Being an 8th Grader in the Year 2000. 2000 divided by 8 is 250. Coincidence?
"The existence of the flamethrower is proof that, at one point, someone said, ‘I really want to light those people over there on fire, but I'm just not close enough.'" -George Carlin
Now, this quote doesn't actually have that much to do with me, but the whole point of this is to talk about ourselves, and I think that's pretty interesting. And you might as well be interesting, or else you're just... boring. Not that there's anything wrong with being boring. But I'm getting off track.
The world today is an interesting place, no matter what age you are. But I'd have to say that it may be harder to be a teenager than anything else. We're coming into a whole new age, evolving all the time, as is the world. Everyone is diverse, and that is what makes life so interesting. People have opinions about everything, ranging from religion to superheroes. And they can make most everything that is so mundane to them sound interesting. Or vice versa; they may find something incredibly interesting, whereas it's boring everyone else to tears. So, while it may not be the most interesting to be a teenager, or even the most difficult (I'd have to say that reaching the age of death can be pretty trying on the nerves), it is still quite an experience, and I suppose that means that I will have to share it with you. Shucks.
Where else to start my day then at the beginning? Most people that I know use their alarms to wake up at 6:00, just in time, they say. Though I suspect that their showers are used with only purified water, and their ‘breakfast' is several 3-course meals. I wake up, with a little help from my mother, at 7:00. This is time for me to change (which, contrary to popular belief, has been known to happen several days at a time), wake up, and check my e-mail for fifteen minutes. Then I go to the bus, fresh as a daisy. Though if anyone asks, I didn't say ‘daisy.' I usually stay up till midnight, which is not a healthy sleep cycle, I realize, and some day I will probably spend a school year in hibernation. But this has not happened yet. And thus, I still go to school, every day.
School is just chock full of sociological experiences. The cliques are endless: cheerleaders, jocks, nerds, dorks, geeks, goths, preps, spazzes, jerks, and weirdos. I would take an in-depth look at all of the different categories, but that would probably require some sort of an effort. He he. Just kidding. Honestly, all groups stem two ways. Popular and unpopular. Not incredibly surprisingly, fewer people are in the popular category.
The popular category is a pretty easy category to separate. Jocks and cheerleaders. Mind you, I'm probably making several horrible generalizations here. The jocks are the ones that I dislike the most because they seem to be very popular for sports. Not my cup of tea. I have seen a couple that I don't like disrespecting some girls. Now, I believe it's friendly teasing, and the girls know what's going on, but I, personally, don't want to graduate high school having been voted ‘Most Likely to Be Charged With a Sexual Harassment Suit'. Cheerleaders, also, are the cheerleaders that I dislike because of their popularity. Some of them seem not to be very nice to other people. And I would say that I know several of them who don't belong in ALPS, but that would result in name-calling, and next thing you know, someone is calling someone else a poopy- head, and chaos ensues. The people who really bite my nerves are the ones who show little to no comprehension on... anything. They don't seem to be coming to school for learning. More for fun. Better to have a little bit of both, right? Some people have less to worry about in the way of having too many friends.
The unpopular category gets more complex. Some people are only unpopular because they don't care. Others because they care too much. Some people try so hard to become popular that it's obvious. Hanging out with popular people, regretfully, does not make you popular. Other people, though, are not popular because they are academically gifted or... really not very gifted. Nerds, dorks, etc. are the ones who have book-noses. They get a rap for not caring about what people think about them. They are the ones who read books, because they're not good for anything else (is a common opinion). Also, the jerks, as I have so compassionately have named them, are jocks without the athletic ability. By some good turn of fortune, these people do not seem to be very popular. It makes me wonder about popularity.
I have absolutely no clue what popular people say about nerds, or what anyone says about me. It seems completely impossible to know that. It's hard to form opinions of people that you don't always get to know that well. Some people, though, are lucky enough to venture off of the popular/unpopular trail, and pave a new one. The nice jocks, if you will, smart cheerleaders, and Sonya's friends. Apparently, no one hates them. There's no reason to. They're smart, but also nice, and friendly. They don't generalize. Well, they do, but not in front of other people, as I am currently doing, assuming someone is reading this. Which poses the same questions as the tree in the forest. Are these really words if no one is reading them? It makes you think. Unless you don't think about such trivial things. It kind of makes sense to disregard trivial things. However, those things are sometimes what make life so interesting. It's hard to say what's trivial and what's not, though. To me, religion is trivial and pointless, but some people feel very differently than I do. Religion is a big thing some places, but not everywhere.
Religion is not that much of an issue at school, and it should stay that way. Why pray at football games? That's not a good idea. At least don't make everyone pray. It's not even a religious game. Maybe if it was, like, Pope: The Board Game, it would be okay, but it's not. The majority of all religious people are Christian. This is a fine religion, though Lent is not without its faults (forty days? Rosh Hashanah only takes two days, tops). The people that give Christians a bad name are the ones with a certain philosophy: Christians go to heaven. Buddhists go to nirvana, or whatever. Atheists go to hell. If you ask me, it doesn't sound fair. I, personally, am agnostic. I call myself that, at least. I probably am atheist, in actuality. Believing in a religion is fine. Believing that other people are wrong is even okay. Stupid, but okay. Changing people, though, is crossing the line. It's their own business as to whether they're Christian, or Buddhist, or Scientologist. That's in the Constitution. Congress can't make any rules about religions. Unless it interferes with the law. Then it becomes kind of mucky. Where does religion stop, and crime begin? We're studying things like these in Social Studies. Which ties it back together. Mr. Courtney's book is big and thick, but not very heavy. My locker is cluttered with books, though also very clean.
My locker is only clean because I have nothing to put in there. I have books, and that is all. Language Arts, Science, Algebra, Social Studies, and Spanish. My locker is also much more stubborn in its acceptance of my combination. My daily locker routine is as follows: attempt to open locker, attempt to open locker, open locker, get out things, close locker, re-open locker, get out forgotten item, close locker. Not fun. My locker, remarkably, is still very close to Daniel Bingham's. Adjacent, if you will pardon my use of ‘multi-syllabic words.' Daniel calls me a walking dictionary. Regretfully, someday I will have to explain that this is just because of his poor vocabulary skills. Daniel once used the term viscosity. Now, you may say, "But that is a fine noun!" You are shocked, genuinely shocked. The word was right. However, the context was wrong. He was making a comment about the how viscously he defended himself. Viscosity, if you didn't already know, means stickiness. And speaking of stickiness, I have to, eh, leave. Or perhaps I will make like a screen door on a submarine and... something. I think I should just stop talking, like someone who has nothing more to stay. Goodbye, farewell, and I will see you in the next chapter.
Just kidding. I would never leave you with a conclusion like that. Well, the honest truth is that that was exactly what I was going to do, but I had no other homework, and I had written all of the above paragraphs a week ago. I also was changing something else, so I figured that since I was already going to reprint it, I might as well add some more things, and try to wrack my brain of interesting things to say. Here goes:
Daniel says he tries to trace everything back to a primal instinct, apparently assuming that we were all, at one point, wolves. For example, he says the reason that we try to be popular (among some group of people) is that in the past, if we didn't have any allies, we would quickly be devoured by whatever people were afraid of being devoured by those days. Earthworms, or something. Giant earthworms, probably. Now, do you think giant earthworms would have special abilities, or would they just be larger? And would they be earthworms because of their genetic nature, or because of radiation. The spider that bit Spiderman wasn't that much bigger, but he was radioactive.
I am not big on the major superheroes, but I do know a bit about them. Spiderman is my least favorite of the major superheroes. He had endless possibilities. Being bitten by a radioactive spider could have made him a lot cooler than he is now. All he got was a bit of increased strength (spiders aren't really all that strong, anyway), and mutated wrists. The ‘spidie-webs' that he shoots aren't even a natural part of his body. He has to make the webs, and insert them into his wrists; it's not much of a superpower. Now, as far as Superman is concerned, he has a lot of very cool superpowers, but you have to take into account that he is an alien. So he's kind of disqualified. Now, I think you really have to admire Batman. He isn't an alien like Superman, and he didn't get bitten by anything like Spiderman, he's just rich. He just used his money to buy and make a bunch of neat gadgets. That's why I think Batman is the best superhero. I don't watch his cartoon show, though. I don't watch nearly as many cartoons now as I used to. I used to watch Looney Tunes all the time.
I formed a couple of opinions about cartoon characters. Bugs Bunny was always okay, but he seemed to be a little too out of it, I thought. It seemed unfair that he could often just save the day by making a mistake. Elmer Fudd was not very cool, though, because I'll bet you that he didn't even have a license. Yosemite Sam was an interesting character, because he was like a cowboy, and he was short. Short people often tend to be funny. Sorry, short people. I would have to say that the best cartoon character of all times (ever) was Wile E. Coyote. He was always thinking, like whenever he bought things from ACME. He was very sophisticated, as you could tell whenever he talked. Finally, he was able to sustain the worst of injuries, which you will notice when he gets crushed by boulders the size of Montana. Maybe Idaho. All he gets is a little bit of ‘accordionism', and he's back on his feet after some skeleton re-working. The world is full of strong people with strong personalities. Whether it be Martin Luther King Jr., a grandmother, or Wile E. Coyote. And teenagers, believe it or not, are stronger than some people like to believe. They have to be, because people are not always welcome to change, and everything that seems fine to us seems unacceptable to them. I'd bet my shoe that by the time we're our parents' ages, kids will be doing something horrible, like playing their music at incredibly loud, offensive levels, and wearing even less than they do today. As if that was possible. But the whole point is that being a teenager is harder than it looks, no matter what time period. Be it today, five years ago, or during the Civil War. So don't kick it until you've tried it. And even then, it's not very nice to kick people.
Now that I've bored you even more, I think that I can bear to part with you. Adieu. I will see you in another chapter in another time. Well, actually, you'll see me. My writing. Eh, you probably know what I mean.
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Crawling On Hands and Feet
Ah, yet another chance to humiliate myself with tales of yesteryear. How I do cherish such opportunities.
I didn't really know how I was going to write this chapter about my life before school. Everything is a blur in the years before I stopped drooling. And that was just 5th grade. Ha! Just kidding. My years before school, assuming that pre-school is included as a part of school, spanned only 5 or 6 brief years. And you expect me to fill at least two pages (double spaced)? What are you, mad?! But, alas, I shall try my best. As always [grumble].
Now, I am not the utmost authority on this subject, because I have just vague memories of my life before school. Fortunately, I have a loving family who has remembered all of the things, stupid and not, that I have done.
One of the ‘cute' things that I did as a young child was speaking. Not just the act of speaking, the way that I spoke. My first word was ‘bus'. That gives you an idea of my immense vocabulary at even such a young age. I believe, among many other mispronounced words, I said ambulances (AM-boo-len-sez) and tritangular (TRY-tang-yoo-lur). Through some odd coincidence, the person who said tritangular grew into me, with my big, eh, words in my mind, thingy. Due to my words-thingy, I have the ability to, you know, say... stuff (I know, vocabulary, articulate, etc.) Mouths are pretty important things at that age (3['ish]). That's probably why they try to shut them up with pacifiers.
At one point, I'm sure, I didn't get why they were called pacifiers. Of course, it makes perfect sense now, but I'll bet that, at one point, I didn't get why they would try to occupy our most important orifice (ha ha, orifice). It's where we eat, talk, and breathe (some of the time). For some reason, I don't really recall, I used my pacifier until I was five. Five! Then, when I was a big boy (at age five), I said, "No more pacifier. I'm too old for pacifiers." I made that resolution on my birthday. So, of course, my parents went ahead and threw out all of the pacifiers. What with my strong convictions and all, I asked for a pacifier sometime before the next week. "No more pacifier. You're too old for pacifiers." My calm reply came, "Waaaah!" But this story ended happily. My parents never gave me back my pacifier and I hated them forever, and some day I will hack them up with an axe. Ha! Just kidding. Probably bludgeon them with a bat or something. Okay, you caught me again. My parents didn't give me my pacifier, and I coped. If only I had such strong motivations these days. When I was but a wee little Jonathan Baude, I used to care so much about everything. I didn't have school, so my life was relatively empty. I kind of had to relish everything that came about. I don't really like relish. Do you?
[ ] Yes [ ] No
Sorry, that was more of a side note about the relish. I didn't have very many friends when I was littler (here would be where the reader gasps). I knew many less people. Even after pre- school started, I went to Montessori, which was a private school, unlike BDLC. I met Charles Luskin. And... Well, that's about it. But that was okay. When you're four, you can't have more than two or three friends anyway. Then what do you do if they both want you to come over (back in the days of not saying ‘no' to friends)? I had Charles, and he was all I really needed. He was my best (est) friend, and we would have lots of fun together. We probably played tag, or cops and robbers, or some equally moronic game. It wasn't moronic then. Then, it was cool. Tag rules! But I'm not much for it these days. As a side note, in case I never get to mention it again, any friends that I had when I began 1st grade disappeared when I skipped it. So I had to start all over again. And Katherine Lee hated me then. Now? I don't know. But that, as I said, was a side note. Charles and I had a comradery. Our parents had been friends when we were pre-natal, so it goes back a while. There are others that claim to hold that title, but they are, if you will allow my use of slang, wanna-be's. That is, they want to be. They have not known him for as long as I have. Charles is like family, but I know people who officially hold that title.
My family. Enough said, right? I had them before, I have them now. Not really any big changes. However, I got my dog before school started. Big thing. I usually tell a somewhat drawn-out, most likely somewhat boring, slightly mundane story about how we got Fred. But, of course, this is no exception.
I was kidding about it being that boring. But I do tell it often, so it's boring after the fourth or fifth time. My dog, Fred, is from Cincinnati. He was raised by a professional breeder, along with the rest of his family. Well, me being the young child that I was, I had spilled pizza (isn't it odd that one spills pizza?) all over my shirt at lunchtime. The times never change, do they? When we got to the breeder's house, he let the dogs go in a room with us. We were having a rather hard time figuring out which one to pick. They were all running around us frantically. Except for Fred. He ran up to me and started licking the pizza off of my shirt. At the time, we thought it was cute. He was just doing it for the pizza. He still does it. Some day, we will have to protect our food at all times when it is not in the refrigerator or our stomachs. Speaking of furniture (refrigerators are furniture, right?), my room has changed twice so far. I used to live in my mom's current study. For some reason that I don't recall, we switched. Perhaps one of the reasons was my dislike for "police cars, fire trucks, and ambulances [see earlier mention]." I also just recently moved into my current room, but that doesn't count, really. It happened just a month or two ago. A lot is happening now. That's not what the chapter is about, but I needed to make some mention of it. Well, actually, the only important thing that has happened now (or, at least, the only thing I will talk about) is that I did some research for this chapter.
I was talking to my mom about the chapter, and she told me all about these travels that I had been on. Boston, Philadelphia, Cincinnati, Door County... the list goes on. However, I figured that if I didn't find them very interesting, the reading public probably wouldn't either. Therefore, I will no more digress as far as the present or my travels are concerned. The only other thing that really comes to mind that happened at all during the time between the womb and the (class)room is our move. Not a big one. It didn't change my school district, although I suppose I didn't really have one at the time. We didn't move from any other town. It was on a pretty big but not very important street named Moore's Pike. I'm pretty sure it was a duplex, though I don't honestly remember. It is currently being occupied by somebody who is, from what I hear, not a very nice person. He did not pay his rent for a while (we rent it out; it's still ours), then one day, he just said, "Wow! All of my tax receipts and money!" He is rather disagreeable, but he pays money, and this is good enough, I suppose. The house that he lives in (that we used to live in) was surrounded by woods, and would have probably been secluded, had it not been right across the street from Showplace 11. Though I want to say the theater wasn't there when we lived there, for I was only .5 years old. Sorry, one-half of a year old. Which, as an age, is very close to 0.
Although this isn't technically about me, I wanted to say that when I was in my mother's womb, people would always come up and rub her stomach, in that way that many people do to expectant mothers. I guess the point that I'm trying to make here is that I've had people close to me all of my life (be them friends or strangers), and that's one of the few things that remains constant through life. You almost always have friends, and people there to support you, and school usually gives you an opportunity to make new friends. There are some people in the world who don't have any friends, or anything. This is quite a sad thing, especially because these people often times become harsh themselves. The world can be cruel at all ages, but it can also be... not cruel. And that's what life is all about. Those moments when life is not cruel, but kind. And, in a nice, non-religious manner, I want to say that the people in life are what make life worth living. While I still have the chance, I want to thank all of the people who have supported me through my life, even when I was 2. Thanks, people. And a special thanks to those of you who will help me at some point in the future. You know who you are. Show of hands.
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Familiarities A Family Affair When my Grandpappy's Pappy Was Knee-high to a Grasshopper It's hard to know where to start with my family. It's not that there's a lot of them; there isn't. It isn't that they're that confusing. They're just... different. Like me, I suppose. Just to show how very weird I am, I'm going to start my family at the outer edge. The... Top Branch of the Family Tree, if you will.
Now, when I say the Top Branch of the Family Tree, I don't mean Adam & Eve. Not that high up there*. I'm just talking about my family that I know. My grandparents, and what I know about my great-grandparents.
I really don't know much about my great-grandparents. What I do know is that one of my father's grandfathers, Eugene, was a doctor during World War II. The sad thing about it is that while he was working all of those extra hours at healing the sick, he got pneumonia. That's just kind of sad, when you think about it. But I never knew him, so I don't have any painful memories of him. No memories at all. I do know most of my grandparents.
Scratch that. I know my maternal grandmother and my paternal grandfather. I can tell you nothing about my maternal grandfather. Concerning my paternal grandmother, I know she was French. That's... about it. I never met my paternal grandfather. I do, however, hear about him all the time. His name was Andre. There's probably an accent over the ‘e', I'm not sure. He lived in France most of his life. During WW II, he sent my pregnant paternal grandmother across ‘the pond' to Kansas **. I'm not sure why to Kansas. I suppose Kansas is as far away from the ocean as you can get. He fled to Morocco, and then made his way to Kansas. My paternal uncle, Richard, was born somewhere between France and Kansas, I believe. On the boat. My father was born in Kansas. But more on that later. My maternal grandmother is probably the oldest living relative I have. She is something like 93 in this, the year 2001. She is currently living in a nursing home with my great-aunt Cottie. My grandmother is a very strong person; last year, she fell and cracked her head open and she's fine. I should probably listen to my grandmother more often, but I will have the reader know that she is not one of those grandparents that has fascinating stories to tell but is just not listened to by the rude teenage grandchild. My grandmother rarely talks. When she does, her sentences rarely finish. She has a hearing aid that makes such loud noises it will turn me deaf soon, I'm sure. I'll be old, and gray. And bald. And deaf. I'll just have to rely on my children's support. Just like I've supported my parents. What am I talking about? Nothing. I don't support my parents in any way. I just needed a segue into my parents.
I'll start with my mother, just because her name, Julia, comes before my father's name, Patrick. Julia Catherine Lamber, who kept her own name when she got married, is one of my favorite parents ***. I once wrote something about Mother along the lines of ‘I love my mom because whenever Dad goes out of town, she lets me have pizza. Or she makes macaroni and cheese." This isn't true anymore, because we both know how to cook many things now. So, instead of disowning her, which some people might have done, I just decided that she had many other favorable traits. She's always been nice. She never yells at me. She lets me buy ice cream if I want to. She wraps my presents for other people. And if Dad goes out of town, she usually lets me order pizza eventually.
My father is also a wonderful man. Dad is the person who taught me about everything in the grocery store. I suppose now is a good a time as any to bring up the fact that my family is the opposite of most. My mother watches football on television. My father cooks. And my teenage brother talks on the phone all the time. But about my father. My dad cooks almost all of the meals in our house. He knows all sorts of things about cooking. If he really wanted to, he could be a chef. Maybe not the best chef, but a good chef nonetheless. Instead, he is a lawyer, as is my mom.
Every Tuesday, my half-sister, whom my mother worked with at one point, and whom is very closely related to my father, comes over for dinner. This tradition started because of Fresh Fish Day at Bloomingfoods. Bloomingfoods got fresh fish on Tuesdays. My father would go down to Bloomingfoods and get some fish. Then he would cook it up, and tell my half-sister, Leora, to "Git over here."**** After a while, he stopped getting fish, and just got other stuff. We kept the tradition. But the best part of this tradition is that since I didn't like fish very much, Dad let me get pizza instead. Isn't my family great?*****
Leora has a job as an editor of some magazine. I don't recall the title, but it's not a very big magazine. The work has helped her hone some of her editing skills. This is a good thing when you want to have something proofread, and it is very important that there be no mistakes in the document. This is not as much of a good thing when you are writing an e-mail to your half-sister. Or when you are showing her something of which you are very proud that has some profound typographical errors in it. Leora has a wonderful imagination, and that is, of course, a good thing. She also has a knack for word games. She likes them, and she's very good at them. She has met my paternal grandfather, and she knows French. I've got another half-sister, known as Virginia.
I can't say much about Virginia, but this is only because I have neglected to take the time to get to know her very well. My half-sister, Virginia, had a child with a man named Michael, who just recently died from an overdose on some sort of drug. That child is named Eleanor.
Eleanor is my niece. She's rather young. I think she is six. Please forgive me for not remembering that well. She is stall rather curious about lots of things. She really likes the Wizard of Oz. And Dorothy. Dorothy reminds me of William, my brother.
Okay, Dorothy doesn't remind me of William at all. But it was still a clever transition. I have covered all my bases by talking about William. William is apparently the evil twin of most big brothers. He doesn't beat me up or anything like that. He helps me with my homework. And we get along. Really. No fooling. My brother used to go to South High School, but now he goes to the University of Chicago. He's having a splendid time there. I guess. It's not horrible, at least. He's one of the better siblings, as far as my family is concerned. My great-aunt Cottie is rather disagreeable, my maternal uncle Jeff is a deadbeat, and no one even knows where my paternal uncle, Richard, is.
So, there you have it. An entire account of everyone in my family. Except for the people I've forgotten. But if I've forgotten them, they can't be that important. Like my paternal grandfather's third cousin, Claud******. That's all I have to say... about that.
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I always start out the chapter with some sort of commentary on how I do not want to write it, or some other general commentary on the chapter. But I won't do that this time. I will simply say, "Salsafy!"*
Now that I have your attention, I will start my chapter off with a whiz-bang**. I'm sorry, I have not paid attention to the objects at hand. My friends. I simply cannot mention my friends if I do not mention Charles Luskin. I have known him since pre-natal form. Well, basically. He is three months younger than me. Our parents have been friends for a long time. Charles is a refreshing taste of the world I left behind when I skipped the first grade. Back to days of recess and such. But now he goes to my school. Charles once got a piece of paper from his friends. His teachers had made everyone in his class write one or two good things about every other student in the class. Then the teacher typed up the lists and gave them to each student. His had a number of recurring themes. He is a good violinist, artist, soccer player, and is the Factoid King***. One student reportedly praised him on his ability to "do the Russian dance." What better quality to have in a friend than the ability to "do the Russian dance?" None, of course. Charles is the ultimate family friend. I spend nights at his house if my parents are going to be out of town. Charles, his mom, my mom, and I have gone to King's Island for the past three years. Back when Charles' computer had a sound recorder, we would record this radio program. I know, it's... cute. We both have a lot of different friends nowadays, though. The separation through the years has caused us to drift apart. I also seem to have drifted somewhat from my old lunch table. If the concept, ‘drifting' doesn't make any sense, perhaps I should explain it. I mean that my friends and I used to talk a lot. Now we talk much less. We have drifted apart. I sat at a table with nine people at it. The main people that I talked to there were Daniel Bingham, Robert Gottlieb, and Fern Sha. I didn't speak much to the others.
Daniel is... my friend. Daniel has not very many specific interests. But he does have three fairly different ones. He loves science fiction/astronomy, wars, and wolves. Daniel is, certainly, an acquaintance I'm glad I have. However, if one wants a vivid picture of what Daniel's personality is, one must envision the geek who played Dungeons & Dragons. That's him. But he's still a nice boy. I have known him since I was in third grade. In fourth grade, we both went to ALPs (Accelerated Learning Programs). Around the middle of the year, for reasons unbeknownst to me, he decided to leave ALPs. He rejoined in seventh grade. Daniel gets some guff from other people about the fact that he doesn't care what others think. He is not a rebel, trust me, he just really doesn't care what other people think. Maybe he ought to. He sits on his toes, and throws his pen in the air. This is not a good thing. He tends to get made fun of. But perhaps I should point out the fact that his friends do most of the teasing. Aside from the general disrespect from his friends, he's pretty similar to Robert.
Robert Gottlieb is, although he won't admit it, a genius. He is very funny, and he has the ability to make his voice ridiculously high. This ability is equaled only by being able to "do the Russian dance." I met Robert in fourth grade, but we didn't become friends until the fifth grade. Robert and I clicked, I guess. At that time, we were both into jokes that, in retrospect, weren't very funny at all. And in early seventh grade our lunch table would wear out any joke in a day. We would come up with so many examples of a joke that it wasn't funny. And we never mentioned those jokes anymore. I've been over to Robert's house before, and it was pretty fun, except his parents are a little strict. That would be embarrassing if they were reading this. In my opinion, they don't give him enough freedom. Robert has known Fern for a couple more years than I have, but I met Fern when I met Robert.
Fern Sha is also a genius. By my ruling. Fern's family is Chinese. As Fern is likely to point out, he "wasn't born here. He was born in New Jersey." All right, to fit with my analogies, I will put in the reader's mind this image: Jackie Chan. For anyone who doesn't know who that is, Jackie Chan is a Chinese actor who uses kung fu and often plays the role of a police officer or innocent bystander who is forced to use their karate skills to defend against the evil. Fern is just like that. He is so nice, but if anyone hits him, or any of his friends, he will hit them back. And no one wants to be near Fern when he's hitting (except Daniel. Daniel likes to attack Fern. He calls it ‘suicide.'). Fern has a little sister who is constantly throwing things at him. Fern does not fight with his sister at all. It's really weird. I mean, I don't fight with my brother, but he doesn't throw things at me. I really appreciate Fern's morals. He will never hit a woman. All through fifth and sixth grade, he would come to school with a nick on his chin, or something. When anyone asked him where he had gotten the scar, he would reply, "My sister threw a pipe at me."**** And happily, too. I apologize sincerely, but I have hit a dead end. I don't do this often, but I need you to imagine a transition here. One of the other people that used to sit at my old lunch table, Sean, moved to my current lunch table. I must describe Sean. Everyone must know Sean!
Sean Lewis is the perfect mad scientist. He lives something like half an hour south of Bloomington, his mom has to commute with their only car to her job, and his father is a gunsmith. Oh, it's not over yet. Sean has ideas for all sorts of scientific machines that should be built. And I'll bet a lot of them would work, too. He's got a little paranoia about having his ideas stolen, but who wouldn't? The way I see it, Sean practically has to become a famous scientist purely because of his life. Especially when none of his friends understand what he's talking about most of the time. Having people not understand what we're talking about happens a lot with some of my friends. Like Chris Roberts.
Chris Roberts is a friend of mine who has a very unique personality. Exactly like mine. Get it? Chris and I have similar personalities; we both make bad jokes, find stupid things funny, and say the oddest things. But that's the way I like it. Chris and I are writing a book together. The idea behind the book is general humor. The most important part of the book are "the statements". The statements are so obvious that they're funny. I would give an example, but I would most likely give a bad example. So maybe everyone will just have to wait until we publish the book. When you consider how similar Chris and I are, it's rather remarkable how different our friends are. I'm sorry. It won't happen again in this chapter, I promise. I just need to make a transition to some different people. Thanks.
There is a group of people that I have parties with on a bi-weekly basis. Every other week, it's at a different person's house. I will, basically, do these people in the order that they hosted the parties. The first person was Sonya Hanson, who will be mentioned later. So I shall deal with the second person, Maureen.
I've known Maureen since fourth grade, and I always think of cows when I think of her. It may not be true anymore, but at one point, Maureen was obsessed with cows. This seems like such a shallow and stupid representation of her personality, but I'm not sure if I can think of anything else. I talk to her more than I did when I first met her, and she often says things that don't exactly make sense. She has that problem where she doesn't think about everything before she says it. And she is inflicted by the "What? Syndrome." This means that whenever anyone says anything that she doesn't hear, she will ask, "What?" When the other person tells them what they said, she says, "Oh, I thought you said…" something that doesn't make sense. If the person asked, "What do you think of French?" she would think they said, "Cut you, stinking wrench?*****" Those are the kinds of things that really annoy people after a while. Like Becky (I said I was going to do these in the order they hosted the party. I lied).
Becky Edmonds was originally a friend of Sonya's, as was Maureen, but I've gotten to know them over time. Every day, at lunch, Maureen goes to the cafeteria when most people do, right away. Then Sonya and Becky get there a while later. Eventually more people come. And sometimes, Dakota (you will learn more about her soon) doesn't come down to lunch at all. Anyway, I was talking about Becky. Becky is one of the smarter girls that I know. If you listen to her talk for about ten minutes, I guarantee you will hear about something she hates. I once asked her what she did like, if she didn't like her French teacher, her mother, sister, or George W. Bush. She never did answer me… Apparently, the answer is her friends. I mean, I like my friends, too, but the first person that comes to mind is probably one of my parents, or my brother. Becky often talks about a lot of political things, and she uses a lot of big words. "Don't you think that the annual growth reports made by the Republicans pales in comparison to the insurance rate of Merrill Lynch? Or is it just my superfluous concept of genuine national travesty?" To which I wittingly reply: "George W. Bush is kinda dumb… hee hee." Becky probably wouldn't admit that she's as smart as she is ******. But she really is. She and Dakota have a lot in common.
Dakota Derryberry is the token ‘weird girl'. She's a ballerina, she likes Japanese anime, and her middle name is Zipporah. Think that's all*******? She's pagan. It's very interesting to know her. The only thing about her, though, is that her horizons don't go much wider than what I've said here. She reads a lot, and yet her spelling skills could be considerably better. But regardless of that, she's "the girl who never does what you expect." She probably has incense, but I'm not sure. She also says, "vaguely amusing." People think I'm making this up; I'm not. She really does. "That's vaguely amusing." "That would be vaguely amusing." I don't know whether that's a good thing or not, but I thought it was worth mentioning. She tends to be cold quite often. Someone should do something about it. I guess I have body heat to spare, so she tries to get as much as it from my hands as possible. Sometimes, it looks kind of… boyfriend/girlfriend-ish. But it's not. I only started really being friends with Dakota in the start of eighth grade. She's known some of her friends since second or third grade. Like Alex.
Alex Jacobs is one of my few friends in math class. Sometimes, the class can be boring, but Alex is always there, and interesting. Alex is good friends with Robert. They both like Pokemon. I don't really know. But they do. Alex also likes anime. I don't know what to say about Alex, really. He's never really upset me, because he's not one of those people who would say anything to upset anyone. He's usually pleasant. When I first met him, I asked someone if he was related to our "pal" (principal), Mrs. Debra Jacobs. It didn't occur to me that Jacobs is probably on the "Top 100 Last Names" list, somewhere. Alex often tells me how funny I am. And I say, "and modest, too!" Alex told me that he wrote about me in his autobiography chapter about friends. He said I was very sarcastic. And I said, "Oh, great." All right, enough talking about me. Alex and I, in math class, sit in the back, because Mr. Kennedy put us there so we could do higher homework than the rest of the class. Originally, we shot ahead because the sections weren't very difficult, but we have recently been lagging behind. Normally, we are only one or two sections ahead of the class. And our test grades could be considerably better. For some reason unknown to me, we never got to take the test that would determine whether we could be in Algebra in seventh grade. Like Alex's friend, Caitlin.
Caitlin Watt gives the impression of being very pure. I don't know for sure whether she really is pure or not, but you would think she was, if you met her. She doesn't swear, and if you poked her, she probably wouldn't mind. She also does something with her nose; she crinkles it, and then rubs it a bunch of times. I don't know why, it could be for many reasons. She might do it because she's angry, nervous, doesn't notice it, or maybe her nose itches. Caitlin is interested in anime, like Alex and Dakota, but she has other interests too; she likes medieval fiction and math. Well, she might not actually like math, but she does it, and she does it well. In my book, if you can do something really well, you like it. Doing something well takes a lot of effort, and time, which is why I'm not very good at playing the trombone. However, most of my friends put an awful lot of effort into doing whatever they like to do. Like Sonya.
Sonya Hanson is the final friend. She is my best friend in the sense that I speak to and do the most things with her. When I was in third grade, my mother wanted me to make more friends, so she suggested that I befriend Daniel. I got to know him, and he was pretty nice, so I hung out with him often. He had this friend, named Sonya, who was living in France at the time. After a while, we finally met. The only reason Sonya and I are as close as we are now is that we joined in making fun of Daniel. We're so nice. When I was in fourth and fifth grade, I was a tad obsessive because I didn't have very many friends. I went over to Sonya's a lot. Since then, I have befriended more people. When I first knew Sonya, I was a horrible procrastinator, and she did her work exactly when she was supposed to. Normally, she wouldn't mind, because I would get much worse grades than she. But on any given assignment, she might get an A+, and I would get an A. She would've put in a lot more effort than I would. I think that aggravated Sonya a bit too much. She has yelled at me quite a few times. Even though we have had our share of disagreements, we still do things together. I have gotten to know her family rather well, and she has gotten to know mine. Her brother makes fun of me in French much too often********.
A lot of my friends make fun of each other. Most of the time, it doesn't really mean anything, but it's an insult nonetheless. But my friends all support me in different ways. They give me refreshing perspectives on life. And as corny as it sounds, I really never know what they're going to do. It's not exactly exciting, but it's interesting. To tie this all up, I will see if I can give you an overall view of what my friends are like. Most of my friends think "salsafy" is a very cool word. The word describes my friends. They are salsafied. A blend of all different points of view. You have to love a group of friends that, if you were performing in a talent show, would be equally likely to clap or throw rotten fruit.
-o- -o- -o- -o- -o- -o- -o- The Future and Penguins (Not Penguins, Actually)
The future. It's wide open. Completely open for interpretation. Anything I want to do with my life, I can do it. As long as I apply myself, I'll achieve my goals, no matter what anyone says. Yeah, right.
When I say, "the future," I mean, "my future." I'm talking about college, not flying cars. My career, not clones. My grandchildren, not computers the size of the head of a pin in my ear. In the near future, I have high school. It's just a big middle school, except with a lot of people who drink alcohol. After that, I have college. Most people don't really have a clue about where they're going to go to college until their third year of high school. My parents say I shouldn't go to IU, just because it would be a nice experience for me to go away to college*. Other than that, I have no clue. When we moved my brother into the University of Chicago, my mother told me, jokingly, that I would have to go Oakland City College, in Bedford. I, of course, would have to live away from home, but not so far away from Bloomington that I couldn't ride my bike home every weekend. In reality, I might go to Northwestern University, because of its great liberal arts program**, among other things. Going to some prestigious school like Yale or Harvard would help my chances of getting the job I wanted. I've figured out three things I'd like to do, possibly all in one lifetime.
First, columnist. Writing a humor column would be lots of fun, because it's a chance to get paid for having people read you being goofy. There aren't a lot of famous humor columnists, but they are out there. My main concern isn't necessarily becoming famous, but it would be really cool to be famous. There are better ways to become famous than being a columnist.
Second on the list: politician. I'm not even very good at the whole government thing, I just want to be a senator or a governor. The way I figure it, if I do the column first, I might still have some respectability, but I might not be regarded seriously. So, the politician thing might not work out.
The final career: teacher. The problem with teaching is that you have to go to all this extra school to be a teacher. And there are student discipline problems. The kids who hate school. Who hate their teachers, or even the ones who don't realize how annoying they're being. The ones who always talk, all the time, especially when the teacher is speaking. Or the ones who yell. Or the ones who kick each other***. If I do become a teacher, I hope I'll be the cool teacher. There's always the cool teacher. The one who the principal would fire if the students didn't do so well. The one who hates pep rallies as much as the kids do. The one who breaks the rules. That's who I want to be. If I can't be a columnist, and I can't be a politician, I want to be the cool teacher. There are different kinds of teachers: cool, nice, pushover, boring, mean, strict. It might seem that there's overlapping on that list, but there are subtle differences between them. I've already explained cool teachers, who break the rules. And then there are nice teachers. Being a nice teacher means people will like your class, but it doesn't mean that you're cool. It's the second best thing to being the cool teacher. There are pushovers. It's easy to be a pushover and think you're the cool teacher. The pushover thinks, "If I let these kids do whatever they want, they'll like my class the best." The students think, "I don't have to pay attention; I think I'll throw something at the ceiling and see if it will stick****." Now we enter the realm of bad teachers. Boring teachers are the ones who care about what they teach, which is a good thing. The bad thing is lectures. The boring teacher talks about boring things in a boring lecture, thus resulting in... boredom! People don't mind the boring teacher's class, but they still wouldn't go to it if they didn't have to. Mean and strict are similar. They go by more than what the rules say, and they yell at everyone/everything. All right, now back to my future.
I have said all these things about what I want to be when I grow up, but I haven't yet revealed what I've wanted to be since I was five: a homeless ninja with a motorcycle and my own television show. Now, this might seem a little bit radical*****, but I have an explanation. As everyone knows, there are a lot of homeless ninjas out there. No surprises. However, if a homeless ninja were to come into enough money to buy a motorcycle,he would most likely, you know, spend it on somewhere to live, or food, or something. But if I spent it on a motorcycle, I would be one of the elite few homeless ninjas with motorcycles. And that's why I would have my own television show, because of how original and unique I was. It's ingenious, I know. Just like Albert Einstein. Was Albert Einstein ingenious, or just a genius? Either way, he was a man. And a man is an essential part of the average nuclear family.
Of course, we don't have just average nuclear families now, and who knows how weird the families will be in the future******. But, assuming I have an average nuclear family, with a wife, and two children (a boy and a girl), I have to plan that out, of course. The wife is pretty much hard to figure out yet, but I have thought about names for my kids. Assuming I have a son, his name will be Andre, after my grandfather. I never met my grandfather, but I've heard that he was cool. And if it's a girl, well, I invented a name. Molquier. I've actually heard that Molquier sounds like a boy's name. I don't know a thing about French, so it probably does. But anyone who plans on making fun of her name probably won't have put that much research into their insults. I don't actually know why I chose two French names, but Baude is French too, so it kind of fits.
Let's go through a brief run-through of how my life could turn out. Jonathan goes to high school. Jonathan goes to Northwestern, and graduates. Jonathan gets a job as a columnist, and gains fame in several states. Jonathan marries woman he met in college. Jonathan becomes city council member, then mayor, then congressman. Jonathan has son, Andre. Jonathan takes time off. Jonathan becomes senator. Jonathan becomes governor. Jonathan becomes famous governor. Jonathan considers running for president, gives one horrible speech while campaigning, forfeits race. Jonathan has second child, Molquier. Wife dies during labor; Jonathan grieves. Andre starts going out with a girl with pink hair named Lita. Jonathan becomes cool middle-school teacher. Molquier says first word*******. Jonathan enjoys teaching students about something that they will never need to know. Andre goes to community college, fails three times. Andre gets job as a stand-up comedian, talking about how lame his dad is, and how weird ‘those clip-things' are. Jonathan likes Molquier better. Molquier marries man named Joseph, who has a Roman numeral at the end of his last name. Jonathan goes into retirement in Florida, sells house to man named Peter who replaces house with an all-purpose-flour mill. Andre lives with Jonathan in Florida. Molquier lives in mansion with multiple swimming pools with Joseph. Joseph leaves Molquier for young woman named Tanya; Molquier gets mansion. Molquier invites Jonathan to live in mansion. Despite Jonathan and Molquier's disapproval, Andre moves in as well. Andre creates incredibly practical and useful invention in Molquier's basement, and becomes rich. Andre buys his own mansion, and several fast cars with obscene sayings painted on the sides. Jonathan lives a happy retirement, and dies in his sleep. Molquier cries for a week, and then goes to a luau at the beach. Then Molquier is happy. Jonathan is dead. And Andre is still widely hated. I'd say that's a pretty nice life. I had no idea Andre would be such a troublemaker. He gets that from his mother's side.
*: I think they really just want to use my room as a sauna.
-o- -o- -o- -o- -o- -o- -o- Peck
or
A One! A Two! A You Know What to Do! I'm a Pecker, You're a Pecker, We are Peckers All! And When We Get Together We do The Pecker Call! "Peck Peck!"
When I was but a wee 11-year-old, I was shipped off to camp. We spent a ridiculous̊ amount of money. Okay, it wasn't that ridiculous, it was just forty or fifty dollars. But they spent SOME amount of money, and I went to Camp Palawopec**. The registration form for camp asked me who I wanted to stay in a tent/cabin with***. I wrote that I wanted to share a cabin with my best friend Charles, and so it was. In my first year of camp, I shared a cabin with Charles Luskin, Robert Cory, Chris... something , Thomas Jetmore, Alex... something , and two counselors. One of them was named Erick Stumpner. He had black hair, and looked suspiciously like someone I had at a different camp three years earlier. The other counselor was named Todd... something . He really enjoyed kayaking.
On the first day of camp, Charles felt homesick, so I stayed with him most of the day. We were only 30 minutes from home, but I guess it felt like more to him. We were all supposed to take the swim test, to make sure we could swim. He didn't want to, so I stayed with him. He never did take that test... Anywho...
Okay, I decided that writing in the italicized font was cramping my creativitẙ, so I came back to writing normally. Time to intersperse random memories from camp.
Before I left for camp, I bought trivia cards about movies****. The cards were made about six years ago, so none of us knew the answer. But our counselors loved them. The running joke was Cujo. Any time we didn't know the answer (which was often), we would say, "Cujo!" Lo and behold, one day, Cujo was the right answer. And we didn't guess it. Quite embarrassing... Robert Cory never knew the answer, but he would always make it funny by trying to guess. "What movie stars Elizabeth Taylor and Peter Fonda as jewelry store owners with romantic interest in each other?" "Cowboys in Love!" Not the right answer. That movie doesn't exist. I think. I could be wrong. But that's just the tip of the iceberg̊.
Another memory from camp is that of kayaking. My counselor Todd said he was offering to let anyone try out his kayak in the lake as an activity in the afternoon one day. Everyone else went off and did something exciting, which I did at first, but quickly got bored. Eventually, I came down to the lake, and almost no one was there. So, I went out to Todd, and asked to see his kayak. He looked lonely, but he got kind of excited when I offered to try it out. I did, after someone, and I was sealed in it airtight with this rubber thing. I was just kind of piddling around, while some of my friends were joshing around̊. They would rock the kayak. Well, they tipped it, on accident. Todd told me something about flipping over, but it didn't really work when I tried it. I held my breath, and my friends, I guess, just stood there. Todd swam over, and flipped it, and told me I should have pulled off the rubber thing and surfaced, and I would have been all right. But I didn't know that. So I just felt kind of stupid. And life-threatened. So, to summarize my first year of camp, I didn't swim, cowboys were in love, and my life was threatened. And that's nothing to sneeze at̊.
The second year of camp, I had high expectations. I was disappointed. My cabin mates were Andrew Taylor, Nick Behney, Charles Luskin, Jon... something , Nick... something , and Adam... something . Andrew Taylor is the son of a big insurance agent in Indiana, and he was a brat. One of my favorite dialogues from camp:
Andrew: "I could sue you." Me: "For what?" "I'm not going to sue you; it doesn't matter." "Sue me FOR WHAT?" "I'm not GOING to sue you!" "SUE ME FOR WHAT?" "Dude, relax! I'm not going to sue you."
Nick Behney and the other Nick slept in the same bunk bed, so we just called them top Nick and bottom Nick. Bottom Nick was nice on the very first day, but after that, he took my books, and he was just over all mean. When I was there, I read a book called Naked Came the Manatee. It's not dirty. I mean, think about it. Manatees are always naked*****. Anyway, every time I read a book instead of doing... whatever, I would never hear the end of it̊. It was really quite aggravating.
One of our counselors, Justin, was a conspiracy theorist. He said all this stuff about stigmata, and KFC. He says Kentucky Fried Chicken was forced to change their name to KFC because the government ruled that what they serve isn't technically chicken after all the processing. Later, I learned why they changed their name. Apparently, a study showed that the term ‘fried' was associated with poor health, so they took it out of their name. But everyone still loves KFC. It's the best thing ever to come out of Kentucky******.
And that, my friends, is the end of my stroll down Memory Lane̊.
̊: Literally
*: [flashback music]
-o- -o- -o- -o- -o- -o- -o- If My Friends Were Decagons, They Would Have Ten Sides I wrote a six-page chapter. Six pages! I was so proud. Yeah. Until I saw that most of Sonya's chapters were at least six pages long. It made me feel inadequate. So I decided to continue my friends chapter. It still probably won't be as long as Sonya's chapter. Sonya's chapter is twelve pages! But I didn't write any stories about my friends last time. I just wrote descriptions.
My two friends, Charles and Sonya, had not met each other until the year I was in sixth grade (I think). I had been sledding with Charles at Bryan Park. It was lots of fun. We would bring a couple of sleds, and make ramps in the snow. Sometimes, we'd hold on to each other's sleds, or try to surf down or something. We usually fell over, and got snow in our coats, but it was worth it. One winter day, when we were coming back from sledding, we saw Sonya sledding by herself. Not very successfully, I recall. We met up with her, and we started talking. We all walked halfway back to my house, and then we had a snowball fight near a gutter. It's hard to explain. Where we had the snowball fight, there are two parallel roads, and a patch of ground in the middle, with the land slanting down into a gutter. We pretended we were different nations. Sonya was France, I was Ireland, and I think Charles was Britain, or America, or something. The dangerous part was getting in the gutter water, because it was really cold out. When we came back, we told our parents we had been playing in radioactive sludge but that they shouldn't worry*.
My parents never let me stay at parties or anything after midnight, generally speaking. It's not that they don't trust me or anything, but they have to stay up and wait for me, or maybe give me a ride, and they don't want to stay up later than midnight. Personally, I wouldn't mind staying up later than midnight, I have television to keep me occupied. But my parents aren't influenced by such drivel as ‘television.' So they don't want me to stay too late at the parties I go to.
My friends and I have a series of parties. Pretty much, they're every other week. There are exceptions sometimes, but that's the rule of thumb. Every two weeks, a party. The first party was an anti-dance party. We had it to protest the dance, I guess. The parties are always potluck, with a theme. For the first party, the theme for the food was ‘weird.' I was assigned to bring weird fruit. I brought starfruit, kiwis, coconuts, pomegranates, and papayas. Someone is always determined not to go by the rules, and brings something else. Usually, they've already made the food, and have decided to bring it, regardless**. The parties always start with some attempt at a plan. We decide that we're going to watch a movie, perhaps. When it comes time, we say, "I don't really want to watch a movie now. Maybe later..." Because everyone knows that once you start watching a movie, you can't stop. Movies are like Pringles***.
At the parties, there's usually a lot of talking. The first half of the party is spent pretending to be acting. People always run around, play tag, do jumping jacks, that sort of thing****. But they tend to get exhausted after a while, and we spend the rest of the time talking about stuff. Most of the time, they're just sort of group discussions about different things. Sometimes we take turns, but usually there isn't any order to it.
My friends are weird. They're just... weird. I'm weird too, I guess. But they all have some characteristic about them that's unique. Becky, for example. She always asks deeply introspective questions about herself and others, most of which I never have an answer for. She asks highly intelligent questions a lot, too. I never quite understand what she means. Sure, I get the general gist of it, but it's always kind of confusing. Too complex for me to wrap my mind around*****. She asks the questions of Dakota.
Dakota is a ballerina by heart. She dances all the time. She twirls. She stretches. She can stand, and point her leg straight at the ceiling. I can stand, and point my leg at the lower half of the wall. Now, I'm personally not actually a fan of ballet, because it's boring. But I'm sure Dakota thoroughly enjoys the twirling, stretching, and dancing.
Chris is unique in his "me-ness******(meninx)." Jokes. We love jokes. We're so immature. It's lots of fun, but we're just like little kids. We spent more than thirty minutes making shadow puppets on the ground. Our minds are a lot alike, though. Whenever a teacher says something weird, I turn around to Chris, and we're both thinking the same thing. We both do a lot of puns. We also have multiple catch phrases, such as, "Y-y-yowza!" "Double-take!" "Dua?" and "P-p-plas!." We also had quotes of the day for a while. The idea behind a quote of the day is that they would only make sense in a limited context. "Get out of here, you lousy puppy," "Yeah, that's what the squeaky fish said," and "Stupid acrobat!" But it gets hard after a while.
This has been bugging me for a while. I didn't write enough about Sonya in my last chapter. From that, you couldn't tell we were best friends. Okay, maybe not best friends. ‘Best friends' is a bad phrase. It makes it sound like we have a secret handshake, or we can read each other's mind*******. But we are, I guess. We spend a lot of time together. I spend a lot of time at her house. She would spent a lot of time at my house, but I don't like my house as much. It's too... familiar to me. I just don't like doing stuff at my house. Sonya probably feels the same way about her house, but that's too bad. Sonya's only here to do my bidding. Right? Right? But maybe I'm wrong.
In fourth grade, I met Sonya. We had two other friends. Griffin Lock and Chris Pawlowski. We did a lot of things together. In University, for some reason, you had to have a group of four. I don't know why. It just worked out that way. And in sixth grade, I had a group of five friends. Fern, Robert, Cameron, me, and for some reason, Keith. Keith was not our friend. I think we were actually kind of mean to him, and we treated him poorly because he was so weird. I apologize to him for what we did. We didn't actually make fun of him to his face, but we disliked him. He talked into his watch. He said he was an alien, talking to his mothership. For some reason, though, everyone thought he was our friend. We would always get stuck into groups with him. Classes would often call for groups of three. Cameron, Robert, Fern, and I all tried to get into a group with each other, and whoever was left got Keith. Halfway through the school year, Cameron stopped going to University, though. His parents thought it was too much hassle to transport him all the way to ALPS, because it was really far, and they had busy lives. Then all was right.
In fifth grade, Sonya became a girl. I guess that sounds wrong. Before that, she was a tomboy. She didn't have very many girl friends, as far as I know. I'm probably completely wrong. But in fifth grade, she met some other girls, and they all hit it off. She started hanging out with girls. Not me. Boo hoo. But in sixth grade, we started hanging out again. I think. I don't really remember the years. Once in seventh grade, I met a bunch more people. I was reunited with Sean. I lost Sean in third grade, but then I found him again********. He had vowed to build a levitation machine by seventh grade. He didn't. I decided not to be his friend after that. I mean, what kind of a loser can't even build a levitation device in five years? He had five years! I'm just kidding. He only had four years. So I guess I can excuse it. Sean is really smart. Smarter than me. A lot smarter than me. He also works harder than I do. But I guess that's okay. I don't mind. I'm just glad his genius isn't being squandered by... whoever it is that squanders genius*********.
My friends. I think I feel fulfilled about writing this. I've represented my friends some more. I've also been sufficiently repetitive. I can live with that, though. I don't mind. Being repetitive is fine. Being repetitive is okay. Repeating myself is adequate. Saying things I've already said is acceptable. Reiteration is mediocre. Et cetera.
*: And then a third hand popped out of my forehead.
* : I'm not religious; I don't think I'm descended from Adam & Eve. You can read about it in my chapter about being a teenager.
** : Pronounced Kan-Zaw, as in Arkansas.
*** : There's this one other guy, though.
**** : That's a lie. My father has never said the word, "Git" in his life.
***** : Rhetorical question.
****** : Claud Monet. Hee-hee. Now that was clever.
*: This word was created by Chris, although it was created by him at the same time as Chi-Chi's used the term in an advertisement. Hmm....
**: Whiz! Bang!
***: Pish. That is a lie. I have beaten him on many occasions.
****: Really. I'm not making that up.
*****: The cure to this is to say nonsensical things in the first place, so they think you said something sensible: "Is Gus rowing to Clementine?" "Yes, I think the bus will come on time."
******: Would you really want to be friends with someone who admitted how smart they were?
*******: If you thought the answer was, "Yes, that's all," you have not read anything by me, and you should never-ever read anything by me.
********: I never had a good reply. He would say something about a voluminous ferret, and I would try to think of something cleverer or more discreet to call him than ‘estupido.'
**: I like to impress people by pretending I understand exactly what that means.
***: Or the ones who kick the teacher.
****: Note: If throwing scissors, make sure scissors stick. If scissors do not stick, move.
*****: Just a little bit.
******: "Hey, Jim! Meet my seventeen wives, two cousins, and grandfather."
*******: "!#%$@"
: Not real last names
**: Cherokee for "hell hole"
***: Not, like, out loud or anything.
****: They were called Movie Cards
*****: Except for the ones who wear clothes.
******: Excluding Kentucky's number one television show: "Huntin' for Possum with Possum!"
**: "The theme is Mexican food." "I'm bringing cranberries."
***: Except movies aren't cut, heated into a paste, and then reformed into a convenient shape that fits into a tennis ball-container-like device.
****: Also such activities as jumping buildings, being faster than speeding bullets, and bending metal girders.
*****: It's annoying to wrap your mind around anything. It hurts your brain, and your hands get sticky.
******: Me-ness isn't a word. But meninx is. Any of the three membranes that envelop the brain and spinal cord.
*******: Or we end all our conversations with "BFF!" (Best friends forever!)
********: Maybe he was in my pants pocket or something. Perhaps in the sofa cushions.
*********: The Swiss, maybe?