cutting your teeth on several large meat cleavers

::page one::

This is my junior year. I am about...hm, maybe 2/5 of the way through it. And I still find it amazing that I've made it this far without shooting myself in the leg. I love it when people tell me that "high school was the best years of my life." To this I say: Run me over with a large tractor if my life ever reaches such a state of advanced deterioration that I become nostalgic for the hordes of glossed, pressed, glittering girls who were as equally two faced and mean as they were cute. Not to mention the gelled, cologne emanating, racist/sexist/mentally defunct boys who drank so much beer, I'm sure that at any given time, their urine could be used for an impromptu lighter fluid. (And I'm sure this theory has been put to the test more times than I'd like to know.) Now that I've gotten that out of my system, let me start again. I have to truly admire the people who derive a positive experience out of their high school years. Now, whether these sentiments spring from a chemically altered state of mind (either at the time or currently), an unusually high seratonin level, or a distinct ability to search out people that you got along with and interact with them on a humane, friendly, and occasionally even enjoyable level, well, that's hard to ascertain. That's not to say I haven't met anybody special in high school; my best friends and the love I never thought I would find popped up here. (This does not detract from my statement in which I clearly and succinctly appraise the moral value of the majority of my peers somewhere around bazooka gum and beanie babies.) teachers Harsh, you say? Of course. Truth stings a bit. High school HAS taught me important lessons. Not to sound like a freshman recruit, since many of them are hard-earned and a good deal more painful than I'd like to admit. For instance: love, in all it's sick masks and costumes, is a harsh, hurtful thing. Also: most teachers are complete and utter morons. I would like to make an example of my ninth grade "earth-science" teacher. When he took away a girls' headphones(against school policy), she yelled at him, and he gave them back. Also, my tenth grade honors comp teacher. When we had yet another impromptu fire drill, (meaning some shmo pulled the damn alarm) Ms. Witch-like Weirdo, disturbed by our strange and panicked aversion to death by fire, screamed at us, "No one leaves the room until you all sit down and be quiet! I will CALL YOUR PARENTS!!!" Apparently our impending and timeless ends would have sat fairly easy on her conscience. Forever on their way to furthering the common good. Most of my teachers are pretty weird in a non-threatening sort of way. My keyboarding teacher was very soft and blinked rapidly. Spanish teacher-woman would scrape the corner of her mouth with her tongue after spitting extremely undecipherable phrases at you, the spanish neo-phyte. This occured in the morning; it ended with me gazing at her in a dazed sort of fascination. Learning Spanish was kind of like being in the twilight zone. This year, I have exactly one teacher worth a crap. Mr. Szymeon. My god. That man makes American History (formally High School's Crappiest Offered Course) less painful than a walk through a minefield and more than a soothing Kenny G album (good only for irritating you, or putting you straight to sleep.) But this man has standards. The day I got an "A" on one of his tests was the day I went home singing. Why can't all teachers be impassioned and motivational? Why are we stuck with fluffy-headed drones? Two words. No benefits. I wouldn't attempt to teach ninety of my peers the excitement of the Southern Cotton Industry. I'd be killed, or kill myself. Teachers are disrespected, paid crappily, and a good deal of them do not like kids, let alone teenagers. Therefore, only the passionate or extremely retarded attempt this dangerous feat.