Today was chemical. Unlike yesterday, I wasn't tired beyond the point of being able to walk down stairs, so I actually went to school. For breakfast, I had a White Chocolate Macadamia Nut Clif bar. It was delicious. I love picking those out and trying new flavors. Least favorite = Chocolate chip. I continued to watch Willy Wonka in Film Studies. Gene Wilder is amazing in that, and his lines are priceless. In Math, the seniors (90% of the class) went to the auditorium or wherever they liked apparently, and we did our benchmarking math tests on the Mac laptops. It was surprisingly challenging, compared to the English ones. I actually got Below Basic on one section. This is unheard of. But overall I got Advanced because I got 100% in everything else. You don't really want to know this, do you? Ol' Toothless weren't at lunch today, subtracting from my overall mental well being. I had a Peanut Butter Crunch Clif bar. Dante L. Collazo, after staring at me while his My Little Pony figurines were laid out on the table, left us. It was just me and Braden, then he left as well. I followed him as to not be that kid. However, there is almost no Juniors in my lunch so I can be as weird as I want. This Freedom is something new to me and I love it, being older and independent. I can't be too much myself or even speak in front of my peers or Seniors. However, I could sing a ballad to a Freshman if I wanted to. Biology was a great time, considering we did a lab where several extremely suggestive jokes could be used. Too much fun with the German Gretzer and the Anglicized Kaufmann (Coffman) in das Double Lab. Ja? German was interesting for some reason. Maybe because it was all review and I actually knew what she was saying. We read a depressing poem about a delusional, dying child (Goethe). Ian and I discussed the hilarious Bad Lip Reading series on Youtube, where they seamlessly dub over politicians and make it look they are seeming totally random, often silly things. AP Gov't gets more and more interesting to me as more and more of our students fall asleep. Mr. Burns is dryly humorous, and for some reason, he endlessly entertains me with his extensive knowledge on political events. Apparently my sister had him and called him by the Simpsons character, "Smithers". Nick came over after school and we went downtown. We enjoyed Artisan's and he got some records from the Steel Eagle. I also saw Sinatra today in the halls. He is still as beautiful. Sometimes I think, somewhere deep down inside, there is a pure, unaffected, precious nugget of Frankie tucked underneath all the medication and fickle, harmful hormones. Then I wake up and smell the bloody Wolf. I bet you were wondering when I'd plunge into the mucky waters of deeply personal metaphors. Thank you, thank you. I'll be here all throughout this blog.
So, after the brick-laden paths downtown gave me enough Sun, I decided I'd drop in on Mike at Marly's. Unfortunately, I noticed a large white van parked diagonal in their small parking lot with a faded, metal sign on the back advertising the restaurant. I figured this Dolphins fan was the boss, Mike (not my brother), who is notoriously unfiltered in the nature of his diction, so I trotted on up the Reeves Park to enjoy the trees and their good friend, the Sun. A Freshman from my Film Studies class (the only other one who actually is interested in film) who is a fan of my BTTF shirts that I wore the first week said, "MCFLY!" as I walked by the baseball diamond he was playing on at the park. I waved, then slowly calculated my remark and cooled my pipes for social interaction. I yelled, "I THOUGHT I NEVER TOLD YOU TO COME TO REEVES PARK". He yelled back, "WHAT?", and I disregarded him with the condescending hand-wave. I sat on the stone stage and thought of writing a letter to the Borough asking them to repaint the concave wall with strange acoustics. Some students I am not too fond of scrawled their names across the back with pen. I watch the seats, the flag, the leaves and the Sun.
Minutes pass, and all the while I am listening intently to a rowdy group of 5 Elementary school children playing with a kickball. I consider chewing them out for kicking a ball precariously close to a slowly strolling group of 4 women, one adolescent, one infant, one adult, and one elderly. They were delicately striding along and circumventing the radius of danger created by the loud boys. They looked like angels. They looked like Temperance League women from the 1920s. Their cloud of estrogen had no noticeable effect on the boys. They kept on playing, even kicking the ball closer to the swiftly swimming swans.
Not long before my visit to the park, I considered yelling at a young man in his late 20s for yelling at his wife. They were both on bikes, the wife holding the leash of their thin, brown dog. They were attempting to cross a busy, rush-hour street. He looked like an aged Luke Wilson with a shaved head. Was that me from the future? I am not so callous in female presence. I wanted to yell at him, saying, "HEY JERK, SHUT YOUR MOUTH. YOU ONLY LIVE ONCE, DON'T BE A BUTTHOLE." But instead, I cut his neck with a piece of glass and watched him bleed out as I kissed the pale, shaking widow passionately. This didn't happen. Don't contact the police, please.
Back to the chilluns. That's right, that's from To Kill A Mockingbird. I believe so, anyways. I say it all the time. Two of the children were dark, African-American boys who live very close to me. Their father is straight from Africa. One child was much lighter, and had a voice I kept mistaking for a young girl's. There was a rather scruffy white child nicknamed "Harrison", and a chubby child. The chubby child was endlessly complaining to the light child that he wasn't being his friend enough and that he wouldn't hang out with him and how Harrison's mom wouldn't let him in their house. I felt for this kid, because he was getting pretty worked up at one point, even crying. The light child was having none of it, and nonchalantly gave him bland suggestions on what he should do in the two hours before the football game. The chubby child was constantly yelling back, saying how his suggestions were simply impossible to carry out. They kicked the ball around, and the chubby child would occasionally get fresh in a increasingly tense communication with the dark chilluns. I watched and listened, wondering if this hopelessly attention-seeking, desperately socially inept child would bring back enough memories to replace the pieces of my mind that were lost in the fire. Yeah, I went there. Now, I know watching young children for inspiration and mental stimulation is an inner-city Hipster thing to do, and also creepy (I even switched to the audience bench seats when they decided to play wall ball on the stage) But let me tell you this: I enjoyed every second of it. That didn't help, did it?
I went back to the baseball-playing Freshmen, after almost telling the roller-blading girl on the stage to be careful. She was Harrison as well. I just realized how useless this story is. Ah well, it helps me relax and dump out my thoughts that are filling my brain to the brim. Oh God, what an overused metaphor. Disgusting! Palpably derivative! There, I saved myself with delightfully pretentious vocabulary. Speaking of pretentious, we looked at a sample of an AP English AP test. It was challenging, and the selection to read was about the diction of a rhetorical orator, and how you want to be simple and clear while having the voice of an intelligent person. WHAT A TASK! But really, my thoughts really do clog up my head after I drink coffee. Literary and narrative ones, that I need to write down immediately or they grow stale and banal when repeated over and over on my mind's record player until the vinyl burns. I discussed annoying, rude women with a lone Freshman, borrowed a cell phone to tell my mom where I was, almost played football, almost played baseball, all the while realizing being older doesn't always make you a Deity to younger folks, as it inherently should. My shoulders hurt. Not only do I carry my backpack all day, but then I slouch and type my eyes off. Alright, here comes the good stuff. I guess.
Little rocks skipping across the water, sinking or floating. It doesn't matter really, because we are on this stage together. Just don't let the girls fall off.
Yeah, that's all you get today, I'm afraid. I'm going to the football game. Perhaps I will see Ponyboy, Steely-Eyes, Sinatra, Oblong, Ms. Jackson, the Pollack, Knocker, Casmay, Apoh, Mr. Place, Sir Cadigan, Bueller, Dory, My Heart, the Mother of Capitalism, the birds, etc. These are just nicknames for people. You know who you are. I guess.
Vexed to rest on you. This was a strictly informative, overlong, boring, desperately dull (reference) blog. I'm sorry if you read this far. "That's mighty linear, sheriff" "Age will flatten a man, Wendell".
Age sure will. Teenagers will speak the word to the children as if someday they'll remember the big kid who told them of pains and trials and tribulations and suffrage, and they'll think twice before they take hits from the bong, because Low Lifes do that. (I wrote that on a Biology table). No country for young men. Sometimes, you just need to come home. Sometimes, even the lucid and the exciting wake up to find a world like a dream. Unbelievable, fake, imaginary. My body moves without the little man inside's permission. Not even sure who I am anymore. Oh God, I used another one of those jawns. Saved by the colloquialism. I step on steps, I caress the bar, I rub the pavement, I let my eyes burn in the glare, I let my mouth move, but all I hear is her. "Desolation of the soul" - Howard Moon, discussing the Icy Tundra.
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