A Milestone! (Sorta)

Today was my very last first day of high school. Ever. (Assuming, of course, that I pass and don’t have to come back.)
And boy is the pressure on. I have five Edgar Allen Poe stories to read in the next three days, and I’ve never been very keen on Poe.

Then there are the freshman. They are so small, (in a completely non-physical sense, as the majority of them are taller than I)and confused looking, as they scurried around looking for their classes. I did my part and pointed a few of them in the right direction. (I’m one of the nice seniors.) But I can’t help but get nostalgic. Was it really four years ago that I started high school? It certainly doesn’t feel like it. I haven’t even grown four inches since I started high school. And now I’m no longer looking ahead to senior year, I’m looking ahead to college. (Looking up?)

And, once again, I’m seriously lacking anything to write about.

Film Favorites

Due to the fact I have absolutely Nothing to write about, I’m copying Mudge’s idea, and making a list of favorite film quotes. (In no particular order, but organized by film.)

Today’s film is
A Philadelphia Story

Tracy Lord : I’m going crazy. I’m standing here solidly on my own two hands and going crazy.

Margaret Lord : The course of true love…
Macaulay Connor : …gathers no moss.

Elizabeth (Liz) Imbrie : What’s this room? I’ve forgotten my compass.
Macaulay Connor : I’d say, south-by-southwest parlor-by-living-room.

Macaulay Connor : This is the Bridal Suite. Send us up some caviar sandwiches and a bottle of beer.
Margaret Lord : Who is this?
Macaulay Connor : This is the Voice of Doom calling. Your days are numbered, to the seventh son of the seventh son.
Margaret Lord : One of the servants must have been in the sherry again.

Tracy Lord : Oh, we’re going to talk about me again, are we? Goody.

Dinah Lord : Nothing ever possibly in the least ever happens here. Mother, how do you get smallpox?

Lions and Tigers and Necrophilia, Oh My!

As I was reading the bewitching tale of Snow White to three precious children I was babysitting, a disturbing thought came into my mind.

Prince Charming kissed a dead girl. This leads me to believe that Prince Charming is simply not normal. That said, in the twisted 19th century prose sort of way, Prince Charming is a necrophiliac. I mean, how exactly do you kiss someone so deep that they cough out an apple?

And this is the type of story we’re reading our kids?

Muahaha.

Comments on a Thunderstorm

I love thunderstorms.

I love how the clouds turn from gray, to dark gray, to sickly green, like a bruise in the process of healing. I love the smell of the asphalt when the rain first touches it on a hot day. I love the earth shaking crack of lightning and thunder, so furious it could have been thrown by an angry god. I love how one gust of wind can take out the power for an entire town, once again proving the power of nature will always prevail over mankind. I love the sound of the rain pelting against my windows, and how it drips down in sheets, blurring the outside. I love how the entire world seems to go dark at 2 in the afternoon when the clouds block out the sun, in a sort of post-apocalyptic haze. I love how they can come and go in a period of ten minutes, like attention span of a 3 year old. I love the sound and the fury.

I just love thunderstorms.

An Honest Confession

I’m not a big fan of Kerry. But as is often said, anyone but Bush. And the more I think about it, the more I am point blank terrified of the consequences should Bush be re-elected.
I don’t claim to know much about politics, I dont. However, I do know of the serious damage George W. Bush is doing around the world.

This is what I do know, and what I do know, scares the crap out of me:

I know about the tax breaks being given to big businesses who are moving
overseas for cheaper labor.

I know about the bills under titles like “Clean Air” that do everything but
clean the air.

I know that President Bush backed out of environmentally friendly
treaties.

I simply cannot comprehend how a man with such a great position of power could care so little about the environment. It’s sickening. A Who Cares What I Do to The Environment Now Because I Won’t Be Alive When The Planet Goes To The Dumpster sort of attitute. It’s stomach-turningly selfish.

And I guess that’s all I have to say, because that’s all I know on the subject.

Writer’s Block

I really have no idea what to write about.

Any suggestions?

Gov. McGreevey, I Salute You.

In the world we live in today, masks and facades are held in high esteem.

If you are in a position of authority, and have a problem, you put a smile on your face, and continue on with your duties.

But not NJ Govenor Jim McGreevey.

After being married to two different women, he has come out of the closet.

Doing so jepoardizes his career, his family, and everything he has worked for.

Yet he still did it.

Govenor McGreevey was true to himself, a trait not often seen in politics, and for this, I show my recognition to one of the bravest men I’ve ever heard of.

The New Refrigerator

I’ll admit, I’m not good with change.

When our off-white and faux-wood-handled refrigerator began to break into cold sweats in the middle of the winter, my mother shook her head, and knew the refrigerator’s time was coming to a close. A sad chapter in the life of my family, as it was the only refrigerator I can ever remember seeing in our househould in the sixteen years of my life.

This cream-faux-wood masterpiece had great sentimental value. The first vegetables I ever refused to eat were housed in that very refrigerator. The first milk I ever drove to the supermarket to buy, went into that refrigerator.

What a blow, it was, to have a new-fangled, freezer-on-the-bottom, sleek, giant, black monster replace it last wednesday. This new-fangled, freezer-on-the-bottom, sleek, giant black monster has significantly less freezer room, thereby preventing us from losing Passover’s shankbone in the back. The refrigerator shelves are clean, and clear, unabashedly flaunting all food from the bottom. It’s a vain, selfish creature.

And it groans. It sputters and groans throughout the day. It churns, and crackles. This monster doesn’t bother to tone it down when guests are around, flaunting the noises it makes to any passerby.

This means war, until next wednesday, when the refrigerator that we were suppose to have in the first place comes, and the moster that currently resides in the kitchen goes back to the purgatory of the warehouse until a new buyer becomes it’s victim.

Go RVing!

As I sat in front of the TV recently, I saw an advertisement for RVs.
To paraphrase, it basically stated:
Come see the world’s natural wonders! Go RV-ing!

What this advertisement skillfully left out was:
Come see the world’s natural wonders that you’ll be actively destroying by RV-ing!

Because you know what? Somehow I just don’t think that would sell as well.

Can’t Find My Way Home

After finishing Farenheit 451 at Dickinson, I needed more reading material. So, I picked up Rolling Stone. In the back of Rolling Stone I saw a book review for a book called Can’t Find My Way Home American in the Great Stoned Age 1945 – 2000. It tracks the history of drugs throughout the decades. With permission from my father and an e-mailed Borders Discount, I hopped in Battlestar Galactica and clunked along to Borders.

I found the book with relative ease and went to check out. At my eye level was a nametag. Glenn. Glenn grabbed my book, chuckled to himself and said to me, “This should be an interesting read.” I looked him over. He was in his mid 40s, balding, working as a checkout man for Borders Books and Music. But his name was Glenn, so he’s cool. I responded, “I read about the book in Roling Stone and I just had to get it.” You know,” he said with a half grin “You may be too young to remember this but Timothy Leary once said ‘Those who remember the 60s, wasn’t there.’” He gave me a meaningful look. There was an understanding there. Glenn didn’t remember the 60s.

So here’s to you, Glenn, the Borders CheckOut Man.
You really made my day.