I'm Only Sleeping

I'm going through one of those periods in which everything feels nice; I'm at peace with the world. School is still school, of course, and this week has been a lot hotter than last week, so Auburn has been hot and sticky and unpleasant. We still have a ton of homework. Mrs. Longhenry has slammed us with work: highlannotating, a big partner project, the infamous "fractal packet" to take notes on... She started talking today about college recommendations. Of course I need her to write one for me; she's one of my favorite teachers, and since I'm an English person, I need a recommendation from an English teacher. But she wants us to put together folders, basically college application in themselves (including five adjectives to describe yourself, a list of meaningful activities, etc.).

My freshman world history class has been pretty good. I'm starting to get to know the kids. There are the Bosnians (Ivan and Zlatan). Ivan is really quiet and asks crazy questions out of the blue. On Friday, an archaeologist came to talk to the class, and he kept asking how much money you get for finding valuable things. Today Mr. L was lecturing about early hominids, how their skulls differ from one another, and he was like, "How big is an elephant's brain?" Zlatan constantly looks angry, and always yells at me when I try to talk to him. He's pretty smart, though. There's a big group of kids from West who are constantly talking: T.J., Soukoum, Brian, Eric, Albernee, and Brandon. Douglas is the teacher's pet; he has an answer for everything and, for a simple assignment, which most kids had a paragraph on notebook paper for, he typed a full page. He also yelled and waved a pencil at T.J. for talking when he was reading his paper. Ian is Australian and extremely quiet; no one knew he was Australian until the fourth day when he had to talk in front of the class and his accent became obvious. The only problem is sitting through a class I already had; it can be pretty boring. I guess I'll have more to do when the kids have assignments to turn in.

Last Saturday, I went with my youth group, plus April, to Fish Fest, an all-day Christian concert in Waukesha. Aside from a bad sunburn and having to listen to the freshman girls from my youth group gossip about Zach, the token boy-that-everyone-likes, I had a great time. I don't listen much to Christian music much anymore, but two of the bands there, Jars of Clay and Third Day, were old favorites. I also enjoyed some of the newer bands, Superchick and Relient K. When we weren't walking around or getting near the stage for bands we liked, April and I played marathon games of Egyptian Ratscrew with Uno cards (we didn't have regular cards, so we improvised). I asked Ross to burn me some Relient K CDs, so maybe I'll listen to Christian music a bit more.

I can already tell that this whole senior year is going to be a very nostalgic time for me. I'm constantly comparing things to the way they were freshman year, thinking about milestones of senior year, etc. I'm daily irked by the presence of juniors in the commons, which is supposed to be sacrosanct for seniors. I know the cafeteria is horrible: hot, crowded, smelly, messy. And it's not as if the commons is crowded, or as if the juniors are being particularly loud or messy. But it's the principle of the thing; you're supposed to wait for senior year. It makes the privilege that much more special. I hate seeing Brian Patterson, Lea Palmeno, Valerie O'Brien, Amy Sandquist (these are the juniors I've spotted infiltrating the commons) settling onto the carpeted blocks or the tables by the windows as if they belong there. It's just so typical of the class of '07 to assume power and privilege where they don't deserve it. Their presence makes my enjoyment of eating in the commons less pure. I know that's selfish, but I want to enjoy my senior year.

The Fool on the Hill

This afternoon I went to LIFE Teen, the youth group at my church, which has a special Mass with a meeting afterwards. During the summer, the "meetings" are usually games like volleyball, softball, or mini-golf, which is great for some people, but not me (as I like to say, I don't have an athletic bone in my body). This week, aptly titled "Back to School," was the year's first more serious session; usually we play an icebreaker game, have a speaker, discuss the issue (like "trust" or "social justice" or something), and then close with a quiet prayer time. This is the third "Back to School" I've been to, and they're always pretty much the same. They always end with a time to write down our goals and plans for the school year, and it gives me a chance to think.

My goals are usually the same: don't slack off, try my hardest to get good grades, work to be friendly with people and try to reach out to people at school. This year there's more urgency to it, though, as it's my last chance, not counting college, which is a different experience entirely. My good intentions to be organized, focused, and positive always fall by the wayside, particularly in the third-quarter slump, when unpleasant weather, boredom with all my usual activities, and the returning to the dreary routine after the break and finals conspire to make me sick of school. This year it will even worse, as third quarter will bring the end to college applications and the beginning of acceptance and rejection letters; sometime during that quarter, I should know or have a pretty good idea of what I'm going to be doing fall 2006. In other words, senioritis is sure to set in. I have to try to stay focused, even though the temptation to slack off will be great.

I'm also desperate to preserve friendships this year, the ones I've had forever and the ones that are just forming. With all the parties I've been going to this summer, I've started to become better friends with certain people, and this year is my last chance to enjoy those friendships. And then there are all the people that I'm peripherally friendly with, some of whom I've known for years but have never become close enough to for anything besides a few words if we're in class together. Michelle Power, for example: I've never had a class with her, and the only link we have is the similarity of our last names, which always serves as a conversation-starter whenever we meet, usually during standardized testing at school, when we're invariably seated next to each other. The other day at school, she was in front of me in the line to see the counselor, and we chatted. I don't know Michelle well enough to even exchange e-mails with her, but does that mean I'm just supposed to forget about her come graduation? How about Anne Spoden or Chris Vanmanivong? I've known them since first grade; I still remember Chris helping me up from the ground when I slipped and knocked out a tooth on the ice in elementary school, and Anne attending my seventh birthday party and spending the night. Sometimes we chat, and we'll greet each other if we see each other outside of school. But I don't really know either all that well. Still, they're a part of my life, one I don't want to lose after high school. In short, my life is full of and defined by this close-knit group, the Academy (plus a few people outside it), and even though I don't know everyone very well, I can't imagine not seeing them every day.

And even as I make these goals and plans, part of me knows that they, like all the others, will probably be forgotten by mid-September. Maybe that's just the way it goes; maybe my Apollonian rules won't fit over the Dionysian reality of Auburn (oh yeah, applying English to the real world...). Ultimately, I just want to have a great year, and not lose myself in grades and test scores and class rank and colleges.

At Jenny's on Friday night, we watched a movie called Kung Pow: Enter the Fist, which makes fun of old martial arts movies. It uses actual scenes from an old movie, dubbing in lines and inserting the main character, played by a modern actor, in place of different original chracters. It's extremely stupid, utilizing a lot of what I like to call bathroom humor (perfect for guys, like Joe and Adam), but there are a lot of hilarious little parts. A lot of times, when someone's just walking or something, they'll have the person singing to himself or something. One of my favorite parts, which has been running through my head all day, is when this old guy is walking along, singing, "Bah-na-na-na-na-na! Neo! Bah-na-na-na-na-na-na-na! Sporin!"

It Won't Be Long

Freshman orientation was last night, another reminder that school is fast approaching. I'm definitely not looking forward to spending full days in that hot building. Just a few hours last night was enough to drive me crazy. I don't mind heat if I'm outside in it, under the sun, but being inside the sticky, smelly building is hellish. I guess I'll just arm myself with a water bottle and enjoy my one class in the air-conditioned tech wing. Other than the heat and the general disorganization, orientation was pretty fun; I got to hang out with senior friends like Sonya, Steph, April, Laura, Jessica, and Allison, and saw a few freshman buddies: Michael Jiang, Siva Sundaram, and Kendell Coates, the Big Three of West Scholastic Bowl, now coming to Auburn. I've known Kendell for years, since he's Jessica's brother, and I got to know Michael and Siva a little when they tagged along for nationals in June.

My counselor is Ms. (Dr?) Neumann, one of those people who always seems to be around at school, though I never quite know what her job is. Now she's taken Mr. Keating's place as one of the counselors (he retired). I've been lucky with my counselors; the way they're assigned has changed a lot over the years, but I've always had Mr. Keating, a nice guy who knows me by name, until he retired, and Ms. Neumann knows me, too (from quiz bowl). That made it easier to deal with her, although the news she gave me when I tried to drop calc 3-4 for a free hour was bad: "schedule holes" are no longer allowed; free hours have to be at the end of the day. She refused to let me drop calc to be a TA until I had the teacher's signature. Luckily, I saw the Longhenrys in the hall (they were there to vote on the new teachers' contract) and got Mr. L to sign my form; I'm going to TA for him fourth hour. That rounds out my schedule: in order, AP stats, physics, psychology, newspaper, C lunch, TA, Euro, and English. The last half of my day is all Longhenry, which isn't a bad thing by any means. With Mr. L teaching gov/econ and the Missus (as he calls her) covering Latin, there is the possibility this year of having four Longhenry classes. I don't know if anyone actually does, though.

Today is Maureen's and my last day alone at home. We've made enough trips to the library and the mall this summer to last us a while, so today we just hung out and watched Starsky and Hutch, a dumb but entertaining movie. Have you noticed how Ben Stiller, Vince Vaughn, Owen Wilson, and Will Ferrell are always in the same movies? This one starred Stiller and Wilson, and both Vaughn and Ferrell appeared. Anchorman starred Ferrell, and Vaughn and Stiller appeared. Vaughn and Stiller were also in Dodgeball. (I'm rather ashamed to have seen all of these movies; chalk it up to bored Sunday afternoons and the fact that the dollar theatre always has the stupid B-movies, never anything good. For the longest time, Are We There Yet? and The Pacifier and The Perfect Man all played there, and the Colonial Village art films never show up there). I haven't seen Wedding Crashers, which stars Wilson and Vaughn, but I'd bet that Stiller and/or Ferrell shows up.

Yesterday at orientation, Jenny invited me to a party tonight at her house. I'm not sure if I'm going to go yet. I like Jenny a lot, but I don't know her that well, and I don't get along with some of her friends. Plus, I think she was just including me in the general sweep of the invitation, which was originally directed at Joslin, to be nice. I don't know, though; if I stay home, I'll probably just be watching another dumb movie with my dad and sister, which is what I've done every free night for most of the summer.

Here, There, and Everywhere

I'm trying to savor these last days of summer as much as possible. I've been reading like crazy; I checked out my second stack of library books in a week yesterday, in an attempt to meet my self-made goal of twenty-five books. I did that last summer, but this year I added the condition that they have to be books I've never read before. A lot of the time during the school year I just reread favorites, usually because I'm taking a break from homework, so I guess I'm using summer as a chance to get through some different ones. I just finished The Time Traveler's Wife, which I enjoyed mostly because it was set in Chicago and included tons of references that I understood, like homeless people selling Streetwise, plus one of the main characters had a taste in music very similar to my dad's, so I recognized names like the Dead Kennedys and the Golden Palominos.

Yesterday my sister and I registered for school. The same thing happened that happens every year: I look forward to it, expecting to see a bunch of friends and teachers, and instead spend a weary hour or so standing in various lines, filling out forms, and sweating it out in the non-air-conditioned school, usually without seeing any friends. I also had an embarrassing experience while walking into school: a girl getting into her car remarked loudly to her comrade, "Girl, what she wearing? She need to try again." I glanced over and met her scornful eyes. Okay, so I wasn't exactly well-dressed, and I realize that a blue T-shirt, pink socks, and red Converse gym shoes don't really go together, but I hadn't really been paying attention when I dressed. And even though I generally disregard the opinions of such girls, it was still mortifying.

Today my dad took off work and took my sister and I to the zoo in Madison. We also walked around the UW campus a little bit. It seems really nice, and very quintessentially collegiate: a sunny quad, students strolling around with backpacks, people studying and/or chatting at tables along the lakefront. I also saw evidence of Madison's renowned activism: a lemonade stand with big signs: "STOP THE WAR" and "END THE VIOLENCE." I was momentarily attracted, but my dad breezed past without meeting the guy's eyes. I always feel stupid and obvious if I determinedly avert my eyes from someone selling something or begging on the street, so I usually give them a quick glance and an apologetic smile as I hurry past.

I don't really like the zoo; it's nice to walk around for an hour or so, but I don't really get any joy out of shuffling from one area to the next, staring at a cluster of rocks or trees for a few moments to locate the animal, watching it for a few moments, and then moving on. Maybe it's because I'm just not an animal person; no one in my family really is. We tolerate cats and dogs when visiting people who have them, and we have had our share of pets over the years: countless fish early on; a pair of gerbils won in a kindergarten raffle (they were class pets, but the school needed someone to take them after the year ended, and they lived for four more years); two hermit crabs (utterly boring creatures, basically shells that move once in a while); and our latest, Baxter the bunny, my personal favorite and a nice pet to have around until it became clear that he aggravated my dad's asthma). I'm more likely to recoil than to "Awww" if an animal approaches me, though.

Despite the fact that much of school equates to drudgery and nuisance, I'm still looking forward to it. There's only so many times you can watch The Prince and Me (I watched it last night, and I still am torn between laughter and nausea when Julia Stiles' character's mom says, "Chemistry isn't just in a class, honey, and you guys have it.").

And Your Bird Can Sing

Have you ever gotten two books out of the library at the same time and read them back to back and noticed odd little similarities between them? I'm talking random stuff, like allusions to the same book or characters from the same home town. And if you read them even a month or two apart, you probably wouldn't make the connection; it's only because they're already connected in your mind that the similarities have any meaning. This happens to me a lot.

Anyway...Friday night was the annual piano recital. I've come to dread it--this was my eighth formal recital, not counting the little ones our teachers used to stage at their house until they remodeled and probably didn't want a bunch of little kids tracking in mud anymore--because it's an unnecessary-seeming hassle, plus I always end up feeling embarrassed, not proud or accomplished or anything. I can't help feeling hopelessly inferior to students my age and younger who play flawlessly, while I inevitably screw up.

Laura Wilson takes lessons from my teacher, so she's always at the recitals, meaning that at least I can sit and exchange eye-rolls with her. This year, as we settled into the pew (the event is held at a church), she asked me if I was going to Ross' party after the recital. I didn't know about any party of Ross', but I wasn't offended; his parties tend to be informal and haphazard, friends inviting friends. When the recital was finally completed, my mom drove us to Ross' house. It was awkward, unlike other parties of his that I've attended, for two main reasons: 1) I was wearing a skirt, and 2) Eric Mosher and Kelly Donovan were all over each other for most of the evening.

This isn't the first time that I've dealt with classmates dating (I say "dealt with" because it's a weird experience to see someone you've known for years suddenly being all gooey with another person), but it was the most surreal. I mean, Eric Mosher! I won't deny that he's quite good-looking and has charmed most of the female Academy juniors-going-on-seniors for some time, but at heart he's always been a largely incoherent slacker. Of course, stranger things have happened. Last year I had to endure a few AP Bio periods listening to Lindsey Rockwell complain about her relationship with Joe. Joe frickin' "Dubious Personal Hygiene" "Constantly Looks Stoned" "Probably Masturbates to Grand Theft Auto" Szeluga!

Anyway, things improved at the party when someone put on Saved! I have something of a history with that movie; last year I rented it and made the mistake of popping it into the DVD player when my parents were in the room. My mom made us turn it off after less than ten minutes, leading to a huge fight. Okay, so that ten minutes included homosexuality, sex, beer, and profanity...but it was funny, and had what I thought was a decent message. Now that I finally got to see it (Emily Anderson's been asking me all year whether I've seen it), I wasn't disappointed. What I got out of it was an idea that I'd already begun thinking of as my interpretation of Christianity: true Christianity is non-violent, accepting of everyone, forgiving, and impatient with discussion over essentially minor rules (like keeping the Sabbath day holy; Jesus got fed up with people when they criticized Him for healing the sick on the Sabbath, like he hadn't just performed miracles). In other words, true to the spirit of what Christ taught, not bogged down in divisive squabbles. Some Christians make me think of the "scribes and Pharisees" of the Bible.

This has been a crazy blog, swinging from pensive to profane to preachy. I'd better sign off before I veer off in another direction.

Doctor Robert

My workload for my class has not lessened since I last wrote; the last several mornings (my class runs all afternoon, so I've been getting up at 8 and working for three or four hours) have been quite hectic. I just realized, though, that the alternative would be to stay home all day, every day, as my sister has been doing. We'd probably kill each other, or our brains would atrophy on diets of Calvin and Hobbes and Oprah. At least I'm getting out of the house, and when I'm at home I always have something to do. The actual class is fun, too; as I said, I like the teacher, and she thinks of different things to do; she's not just lecturing at us for four hours. That's the major problem; even a lively discussion can't keep me occupied for that long, with one ten-minute break. Round about the fourth hour, I start hating that gray little room with some kind of vent that makes a loud, annoying noise every twenty minutes, and the hard plastic chair that starts eating into my butt after half an hour.

The other problem, though I'm not minding it so much, is that we're doing a lot of stuff I've already done in class at Auburn. For example, we're doing a short story unit, not unlike Ms. Floming's "short story carnival." About half the stories in this unit are from that carnival; they're straight out of DiYanni, our literature book at Auburn. I guess there's a certain canon of short stories that everyone reads. Oh, and guess what one of those stories is? "Araby," by James Joyce. If you go to Auburn, you know exactly what that means. How many times have I read stinkin' "Araby" (and beaten it to death with a stick)? Every single year of high school! And even though we haven't had our class discussion on it yet, I already know exactly what we're going to do with it, because (surprise, surprise) we're doing all these stories in terms of the quest pattern. In other words, the hero's journey. Joseph Campbell and everything. Which we spent all of freshman English on. It's okay, though, because now we're actually applying it to works of fiction.

Now, I like Mrs. Heisel (I like her a lot better when I'm not in her class), but I hated freshman English, which is unusual for me; most years, English is my hour of peace and joy and screaming at Ross Makulec. Maybe I just wasn't paying enough attention; much of what I recall of freshman English has to do with setting up and fiercely defending my own corner of the room, and having arguments with various male classmates. But I remember having the hero's journey beaten into our heads...and did we ever learn that the hero's journey is the pattern for almost every work of literature in the Western world? Maybe it was mentioned in passing... Did we apply it to Great Expectations? We spent an entire quarter on stupid Great Expectations, and all I remember (besides Chris Vanmanivong giggling at Ryan Salberg going "Pip, sir") is that Pip had some neighbor whose name started with a W who went into acting. That's what we focused on, random characters and facts. I never got the impression, from freshman English, that stories and novels have a larger context, that they have archetypes and symbols and timeless messages. Without that, what the hell is the point? Dangling participles?