number that has no numerical value. e.g. if the number 723 was the same as 23 and 7 is just decoration. I hate it.
I also hate the parents of the famous American poet, William Carlos Williams. Why did you name him William? His last name is Williams. Why did you do that? It’s your fault he has to include his middle name on each of his works. Somehow he managed to have a flourishing career, but no thanks to you. I’m not even going to start on the parents of Boutros Boutros-Ghali.
One thing bothers me more than anything else. It’s when those quiet times in class are violently interrupted by a grotesque gurgling clamor from the front of the room. I mean nose-blowers. I’m not talking about the modest kid who occasionally goes up to use a tissue in a silent manner. I’m talking about the chain-blower who is always at the front of the room making a huge production out of it. The one who casually gets up, pulls out a kleenex, makes the most revolting sound, and returns back to his or her desk innocently as if he or she didn’t just sin. How is something like that socially acceptable? If you can’t blow your nose modestly, and you refuse to separate from your peers while you do it repulsively, then by all means, you deserve a stuffy nose.
I don’t like the Edgar Allen Poe poem that lines the staircase to the third floor in the English department. Too many times I have tried to read it and nearly fallen to my death. Like any other kid, I am attracted to the eye-level writing on the wall, but like any other human being with average motor skills, I can’t read it and walk down the stairs at the same time. A classroom is a place for poetry; a stairwell is not. In fact, I can’t think of a more lethal place for such literature.
My theory is that whoever is watching the tapes from the overhead, smoke-detector camera got seriously bored of watching kids walking casually with their friends; they wanted to see some falls. I must admit, however, their methodology is genius: they target the ones who would deserve it most. It’s the people who would read a Poe poem coming to or from their English class who suffer the dire and humiliating consequences.
I don’t like the way girls are inclined to type on the internet. NoT sO mUcH LikE ThIS, but likeeee thisssss. The extra letters at the end of words are the bane of my existence. Like any considerate person, I type online in terse, informative language, e.g., my facebook status: “At the gym. Home at 7:00,” whereas generic ditzy girl’s status: “at the gymmmmm. Cominnn home at 7:00000000.” Listen to me, I DON’T KNOW HOW TO PRONOUNCE THAT. That’s not coherent language. The sound I hear in my head when I read something like that is like that of someone falling down a bottomless pit, their final words trailing off in the distance. So unless your status is “Plunginggg to my deathhh. Good-bye worlddd,” just don’t do it.
I don’t like the “h” letter in Spanish. I don’t know why they would use a letter that makes no sound in any word. It’s like having a number that has no numerical value. e.g. if the number 723 was the same as 23 and 7 is just decoration. I hate it.
I also hate the parents of the famous American poet, William Carlos Williams. Why did you name him William? His last name is Williams. Why did you do that? It’s your fault he has to include his middle name on each of his works. Somehow he managed to have a flourishing career, but no thanks to you. I’m not even going to start on the parents of Boutros Boutros-Ghali.
One thing bothers me more than anything else. It’s when those quiet times in class are violently interrupted by a grotesque gurgling clamor from the front of the room. I mean nose-blowers. I’m not talking about the modest kid who occasionally goes up to use a tissue in a silent manner. I’m talking about the chain-blower who is always at the front of the room making a huge production out of it. The one who casually gets up, pulls out a kleenex, makes the most revolting sound, and returns back to his or her desk innocently as if he or she didn’t just sin. How is something like that socially acceptable? If you can’t blow your nose modestly, and you refuse to separate from your peers while you do it repulsively, then by all means, you deserve a stuffy nose.
Semi
Welcome to Life of Sky. Yes, that is a witty take on the famous Yann Martel novel, Life of Pi. No, I don’t think it’s that witty. I chose this title namely because, every so often, when I look in a mirror, I see staring back at me that curious Indian boy, desperate to find land, but even more so, himself.
Accepting this columnist position was not for my own benefit; it was for times like these when someone just needs to get up and say it. In this case, “it” is the social phenomenon surrounding this year’s semi-formal prom. Who would have thought that an enormous bar-mitzvah-style get together would cause such a stir?
“Stir” is an understatement; I used to be able to walk into the cafeteria, pull up a chair, bite into my sandwich, and sigh with contentment. Since tickets have been on sale, there is an unmistakable aura of tension and anxiety following every junior girl and accumulating when more than one are together. Now, when I pull up a chair and prepare myself for a sigh, I am almost always interrupted with a “Skyler is like anyone going to like ask me to sem-like-i?”
Suddenly, my sandwich does not taste as delicious and I’m dripping with sweat. I don’t know! How am I supposed to answer that kind of question? Can I phone a friend?
The worst part is when I happen to be with a large number of people and the topic arises. What was once an enjoyable evening becomes an opportunity for girls to berate themselves aloud and probe you with unceasingly aggressive eyes.
Unfortunately, this is not simply a social matter. I would just give up and hide in my room until all of this semi business is over, but then they would win. Not the girls- the masterminds behind the drug and alcohol program. They clearly sought a way to separate boys and girls with a wall of awkwardness in an attempt to reduce the number of parties and thus decrease the amount of underage drinking among students. The answer was clear: a semi-formal prom. Aside from ruining students’ social lives, the school makes money and the campus aides get to test out their new breath-a-lizing equipment. Genius.
If it isn’t stressful enough, the junior class officers refuse to tell us what the semi theme is. I feel pretty negatively about this. What if the theme is Frasier? Can I get my $55 back? I have decided that I will wear a bathing suit on the off chance that the theme is beach-related. It’s about a 50/50 chance. Not only does that save me money for a suit, but also I can turn it inside out if the theme is rash-inducing-white-net-related.
Girls need to stop worrying. If nobody asks you and you go alone, not a big a deal. No one will care. Everyone will be busy staring at the handsome kid in the bathing suit.
Accepting this columnist position was not for my own benefit; it was for times like these when someone just needs to get up and say it. In this case, “it” is the social phenomenon surrounding this year’s semi-formal prom. Who would have thought that an enormous bar-mitzvah-style get together would cause such a stir?
“Stir” is an understatement; I used to be able to walk into the cafeteria, pull up a chair, bite into my sandwich, and sigh with contentment. Since tickets have been on sale, there is an unmistakable aura of tension and anxiety following every junior girl and accumulating when more than one are together. Now, when I pull up a chair and prepare myself for a sigh, I am almost always interrupted with a “Skyler is like anyone going to like ask me to sem-like-i?”
Suddenly, my sandwich does not taste as delicious and I’m dripping with sweat. I don’t know! How am I supposed to answer that kind of question? Can I phone a friend?
The worst part is when I happen to be with a large number of people and the topic arises. What was once an enjoyable evening becomes an opportunity for girls to berate themselves aloud and probe you with unceasingly aggressive eyes.
Unfortunately, this is not simply a social matter. I would just give up and hide in my room until all of this semi business is over, but then they would win. Not the girls- the masterminds behind the drug and alcohol program. They clearly sought a way to separate boys and girls with a wall of awkwardness in an attempt to reduce the number of parties and thus decrease the amount of underage drinking among students. The answer was clear: a semi-formal prom. Aside from ruining students’ social lives, the school makes money and the campus aides get to test out their new breath-a-lizing equipment. Genius.
If it isn’t stressful enough, the junior class officers refuse to tell us what the semi theme is. I feel pretty negatively about this. What if the theme is Frasier? Can I get my $55 back? I have decided that I will wear a bathing suit on the off chance that the theme is beach-related. It’s about a 50/50 chance. Not only does that save me money for a suit, but also I can turn it inside out if the theme is rash-inducing-white-net-related.
Girls need to stop worrying. If nobody asks you and you go alone, not a big a deal. No one will care. Everyone will be busy staring at the handsome kid in the bathing suit.
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