psalms 23 & 85 [Tuesday, 20 December, 2005]

Like DC's Capitol Hill, most of Jerusalem's government buildings are consolidated into one area of the city. By far the most interesting and beautiful was the Bayt ha-Mishpat ha-Elyon, or Supreme Court.

It didn't take much to get lost in the meandering streets of Jerusalem, a city that seems to suffer from chronic rush-hour-itis, and the uniform white brick construction doesn't help. Neither, unfortunately, did our map, nor my grandfather's professed familiarity with the city (to his credit, he'd been there probably a dozen times before). But we did find the building, nestled in a grove of cypress trees and across from a federal parking lot.

This foot-bridge separated that parking lot and the Court itself. It was made, of course, from Jerusalem Gold stone, but the architecture was truly impressive -- skewed overhang, bold aquamarine steel supports, in one direction overlooking government buildings and in the other, an unpartable Red Sea of terra cotta roofs.


He restores my soul; he leads me in circles of righteousness.

Kind of a neat perspective of a very simple structure; a pyramid build into the Court building, with four circular skylights at the top. Every thematic architectural motif in this entire building comes from some Bible verse or another. Normally architecture doesn't really interest me, but this is like history and art and architecture and spirituality all rolled into one happy edifice! The building is very, very cool. If you ever find yourself in Jerusalem, check it out.


Truth will spring up from the earth; justice will look down from heaven.

The Supreme Court, though the highest in Israel, is only the third level of the state court system, and any citizen is allowed to take a personal complaint to the Supreme Court if her or his rights have been violated. Our guide told us that each case brought forth by Palestinians whose towns had been split in half by the new 5-meter wall to keep out terrorists is tried individually, rather than having a group decision for all cases based on one circumstance. If the government decides the human rights lost are more important than the security gained, they'll issue an order to reroute that portion of the wall. I thought that was pretty incredible. Of course, it'd be infinitely better if there didn't have to be a wall in the first place. She also told us about one man whose constant cases to the court had been consistently turned down -- every month he sent a new letter asking why he hadn't yet been made the president of the country.

This courtyard was the last stop on our tour of the building, which included a peek inside a courtroom in session (but everyone was talking quickly in Hebrew) and some more really, really awesome architecture. Out in the courtyard, it was an overcast day, but somehow that made this shot seem all the more beautiful. Even after days of seeing nothing but white stone, the courtyard was stunning and serene, with its "fountain of truth" patiently bubbling up from the earth.

Give us life, that we may rejoice. Love and truth will meet; justice and peace will kiss.

the ivory city [Monday, 19 December, 2005]

We took a sort of communal taxi into Jerusalem that night. Every building in Jerusalem is made of the same simple but elegant alabaster stones used in ancient times -- by law. Even the sidewalks are made of the same stone. It ties the Old City to the New City, symbolically, aesthetically and economically. It's all local stone. They call it "Jerusalem Gold," but it's really more like ivory. Some is left roughly cut, while some is meticulously sanded and buffed to almost a marble-like appearance. Of course there's stainless steel and glass too, and the ubiquitous terra cotta roofing. It's a stark contrast to see the conservatively-dressed Chassidim, with their black hats and suits, walking along a wall of windsmoothed whiteness.

About a block away from our hotel (or more properly, youth hostel), we passed this intriguingly beautiful building. We walked by it again in the morning and learned it is in fact part of a YMCA built by the British in the early 1900s. Ridiculous! Firstly that there would be a YMCA in the middle of Jerusalem, and secondly that it should look so decidedly un-YMCA-ish. If my local YMCA looked like this, you can be damn sure I'd work out there every day. Heck, going up and down the staircase of that ivory tower would be a workout in itself. I bet they have an indoor pool with water you can walk on, or something.

let go, but not free. [Monday, 19 December, 2005]

The terminal is not only the beginning of my journey but the end of the journeys of others. Cardboard signs with names in Hebrew, Arabic, English, and languages I can't even identify, dot the crowd. Anxious eyes constantly check wrists; feet tap irrhythmically. Suddenly, a child shouts, arms stretch out, eyes brighten. In an instant, heavy bags are flung aside like refuse; carefully-prepared bouquets fall to the floor; and balloons, let go but not free, wander ceilingwards.

shalom, chaverim. [Monday, 19 December, 2005]

People told me Israelis would be brusque, abrasive, and in - your - face, but I found quite the opposite. In fact, waiting for our suitcases to magically appear at the baggage claim at Tel Aviv's Ben Gurion Airport, these two cheery sprites began to make circuits around the whirring metallic racetrack. shift - click - whirrr , shhhhift - click - whirrr.

I'd never seen anything like that before. I assume the bags were empty, and planted there by the airport officials, because I never saw anyone pick them up. Or do they belong to some idealistic globe-trotter? Would you pack your clothes and personal belongings into a plastic emoticon embodiment of Love? Could you hold your head high, walking through a crowd of foreigners and wheeling behind you a grinning Welcome jack-o'-lantern? It's like taking that piece of home with you.

Feeling welcomed in a foreign country is truly a wonderful feeling. And from other Jews who'd been there, I always heard that it "feels like home." After fifteen hours in the air, it may not have felt like home just yet, but it sure felt good.

slow and painful. [Monday, 19 December, 2005]

How anyone in the EU can buy cigarettes with these outrageous warning labels slapped on them is beyond me. Nestled cosily between Spanish paperbacks, Swiss chocolate and French wine in a duty-free shop at the Frankfurt airport sit packs upon packs of commercialised deathsticks. Who buys these things? You can't smoke on the planes anyway. It's kind of funny that they still even have those no-smoking signs along the aisles of every aircraft, right next to the "lavatory occupied" display -- because has anyone ever been on a flight where they turned those no-smoking signs off? No. They even post those warnings about like $8,000,000 fines for dismantling or tampering with the smoke detectors. It's probably illegal to show in-flight movies with smoking in them, at least on domestic flights, or something.

I've got a better idea. Like they do in most airports these days, have a "smoker's lounge" where people can go on a plane to fulfill their cravings. Some flights run upwards of eight hours. They've got to give in sometime, right? And then, when they're all done, a vent would open in the floor to let the smokers out. I mean, the smoke! Let the smoke out. Yeah.

Anyway I just found these kind of amusing. We spent like three hours in transfer in Germany: half that time I spent in the duty free shop looking for a book to read while my grandfather scoped out the booze situation, and the other half I spent in search of a bathroom. Damn Frankfurt Airport and its renovations, rendering every single men's room in the eastern wing inoperable.

is that really necessary? [Sunday, 18 December, 2005]

Dulles IA, again; about 90 minutes prior to departure time. I just noticed, pacing up and down the main terminal one final time, this anomaly. Two perfect, concise rows of electric lights, positioned strategically to cast light on, apparently, some outstanding square patch of flooring. This whole thing still boggles my mind. Why, in a cavernous hall with floor-to-ceiling windows on either side, is there any need whatsoever for electric lighting? In case of solar eclipse, perhaps? Was there some bizarre interaction of light waves around that particular point that called for alternative sources of photons? Or just for decoration, perhaps? Is that really necessary? It must be. Architects don't call for eight holes in a two-foot-thick concrete ceiling without some sort of reason.

On a slightly different note, I don't know why these two pictures were both in such pseudo-black-and-white colouring. None of my other pictures are like that. Just thought I'd mention that, so no one thinks my camera is some sort of wishy-washy device that doesn't take either full colour or full grayscale shots. On the contrary, my camera is a lovely little thing. It was my only sixteenth birthday present, given to me by my parents just nine days before I left for Israel. Nikon, 4.1 Megapixels, 10x zoom, very portable. I even found a little case for it that I can slip onto my belt and look really dorky. And I took something like 140 pictures on it, which works out to around ten pictures a day. Exciting, right? Yeah, there is a lot more coming after this. I can't say how frequently I'll update, especially given the three-week lapse between coming home and posting my first photo, but check back every few days, there might be something interesting.

finis.

a hungry serpent [Sunday, 18 December, 2005]

Please enter here, said the spider to the fly. It always irks me to see such labyrinthine queue lines remain empty. Marked out in subdued blue straps and stainless steel posts, this hungry serpent looks anything but inviting to the wary traveller. That brisk Sunday afternoon in the main terminal of DC's Dulles International Airport, I wheeled my faithful blue suitcase behind me, taking my time, taking in these last views and noises and smells before my departure. Destination: Ben Gurion International Airport, Tel Aviv, Israel.

I would fly not with American Airlines but instead Lufthansa, with a connecting flight in Frankfurt, Germany. My grandfather and I would spend twelve days in the Holy Land, doing whatever there is to do for an eighty-five year old man and a sixteen-year-old boy. Or a sixteen-year-old man, rather. The whole purpose of this trip was a (belated but no less appreciated) Bar Mitzvah present from my grandfather. Almost exactly a year ago, my older brother had been to Israel his first time with my grandfather on a presumably similar excursion. Now it was my turn, and I left behind yet another little brother -- eleven years old and constantly whining, "When's my turn, Grandpa?"

Poor kid. Who knows when your turn is? After you've had your Bar Mitzvah, he may be too old to take you. The political situation may deteriorate. Part of the reason my brother and I had waited almost three years after our respective B'nei Mitzvah to go on this trip was because our parents feared we would be in too much danger. Faugh, I say. I laugh in the face of danger. Unless it involves explosives and anti-Semitism. In that case I laugh but a little more discreetly, my American passport in one hand and my borrowed cell phone in the other.

But I digress. While safety was definitely an issue, there is another side. Being a holy land to three major faiths, a trip to Israel is necessarily more than a physical journey. Immersed in history, culture, and spirituality, one cannot help but feel at once both awestruck and strangely comfortable. This land, these cities, belong to more than just those who inhabit them today. They belong to Jesus, to Muhammad, to Joshua, to Isaiah, and everyone and everything who came between them and us. It is said all the Jews, past and present, stood in silent attendance at Sinai the night God gave them the Torah. That only makes it more important today that, if at all possible, every Jew, Christian and Muslim experience for himself the transcendence that is a journey to Israel. This is an experience not soon forgotten, not easily discounted.

Though in more ways indescribable than not, this journey I now feel more compelled than ever to document, in words and photographs. Think of it as a covenant between yourself and me. I'll tell you these stories if you'll listen. I'll try to convey the intensity, humility, and infinity I experienced during these two weeks.

shadows on the walls of the cave

it feels like it should rain tonight.



i slid out of my socks and stepped outside. The world, having trouble sleeping, rumbled distantly and kept dark... but not entirely. Without being fully aware i led myself down the fading oak steps away from fluorescent lights and whirring fans and metallic melodies. Under my bare feet the wood turned to stone and i turned, or maybe the world turned under me. i don't know. Through the ivy path and across the wooden bridge without hesitation. I turned and faced -- what? an old swingset, rusting, lopsided; the ropes smelling of mould and wearing thin.

please, a seat of long-dead pine beckoned to me, please. sit, and sit, and that is all. With the slightest detectable quarter-shrug of my shoulders, i granted its request.

The peach in my hand sucked warmth from the September dusk and from my skin. Four days ago it had not been ripe; three days ago it had not been cold; and two days ago it sat in the freezer, and had not been remembered. i pressed my lips to it tentatively. Not so much stung as scorned by the cold, i resisted the urge to pull back for a split-second and then gave in. The gentle rain, reminding me subtly of its presence at my mere request, fizzled as it cascaded over the slowly-thawing peach. Or maybe it was just my imagination.

peach, you are what is wrong in people. You are cold, and bitter, and unwilling to change. And so i justified my first bite.

i shivered as its icy flesh stuck briefly to the roof of my mouth. Subconsciously i had begun swinging back and forth, shifting my weight and the angle of my neck. As i hadn't been pumping my legs, i assumed this trick to be the work of the earth's rotation acting craftily on me, a boy in a swing, as it would on a pendulum.

peach, you are what is wrong with the world. You are not as perfect, as equal and spherical, as we want to believe; you are hard, indifferent. And so i took a second bite.

Barely scraping the thin, superficial layer of thawed fruit with my teeth, it melted on my tongue. The sensation was prickly, teetering on the border between satisfaction and pain. i thought i heard the rain pick up, but it was just the leaves shuddering in the wind. As i gazed upwards, i searched for the moon, who furtively hid from me and laughed.

peach, you are like people; you are not so bad. Slowly you are warming up to me, giving a little of yourself; slowly you are thawing. And so, graciously, i took a shallow third bite.

On the road to my left, i heard a car pass. Three seconds before i had seen its tentacles, reaching out blindly to illuminate the slippery night. Twelve seconds later i felt its breath on my neck.

peach, you are like a person, a person i know. You are firm but tender and forgiving. You are always changing. You are imperfect. And so i placed the fruit securely in the embrace of my lips and took a bite.

Now the juices of the peach and of my mouth trickled down my arm alongside raindrops of varying sizes. Now the wind picked up and died down and picked up again, and now i swung with my legs.

peach, you are like sex. You blossom into maturity, and you tempt me, and sometimes, when all is through, we are left with the promise of another life.

or are you more like love? You flower and grow at your own pace, and you are sweet and sour and cold and warm all at once, and on a lazy afternoon or a tense night or in the seconds before the sunrise, i want you.

perhaps you are just like me. You display an outside not entirely true down to your core. Sometimes, taste is all that matters; and sometimes you have no taste at all.

no. You are like a tired metaphor. There is nothing left of you now, save the juices still tracking slowly down my forearm and a bitter, wrinkled pit.

i debarked from my swing reluctantly and trodded through murky puddles in the equally murky night towards my house, leering inhumanly at me through square glass eyes. As i reached the door, i regarded the pit in my hand and remembered that it was not a peach at all. It was a nectarine.

i hurled the pit into the murky, slippery night and stepped inside.

everything else

i swear i am not gay just these are some hot flowers.


no matter how random the objects are, if you take a black-and-white picture of them, people will still take you seriously.






two towers


ghosts.


...or maybe just mosquito nets.


ghosts ii


hiked down to the waterfall and looked to the right...


...and to the left.


tents supplied to tsunami victims whose houses were destroyed






FGLDLGKJDG I WANT A VESPA.

bukit lawang (orang utan reserve)

bridge to our hotel. check out the sign on the left (closeup below)


quickly, Robin!


welcome to Eden Inn, a little slice of paradise...


male redhead, 35 years old, seeks open-minded, banana-loving mate. plays well with children.


the last picture my little brother, Daniel, ever took -- just before he was snatched away, and presumably eaten, by Kong the Terrible.


Kong uprooted this tree in his anger when we refused to offer my older brother as another sacrifice.


these fascinating creatures, though strange-looking, have an almost human intellect. also, there is a monkey on the left.


punk monkey sporting one heck of a mohawk


i think she is my soul mate.


OH MY GOD IS THAT HER NIPPLE?! APES GONE WILD WOOHOOOOOO

on the road in sumatra

INVASION OF THE CACAO SNATCHERS actually they are just choco-pods as i like to call em.


evil-looking macaque (say: "my cock")


coffee plantation YESSSS


do you know what this is? no, you don't. it is a baby pineapple. swear to god.


you have GOT to be kidding me. they don't actually grow like this, right? right?


the trees are bleeding.


alternate caption: rubber plantation. these are condom trees!


= 3 Asian airbrush artists + 20 lbs marijuana


did i tell you my brother is Spiderman?


just kidding! it was actually only this big.


restaurant where we had dinner one night. "Boruna" apparently is their word for "daughter." The next two lines are Dutch: "My four daughters bid you welcome." The last few lines try hard to be English. The front of the menus read: "Welcome to Boruna. We have four daughters. Also we have a son. We stop now."


pretty much this is the gateway to island hell.


it's kind of like a church for terrorists... JAY KAY

to sumatra / tsunami damage

plane to sumatra. i thought it looked neat.


some volcano on sumatra. if you look closely, you may be able to see part of the plane!


never used a toilet before? not to worry! our hotel gives handy directions.


do you know what this is? no, you don't. it was a bridge before the tsunami.


tugboat and coal ship washed up about .5 km from shore.


captain's last words: "what tsunami?"


sadly, mr and mrs whiskers' home was also destroyed in the tsunami.


if they can fit four Asians on a motorbike, think how many could fit in that SUV...


do you know what this is? no, you don't. this boat washed 5 km inland and crushed three houses. the locals told us there are still corpses underneath.


watch the onion thing...


this one was carried off a similar mosque about 1.5 km away


"it's tsunami of allah soldier"

in jakarta

backyard in jakarta. palm trees and barbed wire.


more of the same, i guess?


et sans le fil barbele


cecaks are friends, not food. they eat nasty nyamuk-nyamuk! ('skeeters, that is)


our house. just kidding! you didn't actually believe that, did you? i dunno, it's some random hut near the orang utan forest.

...for you are crunchy and taste good with ketchup.

so everyone wants to know how my first day was.

wake up! screams eve6, to the tune of inside out. it's seven o'clock. what? seven o'clock and i'm not even late yet? i have a grapefruit and a bowl of almost-stale lucky charms. my dad drives me to school -- unfortunately, not in the lotus. yet ;)
school. dad and i arrive at the guidance office just after 8 -- still a good 45 minutes before classes start but parts of the school have been open and active for quite some time. luke fleischman, whom some literally call God, walks out of his office smiling, hand extended. welcome (back) to the governor's school, he says. it's nice to have you here. he does not question my decision, nor the one i made to turn the school down just a year ago. he simply gives me my schedule and a few forms to sign.
GASP! administration had called manasa into the office and she brought a few friends. jo i can't believe you're here! a few tears are shed. mum just laughs. she always liked manasa (well, almost always). i guess these guys can show you the way, says god. he leaves to deal with another student.
let me see your schedule!

before i even arrived in my first class, my printed schedule looked like it'd been through a minefield. it was handed around to people i hadn't even met yet, in rooms i had never set foot in. here's the commons and here's the cafeteria but no one eats there, and here's the art hall and the language hall and the jazz band room and here's first period! gotta go! see you at lunch!
who are you? well i'm the new student, ms bennington. new student? i didnt know about a new student. oh, i taught your brother. have a seat.
there's one other freshy in the class -- carlin i think? i've met her once before. people tell me to stay away from her but i can't see why... joey told me she's perverted and i asked him if he really thought that'd bother me. guess not. stupid jew.
nothing too exciting in spanish but damn it's like audio ambrosia to hear her speak especially after barrett. hardly a word of english the whole 80 minutes and a real, live spanish accent. ffffffabulous. she gives me the wrong workbook -- teacher's edition, with all the answers inside -- and i ask if she intended to do that. oh my! you get a bonus point already. look everyone, jonathan gets a bonus point already, for honesty. silly me. she leaves the class for 15 minutes to get a student workbook from the teacher down the corridor. it didnt matter because one of the juniors in the class taught most of the day's lesson anyway. straight out of the book and it was a lot of review, but still.
no bell? what? we switched classes around 10:10, i guess. people basically wander into and out of classes within a 20-minute interval of the phantom bell. next class jazz band. the teacher's cool but the musicianship leaves something to be desired. i guess discipline really does have something to do with achievement, heh heh. still, i got to hang out in percussion with thomas and a few other cool kids. it'll be fun. i might try to switch to jazz band ii instead but who knows? god drops by to check in on me for a few moments.
lunch. what, no bell again? what's wrong with the PA? oh nothing, we just have about 45 minutes for lunch and whatever. oh, ok. i'll just follow you around for a bit then, manasa. it doesnt really matter, about lunch i mean, cos there's not a teacher in the building who won't let students eat in class. it was someone's birthday so he had cake. we had forks but no plates, so god stole some from the office and brought them to us. nice plastic ones with flowery designs. on his way out manasa asked him if i could get a schedule change to be in her english class... he said he'd think about it and said i'd be a better person to ask. come on, kids. it's my first day.
after lunch, PE. i sort of found random bits of a gym suit in the laundry room but i think i lost it after changing back into my regular clothes. ms hawkins looks like a man but i guess most female gym teachers do. at least she's cool. 48 curl-ups and 15 pull-ups and just over an hour of indoor soccer with background music -- Q94, but still, background music!
the incredulous mob of people that had been following me around all day starts to thin. the jew posse -- samantha, joey, ben and ben, daniel, aaron... the asians (heck, i can't remember their names)... the moody kids and david's friends. it's nice not to be ignored on your first day in a new place, i guess. thanks much, guys.
firc -- foundations of independent research and communication. it's a bs class -- every school's got em, you have to realise. i was pretty much as new to this class as anyone else because it's different for every quarter. apparently mr lawrance is really nice but he had a sub today... it's ok, all we did was watch some crazy movie about standard deviation and pretend to do a worksheet. marie came by to say hi. seth brought popcorn and gave me his opinions of basically everyone else in the class until samantha took over. not much else to talk about in firc. on the way out i stopped by god's office and then met david in the cafeteria... he's my ride home.
home, yeah. at 4 pm. crazy, right? i saved more than two hours of commute time.
looking forward to tomorrow. all eight classes... hopefully i won't have too much catching up to do.

FINIS.

the season is calling

Dear everyone:

i did not leave you. i left the school. i left the Spanish class that made me forget more than i'd learned. i left woodshop. i left the shitty iBooks and the rules that IB kids had to follow so as not to upset the NIBs. i left a health class that 'taught' us -- no, facilitated! -- the same things we'd been learning since fourth grade DARE. i left a Key Club that, 90% of the time, functioned as a social event; i left an hour of silent reading every week and the ridiculous concept of a 5th block five times a week for 20 minutes longer each day than any other class. i left a 3.5-hour commute and a 25-minute lunch.

i do not think i'm too good for you. i do not think i'm too smart for you. i'm not trying to make you jealous or upset or angry or sad. Please don't accuse me of that because you don't know how stressful the past few weeks have been for me. OK, a few of you won't see one particular friend every day. i won't see any of you everyday. and i'm every bit as upset as any of you are, even if i'm good at hiding it sometimes.

i'll miss the bus ride, even if it was hell and now i can wake up an hour later and get home an hour earlier. i'll miss sharing cotton-candy soda and vegetable wraps and brownies with lauren and kate on the bus. i'll miss jamming with austin every morning. i'll miss making fun of the bus driver whom no one could understand -- and the fat one too -- and the one who listened alternatingly to electronic jazz, hip hop and soft pop-rock. i'll miss skipping gym to visit clem or to rock out (acoustically, that is) and i'll miss the funny-smelling air conditioners that never seemed to work right and i'll miss ms barrett's absurd utterations and mr parker's ridiculous alliterations and ms hannegan's ambiguous (or even tri- or quatribiguous) test questions.

i'll miss you. i already do. i miss suzi. kate. matt and austin. robbie and adam. katie allison and emi. aishu and alissa. taylor jeff and kevin. chris. mari kathryn. lauren. maggie. audra. if i didn't mention you it probably means i don't care about you at all and you should cut yourself.

i hope this doesn't sound angry. i'm glad i didn't have to move out of the county... i'm glad that a few things did work out for me. i don't mean to sound full of myself but i know it won't be the same there without me. i hope you understand and if not i hope you come talk to me about it!

more sincerely than ever,
j l

iss/aac

How to Skip School (without skipping school) in Three Easy Steps:

1. Be creative. Make connections. If you see the letters "K K K" next to a blank index card, draw a hooded figure and a burning cross on it!

2. Look your best. Put a smile on. When someone asks you if you saw who drew offensive symbols all over the bus, just grin and play dumb. Deny, deny, deny.

3. Get your ass whooped by the assistant principal. Try to convince her that you didn't mean it offensively -- just because the bus driver was African-American and the names on the assigned seating cards were all Tyrones and La'Tishas and Zenn'bonqitas doesn't mean i harbour racist feelings. i'm a good Jewish (and Asian!) kid myself, you know.

"Well, there's nothing in the Henrico County Code of Conduct on how to punish stupid behaviour; so I could put this under aggressive messages or vandalism. And I think I'll be assigning you two days of in-school detention."

In-school suspension. It's like summer vacation without the TV or chicks in bikinis. It's like prison without the worries of homosexual rape. It's like school... without the... school.

Awesome, right? Why not draw offensive symbols on every available surface? Why not skip class so that you can be punished by being forced to skip class? These are all good questions, but unfortunately, there are suitable answers.

WHEN IN ISS:

«No sleeping. Actually, no laying your head down. This rule is justified, of course, because the best way to "adjust the attitudes" (because technically, ISS is AAC -- "Attitude Adjustment Centre") of juvenile delinquents such as myself is to ensure they at least have good posture.»

«Seven hours in foreign language immersion. i swear the largest word in these people's vocabulary is "probation." And when i say "these people" i refer not only to the other students, but also to the administrator, Mr Sam(p?)son and all his friends -- students and teachers -- who came by to visit. The most entertaining part of my day was listening to Mr. S say something along the lines of "Aww, I ain't want none o' dat shit!" and then correct a student saying "You is crazay..." a few moments later. And yes, he did swear rather profusely, i thought, for one who is supposed to be "adjusting the attitudes" of juvenile delinquents.»

«Speaking of Mr S and his friends... how can i begin? Throughout the day, kids and teachers dropped by to share a word or two or eighteen hundred with our administrator, on subjects as widely varied as shoe-shopping, Thanksgiving meals, the weather today, the weather yesterday, the weather tomorrow, and even Mother's Day (which is in May, is it not? ... the logic of this escapes me, but then again so does the logic of ISS in general).»

So I found various excuses to get out for maybe three minutes at a time, mainly to Ms Clements' room to get/return work, even though technically i wasn't allowed to. i guess Mr S sort of trusted me because i was IB or something. Or figured i wasn't stupid enough to get into any real trouble... but if that was true, i wouldn't be in there in the first place. At any rate, Ms Clements agreed that it was an extremely pointless punishment -- it seems to deter the student from academics as well as social interaction (which, i suppose, is the intended punishment)... but how many students leave that tiny room with a more positive outlook on life? How many students leave with reformed personalities and true atonement for what they did? i was assigned there because i drew images that could be interpreted as racially demeaning or aggressive... so i spent two days with several of the least-impressive specimens of this particular race. Assuming i did harbour feelings of hatred towards African-Americans, would this help? i think not. Fortunately, though, that is not an issue.

NOTE: I KNOW THIS WAS ALL SEVERAL WEEKS AGO BUT I'M LAZY. DEAL.

My mom wanted to call and complain about the futility of the institution but she's complained about enough this school year... transportation and parent-teacher conferences being disorganised and whatnot. i figure that's a large part of the reason she still hasn't exactly warmed up to Henrico -- because there is so much to complain about. i'm not disagreeing. There's Maggie, though.

FINIS.

what i learned in middle school...

1. Don't mess with the older kids; they'll eat your ankles for breakfast. (At first when my friend suggested this to me, she said "don't fuck with the older kids..." and i thought she meant literally. With some people, though, you never know.)

2. Don't sit directly in front of bisexual gothic kids at lunch; they WILL try to lick you.

2b. Don't sit directly across from bisexual gothic kids at lunch; they sometimes wear thongs. Quite visibly.

3. If you are short, do NOT try the bucket-swinging [centripetal force] experiment -- most likely, you will end up soaking wet. Or maybe that's just Alissa.

4. Don't tell teachers they look like squirrels.

5. If you feel alone, don't worry. We're all alone together.

5b. i lied. It's just you.

5c. But get the hell over it.

6. True love lasts forever; forever, though, may only last until next weekend.

7. Eating on the bus, walking on the grass, and bringing a firearm to school are all punishable by three days of in-school suspension.

8. When a teacher tells you angels don't exist... don't bother arguing. Especially if that teacher belongs in a chain-smoking gang.

9. Just because a teacher compliments your project, it doesn't guarantee a good grade.

10. YOU THINK YOU'RE BETTER THAN EVERYONE ELSE JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE IN AN EMO BAND! WELL, YOU'RE NOT! YOU'RE JUST LIKE EVERYONE ELSE!

10b. Actually, that was high school. But close enough, and definitely classic. I heart you, Brittany.

11. No one really knows what the azn smileys mean.

12. If you find it on the floor of the bus or locker room, follow the five-second rule: don't keep it in your mouth for more than five seconds at a time.

12b. If you do keep it in your mouth for more than five seconds at a time, congratulations! You have AIDS.

13. Eat. Puke. Flush. Repeat.

13b. Anyone who follows the directions in #13 needs a spanking.

13c. Unless, of course, they really are fat.

14. If you can justify it by relating it to an Area of Interaction, it's not cheating.

15. In dealing with triangles (and Euclidean geometry in general): when in doubt, add another side.

16. In dealing with younger kids: you were young and annoying once, too.

16b. In fact, you still are.

17. Deodorant is not a substitute for a shower.

18. Don't expect to be able to function for three days on three hours of sleep.

19. Eat a good breakfast every morning. Translation: BUY MORE POP-TARTS.

20. If all else fails, write a love letter and cry.

FINIS.

p.s. thanks to everyone who helped