I heard my first Christmas song of the year today . . . "I'll Be Home For Christmas," by Bing Crosby. I like that one; it's one of my favorites, and it also applies this year . . . for I WON'T be home for Christmas . . . though I won't be fighting a war . . . I'll just be off in Switzerland . . .
Magic 95.7 needs to stop playing those Christmas songs so early. Honestly, November 7th??? Last year it was at least a month before Christmas. Maybe it's just a preview, a little marathon (because they played like 12 in a row . . . some Carol of the Bells funky dance remix, lol, and Holly Jolly Christmas . . . ) before the whole big thing later when they never stop. At least they're not like U93, who sometimes plays Christmas songs and sometimes plays normal songs . . . and you only want normal songs with that station, not that remake crap those artists are always pulling off pathetically. At Christmas, U93 should equal normal, Magic 95.7 Christmas.
I was very pissed off at Mrs. Kasa today; she shortchanged me not once, but twice. First, we got back our assignments for the Hell project. Liz and I got docked for lack of color and good presentation (not substantially, so it was fine-- and we know it was bad in the color departments and such . . . but we didn't have anywhere NEAR the same amoung of time as everyone else to work on ours), and also for Creativity. Now, THAT pissed us off. We were the most creative in the group. We actually did something DIFFERENT, not just silly crime-silly punishment steadily leading up to bad crime-mean punishment. We were redemptive. Now, she said the project REQUIRED punishments, and that's why we were docked.
Now here's the part where I get all politically correct. Personally, I don't believe Hell is an eternal punishment. I don't believe people soak in fondue or get burned for eating too much or something like that. I believe all of Hell, if there is a Hell at all, is like Purgatory, in essence . . . one is able to be redeemed in it . . . because, as the Quakers pointed out, and I have long suspected, a loving God should be able to save all of his children. Also, punishment is so negative. Our idea of renewal, though extremely Eastern in origin, just seems so much more optimistic and fitting with my very strong belief that humanity is inherently good. Also . . . one shouldn't have to lay aside their own religious beliefs (in some religions, you'd be condemned for it . . . though I certainly don't belong to one of those, so I guess I don't really apply) to do an English project. Yeah, I know, Vidhi made a Catholic-ly-ish-based Hell, and Nichole said she didn't believe in much of anything in her Hell, either, but still . . .
I consider myself a martyr. A "B" for refusing to submit to the conventional tyranny of Dante's distinct Hell.
Okay, fine; I'm just bitter about the damn "B." Yet I do have a case with this, okay?
Ah well, Liz . . . at least we had fun doing it, and it was semi-enlightening . . . and what's a religion without some sort of opposition?
Okay, now, second time she shortchanged me: Andrew and I were in the freaking play. We didn't have ACCESS to programs; we had to leave them for the audience, and there wasn't enough to go around anyway of them. So Mrs. Kasa makes up this shite about how we have to do some work for her for our ten points extra credit (of which I need to make up for my instance of religious sacrifice) . . . and, you know, staying after school for two hours for four months and until 9:00 for a week just doesn't buy it for her. We had to get a program signed by Mr. Ong by 3:30.
So . . . Andrew and I ran up to his room at lunch. He wasn't there, so we wrote on the board a request for him to send a note to her by 3:30 that day.
At 3:15, we show up after school down at the auditorium to wait for Mr. Ong, who should be there for set deconstruction. He didn't come for a long time . . .
Then, suddenly, we saw it: a program lying on the floor of the theater. Andrew and Erik dove for it at the same time . . . because Erik needed it for something . . . and I yelled for Andrew to run; we might have enough time, and we needed to be sure Mr. Ong had gotten the message to Mrs. Kasa.
So we take off sprinting, Erik close behind us (and, dang, can he run fast . . . ), all the way down the Orchestra hall, the theater hall, the student center, up the stairs (upon which some crabby teacher squawked-- or croaked, take your pick-- at us to walk) . . . and then Erik caught up with Andrew and he had to duck behind a janitor cart. So I asked Andrew to give it to me, because I knew Erik wouldn't attack me. So then I walked safely to Mr. Ong's room, and Andrew ran down the hall to distract Mrs. Kasa, just in case it took longer than until 3:30.
Turned out he had gotten the message and sent her an email and it was all good . . . We got our ten points extra credit, and Erik got his program . . . but it was a funny story to tell . . .
Everyone else: Is handed a program nicely at the door and simply sit on their butts for two or so hours.
Andrew and I: Work every day after school for two hours, and until 9:00 for a week, suffer occasional beratings from Mr. Ong, AND run across the school in about a minute flat.
All for ten points . . .
So, anyway, I was very loopy at the brief while I stayed at set deconstruction. I don't know what the heck I am doing for Speech. The next meet is like next week . . . but I can't go; I forgot to sign up and I'm not prepared. I'd sooner be ready for Debate, but that's not until Decemeber. My Harry Potter clipping is too long (well, it's not if I talk at the speed I'd like to . . . confunnit, Speech must be so much easier in Japan or Spanish-speaking countries where everyone is allowed to talk fast . . . ), and I don't have an idea for Original Oratory. I can tell I'm pissing off Mr. Ong about it, too . . . personally, I find the speeches in the Speech book he keeps giving me utterly retarded; they're juvenile and whiney and trite. I want to make a powerful speech . . . but powerful speeches are controversial, and the only topics I actually give a hoot about are controversial, and so hence I have no material for Original Oratory. He tried to prompt me by asking if rude people bother me. I told him no, they don't. They honestly don't. For it's mostly true, and I whine enough as it is without having to come up with a bunch of trite reasons I really don't believe in to support that thought.
So then he was like, "Do Original Interpretation." I was like, "Fine." Yet then he goes back to those retarded Speech speeches again, and I told him NO, I was not going to read one of those, they sound like they're written by freshmen and sophmores-- which they are-- and I am a senior, and (I didn't say this, but--) an intelligent one at that. I could write a better speech, just not without offending someone in this crazy conservative Bible belt Republican state, unless I made it to Nationals (which there is no chance, since I'd have to get through Indiana first).
Can't I read like something of Thomas Jefferson's or someone? Honestly! Those have some actual point in them.
I sound like an arrogant ass, I know.
I think the endorphins from my run have made me way too hyper for the moment. Then again, I was already this nuts when I ran into a wall while going on about how I hate raking leaves to Liz. I need to calm down and stop being so passionate. Though this feels very healthy.
Kristina gave me some Fizzing Whizzbees. She is also responsible for my Harry Potter pin. I love you for enabling my obsession, Kristina. Also, I do believe Nichole is partners in her crime. I love you both. By the way, I haven't eaten them yet; I'm saving them for . . . something special. I don't know.
PS: I'm sad I never get to drive past 12 Grimmauld Place at Tory's new Tae Kwon Do place (or building . . . it's the same people, all . . . ).
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