Without purpose or direction

Not having work to do thoroughly baffles me. Every day, I’m assaulted with endless harassment from six teachers, not including the quazi-professing entity in Dr. Yarborough, Theory of Knowledge “teacher” extraordinaire.

So tonight, with no homework to do for the day following, I was lost; never before on a week night of this school year had I been blessed with this glorious confusion. What was I supposed to do with my time? I am a creature of habit that demands a mandate for any action taken.

So, I took advantage of my incurable boredom by wandering aimlessly around this twelve-by-twelve room in hopes of finding something worthwhile. And that’s what I surmise I’ll be doing for the next week.

What a beautiful, beautiful, set of circumstances.

Buen provecho

School is in full swing, and as such I haven’t been able to update much during the week. School has consumed me and there’s nothing I can do to combat that but go every day and make the best from a situation in which I would prefer not to be in.

For example, at lunch on Tuesdays and Thursdays, the a la carte line in the lunchroom sells steak burgers. These aren’t your normal hamburger – oh no. They are twice the size and, though they cost a whopping $2.75, I’m willing to throw out the extra buck for superior processed “meat” topped with melted “cheese.”

The new steak burgers (or so they call them; I don’t see any steak in there) have made me such a happy man that I can make it through the week virtually unscathed. Such a fact just goes to show that food makes life worth living.

Either that or it just sustains us until we inevitably die. Either way.

Homecoming Huzzahs

Homecoming week is insanely overrated. Girls pacing in the hallways talking to other girls about “him,” everyone dressing up for exceedingly lame theme days in the week leading up to the dance, and, yes, even the dance itself.

There are only three aspects of this week that have me somewhat excited:

First, there is a general lack of schoolwork. Teachers, for some reason, see what I do not in regards to this occasion and, as such, they aren’t assigning much work. Huzzah for controlled apathy!

Second, Wednesday is the only good theme day, especially for the Juniors this year. We are dressing in the garb of the 1970s: the decade of Welcome Back Kotter, Richard Milhouse, and the later years of the unwarranted military action in Viet Nam. In fact, I just went to the local Salvation Army to find pants that complement my and white leather shoes. Huzzah for the attire of the poor people who saw the last of the Volkswagen Beetles roll off the line in 1974 to make way for the ever-lame Superbeetles!

P.S. I will, however, be going to dinner on Friday night at Angellino’s. What can I say, I’m a sucker for buffets.

Free Ride

My parents don’t let me drive to school. It’s some sort of crazy plan to save my life while saving on gas. The safety aspect of their rules is understandable, but it only costs seven dollars to fill my tank. No matter.

But here comes the nerdy part. Rather than let me drive the nine miles up County Road One, my parents allow me to drive to the bus stop, park, ride the bus to school, and do it all in reverse in the afternoon. I’ve caught so much criticism from my friends for this, but as long as it’s my only option, I’ll keep doing it.

However, tomorrow morning I break free. Yes, for the first time in my life, I am exercising my freedom as a licensed driver and riding the Beetle to school because the ensuing yearbook deadline will have me leaving far later than 1:35.

Aren’t you jealous?

Monster Mash

When my psychology teacher compared that Zimbardo fellow’s voice to the guy who sang the “Monster Mash,” somehow there was planted in my brain a repeating record of that song, except in Mr. Valdez’s eerie voice.

It was the mooonstah mosh…

Unlisted Numbers

And now, I present to the masses a list of unrelated thoughts to compensate for my week of debloggification:

1. Sometimes I forget to turn the knob before walking through doors. I understand that without such a crucial action, the whole process is doomed; I just have other things on my mind when walking through doors. I can only assume it’s because I like to think about what I will do when I get to the other side of the door and force the inner monologue of actually getting out to the back burner of my mind.

2. Frozen pizza is better than hot pizza. I think that when I’m old and living in a Miamian condominium, I’ll just order an extra large pie and refrigerate it for lunch every day of the ensuing week. Then I can save my money for more important things, like my senior’s coffee at McDonald’s for 65 cents.

3. I should probably start my Higher Level History paper comparing and contrasting the Mexican Independence Movement and the Haitian Revolution. Or perhaps I could hire a Mexican to write it for me. Either that or a Haitian. If they cooperated, I’d have an outstandingly accurate paper – what better primary source than an immigrant who’s Great Grandpappy Randolfo actually participated in the bloodshed? Either way, it has to be in Burton’s hand in a little over two weeks.

4. Whoever decided to paint the school while classes are in session should be severely punished. I’ve seen many a damsel in distress with paint on her because of unmarked wet paint. It’s like a severely misapplied case of the Scarlet Letter. Except it’s paint, not scarlet. And more of a blob of blue than a letter. And to receive this letter, you don’t have to be as kinky. On second thought, it’s nothing like the Scarlet Letter.

5. I met these two girls in the courtyard during lunch the other day. From afar, I spotted one of them accidentally drop some spare change. So I sprung into action and dashed the forty feet to their midst and dove to pick up the coins for them, as they had their hands full and were wearing garb that would not be flattering to bend over in. I retrieved the three coins and gave them to one of the young ladies saying, “Here’s your sixty cents,” and ran away again, out of sight. That’s the last I’ve seen of them.

6. Potato turbate would be more appetizing if they changed the name. No one wants to eat turbate.

Why me?

School started Tuesday. And this is my formal apology to those who I laughed last year at as they were toiling away at loads of Spanish homework for Señora Gleason.

I am truly sorry. I was so insensitive.

As of now, I need only attend the Hell that is 6th period 178 more times. God help me.

Cruel and Unusual

This being the last week of summer, I thought I’d go out with a bang.

But then I realized that I have homework due in less than a week. So, for lack of more exciting activities, I’m stuck reading the notes for All The King’s Men by Robert Penn Warren.

And you know what? I’m quitting after only seven chapters. The Sparknotes even make me want to gouge my eyeballs out with a used spork. When does summer ’05 start?

Smarter than the average bear

I remember one day during this last school year, as I was walking through the courtyard at school I overheard these kids and they said I looked like a bear.

Roar.

I left my funny in San Francisco

So, today as I leave school on the bus, I’m explaining transcendentalism to Trizis when, two blocks away from school, our bus driver screams, “Aaah!” Actually, it was more like, “Aaaaaaghagahagahhhahahhhhahahahahahhhhhhh!”

And then the brakes slam on; apparently a car ran a stop sign and hit our front end.

No big whoop, our driver was crying and made sure everyone was okay, we were. And so, the great quest of May 14th, 2004 to get home was on.

You would assume that another bus would come, and shortly after the fire engine and highway patrol car came, one did come. It pulled up. And sat there. Three minutes went by, and it drove away. Ugh.

While waiting, our bus driver asked through a flood of tears: “Is everyone sure they’re okay?!?!” We responded that we were, and she would turn around. Then, twenty seconds later she would inquire again: “Is everyone positive they’re okay?!?” Again, we said we were. This endless cycle went on until the lovable fireman came onto the bus and went to every seat and asked, “Is everyone sure they’re okay?” Needless to say, we were a bit miffed but we understood that such a line of questioning might be necessary for insurance purposes.

Then, the school administrators came in golf carts. Well, only Liem was in a golf cart; the others were in a Saturn, but that’s essentially the equivalent to a golf cart. Then each of them came into the bus and asked, you guessed it, “Is everyone sure they’re okay?” About this time, an hour had passed and we had moved zero feet and filled out two pieces of paper. We were bored, so Trizis and I played Indian War with 48 cards.

Then the bus came, and according to Greglass, it was the same bus that pulled up and then went away before. How’s that for efficiency with gas costing 2 dollars per gallon these days?

By the time I got to the bus stop, I had made a reputation for myself on the Indian War front, gaining many cards having only started out with one. Then I came home at 3:30PM EST and ate a sandwich.