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March 23 - Scrambled I sit in my room in the dark, searching through my Kaaza folder for something to listen to. I always spell that word wrong, either Kazaa, or Kaaza, or even Kazza if I'm too lazy to remember what I'm doing. I accidentally hit play on "Heart wa wo wo," from Love Hina, an anime I once loved but now realize how badly translated and repetitive it is. My ears are hit with the first few seconds of the incomprehensible J-Pop and I quickly scroll down the list of artists to R, for Radiohead. I didn't realize I liked Radiohead until recently. I didn't even really realize who they were. I mean, I heard Creep and Karma Police and whatever, but I didn't know they were serious. It's good to see musicians who can remain a serious act even when faced with the glitz and sparkles of the MTV culture that adores them. Maybe they're just faking it. I don't know why I'm writing this, maybe because it feels good to just try and put something down on paper, minus the whole "on paper" part. I get 1:30 seconds into the 2:24 second song, which is really only 2:07 seconds followed by silence, before I start it over again. Chris is thinking about current events in his life. Chris refers to himself in the 3rd person whenever he has to think, just because I get to stand back away from myself and actually look at what's happening to me. I know I switched tenses in the middle of that last sentence, but who cares. I never liked English anyways. Who decides that I have to use a comma, or that my essay needs to be five paragraphs, with a thesis in the first paragraph and solid topic sentences leading each paragraph after that. English is supposed to be a creative thing, but when you sit back and look at the structuring of it all you kind of wonder. It's March. I don't know the date, 23rd I think. Sometimes, when it's about 4 am and I'm not sleeping, I wonder if time even exists. I mean, if it was yesterday when I went to school and had a test and whatever then why am I still living in the same day? Yesterday doesn't exist at 4am, it's still the same day just ending at a different time. It's 11:50 and I know MASH is probably on at 11:00 though it may have already started or it may not start until later. I turn to the fifties only to remember this television gets all static-y around those channels so I go to Comedy Central and hope something funny is on. The Radiohead song has ended so I start playing "Spanish Flea," only to realize how drastically inappropriate it is for the current mood, so I put on "Drunks with Guns," by Pavement. I don't know who the hell Pavement is but Josh told me they were good and Josh is a music whore so I trust him. I get sick of it and put on the Home Alone theme. When I was a kid I had a copy of Home Alone I taped off ABC or something and I would watch it daily. It was on TV the other day and I realize now that even though I had seen it 5,000 times, I never really understood it. The old man at the end who gets reunited with his family is the most interesting character of them all, and I never figured that out until now. I also never realized that Michael C. Maronna plays one of Macaulay Culken's relatives. Michael C. Maronna played Older Pete on "The Adventures of Pete and Pete," which is still the greatest television show ever, right behind MASH. Danny Tamberelli, who played Younger Pete, goes to one of the local colleges. A lot of people have told me they've seen him in various locations ranging from Atkins' Farms to The Black Sheep. I imaging going up to him and telling him how much his dumb irrelevant television show changed my life would be creepy, so I'd probably just say hi, maybe get an autograph. It's funny how much a little scribble of ink matters to us. A baseball is worth about $5. A baseball that was touched by Babe Ruth and graced by his pen is probably worth at least $10,000. I wonder if my autograph will ever be worth anything. Hell, I don't even have a signature, I just scribble out my name in whatever script seems relevant at the moment. I hold my pencils weird, I know, but I also know that I'm the only person who holds my pencil in the awkward way I do. That makes me smile. Anyway, getting down to something relevant, a new set of classes started recently. I still have Mr. Moran, and I still hate him. I mean, I don't hate him, I hate how I can't bring myself to like him. Mr. Moran isn't a terrible person, me and him just aren't compatible. But we smile and do the best we can. The same thing happened with Mr. Ishino. He takes everything seriously whereas I am able to find the glaring ironies and ridiculousness of any situation. Gym is fine. Gym is always fine. I cannot serve in Badminton, but then again, I doubt it's a skill I'll ever really need. Today's gym class began with what was introduced as an "important announcement" over the loudspeakers, but turned out to be an anti-drug lecture. I fail to see how after struggling past the 19,000 anti-drug programs/ads/culture I've been exposed to, that somehow a green leaflet read by a student teacher who doesn't even want to be there was supposed to be the one message that stood above all the others and screamed "LISTEN TO ME! DRUGS ARE BAD!" I don't know if anti-drug campaigns work on addition, whereas if enough of them pile up they'll eventually do something, or just division, whereas "We can get some of them, but we'll never get em' all." I don't know if that's a good...what's the word, simile. It sounded good. I still have Ms. Mafi, who I still hate because everything we do seems asinine. I don't need to brainstorm what was probably true about WWI based on a political cartoon. I know Germany was involved, I don't need to write down that Germany was "Probably involved." My English teacher is supposed to be Mr. Becktold, but it's some fat girl trying to finish getting her student teacher credit. I always get stuck with student teachers, which I guess is ok since I got Mr. Corbett, the best teacher ever. I don't like this fat girl because instead of reading the books every other class was reading, books I was actually interested in reading like "Lord of the Flies," we get to read some novel about like gay teenagers growing up at a boarding school in pre-WWII Europe. I don't know if that's actually the plot since I wasn't really paying attention to the in-class reading as much as I was playing "Sword of Mana," on my gameboy and becoming frustrated at constantly having to hide it behind a book because the teacher paces around the class so goddamn fast. A bunch of "homeys" are in my class, and though I would normally be adamant at their disruptive unruly behavior, here I actually smile at their antics. They seem to like me fairly well, though I wish they'd stop picking on Joey. Granted, Joey isn't exactly the coolest kid in school, and he might talk weird or say odd things, but whatever. Joeys not a bad person, Joey doesn't hurt people, he just wants to be accepted. I'd stand up for him like all those after school specials about kids with social problems tell me to do, but I really don't feel like trying to fight for someone when I'll just end up with the homeys picking on me as well as Joey. Sorry Joey, you're going to have to fight your own battle. I did it alright. I went from maladjusted Pokemon-playing nerd to slightly popular video game enthusiast nerd. Strangely, I attribute all my social skills to spending time on Pokemon message boards. I'm dead serious that without the internet and Pokemon, I'd still be a nerd with no friends, watching anime alone and crying about how I want to kill myself. I'd probably be a goth. I remember when goths were scary things, seeing Samantha wearing black and holding moon stones and whispering to friends at lunch "I think Sabrina's a goth." And we'd all gasp and eat our peanut butter sandwiches and maybe trade some Pokemon. I remember in the minutes before class trading Peter Johnson Hitmonlee so he'd have all 150 Pokemon in his pokedex. We all thought he'd get Mew but he ended up with that fucking digital certificate because Nintendo hates us. Japan got Mew but then again I'm not allowed to talk about Pokemon because it still gets you labeled as a freak. I don't understand why, I thought we were above labeling like this but I guess I'm wrong. I stopped playing Pokemon when I realized how gimmicky it was, and how despite all the incredible power of the Gameboy Advance, the new Pokemon game was still going to feature 8-bit sprites and the inability to walk diagonally. I realized Nintendo had taken enough of my money, so I invested it all in old SNES and PS1 games and I'm here now. Joey has Pokemon Ruby. I don't think he minds being unable to walk diagonally. Then again, Joey had the nerve to tell me Megaman Battle Network "sucked." Bastard. I still never got my copy of MMBN 3: White back. I got the blue version for like 5 dollars but I can't bring myself to beat the entire game over again, despite having the strategy guide. Oh shit, I'm talking about video games again. Lastly, I have Mr. Becktold for Acting class. Acting is bizarre,
revolving more around random displays of public embarrassment than
actual lessons. I really don't know what to think. My brain keeps
screaming "This is Asinine, quit the class and take art or
something," but my heart thinks that maybe this actually means
something. Eddy is in the class. The first day we all had to get
up on stage and talk about something and even though I begged him
not to he did his cat sex routine, which is basically him wondering
aloud about how to have sex with his cat. Eddy's dropping the class
and I wonder if I'm considering dropping it just to please him.
Eddy says he just hates all the "fucking drama fags."
He sent me an e-mail about it. I don't know if Eddy's right or wrong. Maybe these girls with their stylish turtlenecks and boxed emo glasses and Russian accents are trying too hard to fit our views of the typical non-conservative. But then again, I'm viewing this world through the same boxed emo glasses that Eddy despises. I don't really see myself as trying to fit a role though. I wear my clothes because they fit, and my glasses because if I'm going to look like a dork I might as well flaunt it. Eddy says that the acting class brings out the prep in me. Hell, a lot of people have criticized me for changing. Andrew says I used to not care what people think, but now I try too hard to fit in. Then again, this is the same Andrew who everyone hates because the only thing he talks about is "how totally wasted I got this one time," but that's not important. Now that I finally feel like I'm fitting in, I also wonder if I'm losing my individuality. Mr. Becktold told us that people hide behind humor, because when you're joking around you don't have to be serious, you don't have to expose your emotions or anything. Maybe I'm just lying to everyone by cracking my dumb fucking jokes and pretending not to care. I care, |
