Here's something new: I'm overwhelmed!

I am sick. I have a Bio test on Tuesday. And college applications. And SATs. And SAT II's. And I was six dollars short of having enough money on my Debit Card to register for the ACT on time. So now I have to explain to my mom why I'm paying $70 for it instead of $45.



Yeah.

God damn it.

I fail at school. End of story. Back to homework. I can spend hours on it now and still have hours left to do. Last year I spent a couple of minutes on an assignment the class period before it was due. Now? Block-scheduling = double the work in each class. But hey, with only half the number of classes at a time, how could this be overwhelming? Because I can't wrap my brain around that much material in a single subject at one time!! I can't comprehend two chapters of Econ in one night or five chapters of APUSH in a week. That's too much. Not to mention, I can't sit still and pay attention for eighty minutes. No wonder Bio makes no sense. I don't have time to thoroughly read it because of the numerous chapters being assigned for APUSH and Econ. Don't give me any of that "It's preparing you for college" bullshit. You don't have eight hours of every class a day in college. Just wait til next semester, when I drop my two easy languages and pick up Humanities and Calculus.

Ohhhh, and I have to be up for gym in three and a half hours. Cool.

Enough complaining. If this doesn't blow over and turn out to be an awkward beginning of school thing, then I don't know what I'm going to do.

Back to Econ. Still have at least another two hours worth of it. If I skip lunch, I think I can finish it tomorrow.

Blargh! If I don't get my license, I'm going an heroine.

I go for my license in less than an hour now, and I'm freaked. Okay, let's be optimistic about this, even though I probably won't be getting it because after seven hours of practice, I still can't parallel park.

Best Case Scenario: If I get my license, I'll be able to drive to work, structure my own hours, drive to school for early morning gym, make my own appointments, go to colleges with Tina, and drive to Esther's for our Jambiddlybop on Thursday.

Worst Case Scenario: If I don't get my license...well, I suppose I'll have a possible topic for college admissions essays. I'm one of those kids who is good at high school and...pretty much nothing else. So when folks say, "Oh, you'll be fine. Driving is just common sense," I say, "Uh-oh..."

I'll report back later after I've finished crying over my immense failure at life.

Edit: ZOMGWTFBBQLOLZ I got it.

The Joys of College Admissions Essays (not) and What NYU has Done for ME.

I'm not a good writer. I can't easily make one sentence flow to the other, and, while my sentences are free of spelling and grammatical errors, they lack substance and zing. It's funny to observe just how much my style has diminished throughout the years. From the time I was three years old, til I was about thirteen, I wanted to be an author when I grew up. In school, I was treated like a prodigy when it came to writing. Unfortunately, that didn't last. In junior high, I switched my focus over to music (specifically John Mayer). From that, I picked up a guitar and banged around on a keyboard. I wasn't able to afford lessons for myself, so I did what seemed practical enough: I taught myself. Again, for whatever reason, this was seen as impressive, and I was treated as a prodigy. But as time went on, my interest in music dwindled.

In high school, I didn't write for fun, and I barely picked up an instrument. My life literally was centered around friends and the computer. But hey, that's high school for you. I was treated like a prodigy concerning my schoolwork, too. Oh, sure, the classes I take aren't exactly a walk in the park, but I barely put effort into them, and I'm not at the very top of my class.

Well, my point is that I wanted to write back when I was a kid. Every writing assignment I turned in during elementary school was my best work, and it paid off. Now I dread sitting down to write a blog. Similarly, I wanted to play guitar and piano. I would sit in my room practicing for hours and hours upon end until I got whatever concept I was trying to learn down perfectly. Now I can barely play for more than ten minutes at a time.

High school came, and I didn't want things like I used to. I didn't know what I wanted. I didn't know what to try for. Money seemed more important. Schoolwork seemed less so. It was a dull, depressing life, and I had a lot of downs during my freshman and sophomore years. The PSATs (practice test for the SATs) were a joke, and I went into them on three hours of sleep. I subconsciously checked off a box to have my scores sent to colleges, and within months of doing so, my mailbox was stormed with floods of letters on a daily basis. They were all from colleges, and while I knew their interest wasn't directed at me personally, I was still flattered. So I opened letter upon letter and read the opening lines. That was usually as far as I got.

Millersville: "We want you at our school! Come visit."
Drexel: "We hear you're a high achieving student."
Penn State: "Here at PSU, we look for students just like you!"
Franklin & Marshall: "Are you looking for a school with renowned professors, great academic opportunities, and unique campus life? Then F&M is right for you!"
New York University: "I'll be honest with you -- NYU isn't for everyone."

Wait...what was that last one? You mean you aren't one-hundred percent certain that you want me at your school? To be perfectly honest, I had intended since junior high to just go to Millersville or Penn State because they were cheap, and I could live at home. I didn't aspire to travel anywhere cool, let alone to New York City. But for some reason, I really, really liked the sound of NYU.

I went online, checked it out, and I found that I had the right GPA and courseload, but my SATs were predicted to be way lower than NYU's range. Also, the tuition was 50k a year -- way more than I could ever afford. I almost gave up on any ambitions to attend the school until I mentioned those three letters, which now roll off my tongue on a daily basis, to Tina's mom. I told her all the reasons why I could never attend, and she nearly smacked me in the face. "Are you crazy? NYU is the PERFECT place for you! You deserve that school, Elizabeth. So your SAT scores aren't the highest. They have enough kids with perfects. They need someone like you.And as for the cost...don't even worry about money if that's where you want to be." And that day in February, Tina's mom sparked the fire which has dimmed and flickered from time to time but has yet to go out.

I'm not going to write a blurb about all the amazing things that NYU is. What I am going to write, though, is how grateful I am that the Office of Admissions sent me that letter. For the first time in two and a half years, I really want something.

What I really like about wanting admission into NYU, what's really different about truly wanting something this time around, is that it's not easy for me. I don't have all the stats needed for NYU, and I probably still won't by the time I apply. It's quite the reach away, but I'm willing to jump for it, and that's what'll make it worth it in the end.

So far, I've worked hard to familiarize myself with the SATs (which is A LOT better than going in blind, trust me). I didn't study for them, but I learned what to expect on them. I scored above average with a 1950, just barely in NYU's range. It won't get me in, but it gives me a chance, plus I have an opportunity to get my score higher in October. I've also managed to convince my mom not only to visit NYU but to accept the fact that New York City is where I want to be. This was a remarkable feat, and major props go to her for being so understanding. I've gained a lot of respect for my mom over the past six months.

I'm excited and scared for application time this fall. Screwing up my apps or my essay is not an option. The essay is what worries me the most, especially, because I absolutely cannot write. I can't tell the admissions officers through written expression why I'm the kind of person that NYU was made for. I don't know how to explain my extracurriculars or how I'd change the world with a five dollar bill. So in conclusion to this long, tangent-filled post, I'm just going to say that, despite my lack of confidence in my writing skills, I am determined to pull things together and figure out a way to make it work. I'll be damned if I've come this far to have it all ruined by a stupid essay.

Bad news never had good timing.

I came home from work today (or yesterday, rather) completely exhausted from working the dreaded 7-2 shift. I hopped on facebook and just surfed through friends' pages, looking at them in more detail. I noticed that, listed on one of my friend's facespaces, was a group called "In Dedication and Remembrance to Mr. Way." Out of curiosity, I clicked the link to the group's page, and this whole array of memories seemed to flood my mind.

My mom has been working in the daycare for the local rec center since before I could walk or talk. She first met Mr. Way when he put his twin daughters in the nursery when they were toddlers. As she sometimes does with the parents who drop their kids off, my mom conversed quite a bit with Mr. Way. Unlike other parents, who would leave their kids and run off quickly to exercise, he would make the time to sit and play with his daughters before leaving. This gave my mom plenty of opportunity to get to know him and his wife.

Years and years later, when my brother entered high school, he had Mr. Way for General Science in his freshman year. During the school's open houses, to which I usually came along, my mom would go up and talk to him. Every year, for all four years of my brother's high school career, they talked of me possibly having Mr. Way as a teacher once I got to the high school level.

And I very well almost did. During course selection in eighth grade, I could have chosen to take Honors General Science, and therefore I would have had Mr. Way as a teacher. But I'd heard so many horror stories about his class being terribly difficult and how hard he graded science fair, etc. My own brother dropped out of honors science after taking his class, so I decided that I'd better take the regular level course instead.

Ninth grade came along, and I enjoyed my courses very much. Although I didn't have Mr. Way, I heard from many of my friends taking honors that he was an amazing, though admittedly tough, teacher. One friend told me at the beginning of the year that it was too bad I didn't take honors because Mr. Way often let his discussions meander from science so much that he would wind up talking about human nature or his life experiences. She said that his thought-provoking tangents were "my kind" of thing.

Mr. Way wanted everything done precisely (Way's way). I heard that he once took points off on a test because a kid showed work horizontally instead of vertically. All of his students needed to have their binders organized in a certain manner, and he graded them on this. A lot of kids received their first F's in his class. Still, he was respected and honored as one of the favorite teachers of most of the students who had him.

From day one of freshman year, my mom periodically insisted that I go see him and tell him that she had watched his daughters in the nursery and that he had my brother seven years ago. I answered that I would, when I got around to it, every single time. I had plenty of opportunities to let him know, too. I'd followed friends into his classroom both freshman and sophomore year when they had to ask him questions, and I often passed him in the halls. Junior year, I walked past him standing outside of his room several times a day to get to my locker. I just thought it'd be awkward to go up and tell him that he knew everyone in my family except for me.

By all means, I don't forget coming to school Monday November 12th of my junior year and hearing that Mr. Way had died unexpectedly from a brain tumor the previous day . The English, Math, and Cultures teachers were all saddened, but the Science Department was a wreck. I had Chemistry first period, and the first thing my teacher said to us was, "I had a lesson planned, but one of my best friends just died, so I don't give a crap." And we all sat and did nothing for forty-five minutes. The response from students was huge, too. At least five tables were set up in the Commons, and within a day all were filled with flowers and cards as a memorial to him. A sign was posted on one of the tables that read, "Men of genius are meteors destined to burn themselves out while lighting up their age."

Anyway, today I was on facebook reading all of the comments left on his page from people who knew him, and they were all so meaningful, much more than the typical, "Oh, this is so sad." He meant so much to a lot of kids. Just looking at the group page would tell you that. It made me truly regret that I never had the guts to a.) take his honors class when I definitely know I could have done it, and b.) tell him who I was and be able to meet him. I wish I could say something about how awesome a person I knew him as, but unfortunately, I just have to go by what other folks say.

It almost makes me wonder what else I have the ability to do and yet, for some lame excuse, am not doing.

Stream of consciousness writers were always bipolar. How artsy. (Rather pessimistic, I'm afraid)

Fitter, happier, more productive, comfortable, not drinking too much, regular exercise at the gym, 3 days a week, getting on better with your associate employee contemporaries, at ease, eating well, no more microwave dinners and saturated fats, a patient better drive, a safer car, sleeping well, no bad dreams, no paranoia, careful to all animals, keep in contact with old friends, enjoy a drink now and then, will frequently check credit at, moral, bank, hole in the wall, favors for favors, fond but not in love, charity standing orders, on Sundays ring road supermarket, no killing moths or putting boiling water on the ants, car wash, also on Sundays, no longer afraid of the dark or midday shadows, nothing so ridiculously teenage and desperate, nothing so childish, at a better pace, slower and more calculated, no chance of escape, now self-employed, concerned but powerless, an empowered and informed member of society, pragmatism not idealism, will not cry in public, less chance of illness, a good memory, still cries at a good film, still kisses with saliva, no longer empty and frantic, like a cat tied to a stick, the ability to laugh at weakness, calm, fitter, healthier and more productive, a pig in a cage on antibiotics.

Anyway, every Tuesday that I work, the same woman comes into my line a little before 5:00. She's older, overweight, and her hair is thinning. When she talks, her voice lacks any emotion whatsoever. She doesn't wear a wedding ring. Every week (for the past eleven months), she buys sixteen containers of yogurt, two tubs of ice cream, three bottle of coke, seven TV dinners, two loaves of bread, and a bag of apples. I wonder how she got to that point.

Laziness! Procrastination! Throw a computer into the mix, and you've got one sedentary kid.

Well, I'm back at my humble abode where The Iliad and an AP Biology packet that probably killed a whole tree have been eagerly awaiting my return. Those three days at the beach appear to be exactly what I needed to get me away from the dull home life I had been living. I had expected to stay through today, but we came back on Thursday because Tina's parents realized that we could come home with one of the chaperons from the Youth Group that was staying across the street. That's allright, though, because we realized on Monday that we only had three days to do whatever we wanted, and consequently, we packed a lot into those three days. It was a very full vacation.

Not to mention I was able to see John Mayer for the second time. As Tina said, he is amazingness in a man. I could blab on about the concert, but I really don't want to. Okay, I will. We arrived in Columbia right as the gates opened, and we joked about rain because it looked like clouds were moving in up ahead. Merriweather Post Pavilion smelled like old, wet sneakers (a scent others might recognize as boardwalk fries), so I can't say walking around aimlessly was exactly the most pleasant experience I've ever had.

The torrential downpour came just as the opening act (Brett Dennen) took the stage. I feel bad for opening acts. I couldn't hear Brett and his band playing at all, and the crowd simply didn't care. We were too preoccupied with trying to stay dry the entire time. Our seats were under a tarp...a very battered and ripped tarp, but at least we weren't on the lawn. Those people were completely drenched. Tina and I had bought sweatshirts before the show began and jokingly talked about how we could just sit on them if our seats were wet. However, when this became a reality, we found that we had no other choice but to keep ourselves dry with our newly bought sweatshirts. They smelled like fried food, anyway. It rained throughout the entire concert, but I have come to the conclusion that it was indubitably worthwhile.

He's playing "Who Did You Think I Was?" solo. (I am not the one who keeps saying, "Yeah!")



Here he's playing Van Halen's "Panama" while his guitarist sings. The sound quality is very bad because the microphone was weak and the guitar distorted. In addition nearly everyone in the audience was screaming because Mayer's torso was not draped in cotton.

People seldom differentiate.

A good friend buys you jewelry, lotion, and a shirt because it's your birthday.

A best friend buys you Harry Potter und der Feuerkelch because she was in Europe, and it was there.

I'm going to Ocean City with one of the coolest kids around.

Hmmmmmmmmmmm...I've got a lot to do in remains of the summer! I've spent countless hours wishing that I would do something with my life rather than sitting around idly and waiting for the grass to grow...well, okay, maybe not exactly, but something to that effect. My point is that I don't do as much as I can, and I'm a firm believer in not overloading myself and leaving plenty of time for chillaxation, but I keep finding myself unsatisfied with the things I've done (or haven't done).

Lately, I've been attempting to make my life more eventful. I've put in more hours at work, visited colleges, and all that good stuff. But now, with summer already half over, I can't believe how much I have to do in less than two months. I'm heading to Maryland tomorrow (technically today) for John Mayer and Ocean City, but I know that when I get back, I'm going to be completely overwhelmed with my to-do list. And what the hell? I've never had a to-do list before. I've never had a schedule. I've never had to thumb through dates on a calendar and pencil in appointments. What gives? Sure, during the schoolyear, I had homework, but that got done in its own course.

1.) Summer homework - Unfortunately, The Iliad won't read itself. Out of all the books they could've assigned, they picked one of the most drab stories I've ever tried to read. Yeah, yeah, it was like the first book ever written. I can appreciate literature, and I like to read, but when it takes me an hour to read ten pages, I don't want to deal with it.

Then there's that AP Bio packet -- that mother of a thing on the first five chapters. The thing about that is I don't even know if I've made it into the class yet. AP classes aren't designed to take a lot of kids, and way too many have signed up for Bio, so the school has to cut some from the class. We were supposed to know if we're taking it back in May, but the guidance office messed up everyone's schedules (IMAGINE THAT!!), so we still don't know what classes we're taking next year.

2.) Practice Driving - I'm going for my license August 6th, and I still don't know how to parallel park. I need to get it this time around because I'm taking Early Morning Gym next year, though I'm not sure which semester (again, because of guidance). If it's during the first semester, I'm going to have to get to school before 7, meaning if I can't drive, then I'm leaving the house to walk at 6:30. And I think I don't get any sleep now...

3.) Physical Therapy - My neck is officially fucked! So now, every Thursday, I have to see a physical therapist. Seems simple, ya know, only one day a week, blah blah. But now I can't work on Thursdays anymore, so I have to switch to Fridays. Also, I have to remember all the crap he tells me to do and not to do to my neck. I'm not supposed to crack it anymore, but it gets all restless and twitchy, and, well, I haven't been the best listener.

4.) George Washington - It's my second choice for college, so I think I ought to go and visit, but when??! I need to practice driving, and I need to work, and I need physical therapy. Plus there's my mom's schedule conflicts, too, as she's getting some surgery thinger done in the middle of August which I need to drive her home from, so I need to be home for that. Argh. Who knew getting to Washington, D.C. could be more difficult than going to New York City was?

5.) Visit my dad - I've seen him briefly for one day this whole summer. July doesn't look good because of Maryland and physical therapy. The beginning of August won't work because of my license and college visits. The middle of August won't work because of my mom's surgery. And the end won't work because of school. So what am I supposed to do? If I do find a day to see the kid, then I'll probably not be able to get off of work or something. He doesn't exactly live around the corner.

6.) Work - Yep, there's that, too. Work gets in the way of sooo much, but I need the money for college. I'm also pretty sure that work is what is making my summer go so fast. I keep looking ahead to next week and the week after. Planning ahead sucks.

7.) SATs and SAT II's - I know October 4th and November 4th are going to be here before I get a chance to review anything for either of these. My SATs I'm not as worried about because I've got an okay score (grrrr, but I want to do better!), but the SAT II's aren't looking so hot. I think, since I'm taking AP Bio and AP History, I ought to have enough ground covered to take the bio and history SAT II's in November, but who knows?

8.) College Applications - I have to write essays, get recommendations, get applications, fill out financial aid crap, and all that good stuff. When am I going to have time for this? Visiting UMD and NYU was great fun, but now I actually have to get to work to try to get into those schools.

9.) Hm, is there a nine? I don't know...there probably is. Yeah, I'm definitely forgetting something. On top of all of this, I don't sleep well at all. I never did, but now it's insane. The other night I slept 1-3, and then 7-8. Then I couldn't sleep anymore. Last night, I technically slept 1-6:30, but I woke up at least three times. Blah, I kind of almost want pills.

But all frustration set aside, life ain't so bad. Just busy. And who needs summer, anyway? I'll get plenty of long breaks once I'm in college. Good stuff.

Phew, well, hopefully I can forget about all that crap now that I just typed it out, and do some chillaxing, even if it means that I'll be about 20 times more stressed when I come back. I'll deal with that when it happens, though. I can't believe I used to wish for more things to do. Now that I have them, I want my old, lazy, let's-have-fun life back. But I'll whine some more once I return, I'm sure.

Because I'm a "here, now" kind of person.

So tomorrow (technically today) I'm visiting University of Maryland! And Friday I'm visiting NYU! Woohoo...right? No, not really, to be perfectly honest. Sure, if I'd done this about a month ago, I'd be completely stoked, but in all honestly, I'd rather be sitting at home staring at good ol' Gatsby. The dream of going to NYU was much more alive during the schoolyear, but now I just want to play The Sims and hang out with my friends. Nothing wrong with that, right?

Well, maybe there is. I have a tendency to be stoked about something way before it happens, and then when it is happening, I barely recognize the moment, and it's gone before I know it. Take last year's John Mayer concert for example. June 22nd, I believe...lemme go check the ticket...okay, fine July 21st. Anyhow, when we bought the tickets in May of '07, Tina, Esther, and I were incredibly excited for the occasion. I could barely contain myself at the time. It would be my first concert, I'd be seeing John Mayer, the most gorgeous kiddo on earth, AND I had seats that were very close to the front. But come July, I found myself completely apathetic to the matter. I don't think I had even listened to John Mayer all summer before I went to see him, and now that it's done and over with, I remember barely any of it.

Oh, there are a few random things here and there. I remember Ben Folds singing "Bitches Ain't Shit," the moon looking really colorful and awesome, me switching seats with Esther so she could stand on my chair to see, and Esther attacking my arm when Mayer sang a Radiohead song. But really, if I've loved John Mayer as much as I do since I was thirteen, wouldn't you expect me to have gained a lot more from the experience?

I suppose it's due to being a "here, now" kind of person. Back when I ordered tickets for John Mayer this year (also in May), I wanted to leave for Maryland right away. Same went with making reservations for NYU. Now that I barely care about getting accepted there, I'm worried that it won't impress me or that I won't like it. I wanted to go and be wowed, but I suppose that's not how it'll happen. When I was college searching, I was dying to get away from home, but now I'm quite content living here all the time. There's quite a fine line between summer and the schoolyear, and it really plays hell with my attitude toward certain things.

Look at the SATs. During the schoolyear, I did the best that I could do on those things, and it paid off with a pretty good score. But when I tried doing Subject Testing at the beginning of summer, I said, "Screw this" to my fellow test takers and walked out in the middle of it. I had the whole "Summer is here, and I want to enjoy it now" attitude going.

Bah, well, since I'm going to be driving tomorrow, I think I'd better go and get some sleep. Oh, and yes, I do realize that paragraphs generally group together related information, but that kind of went to hell in this post. Oh well.

It's not a remarkable feat.

Whenever Richard Cory went downtown,
We people on the pavement looked at him.
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean-favored and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked,
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good Morning," and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich, yes, richer than a king,
And admirably schooled in every grace.
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked and waited for the light,
And went without the meat and cursed the bread
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.

NYU Accepts 8,809 of 37,000 for a 24% Acceptance Rate

Down 8% from last year. Pretty wild.
This week, 24 percent of applicants to the Class of 2012 will find acceptance letters in their mailboxes.
The acceptance rate dropped eight percentage points from last year's 32 percent, following a national trend of falling acceptance rates.
The Office of Undergraduate Admissions extended fewer offers of admission this year due to a high yield from the Class of 2011 and a larger applicant pool, dean of undergraduate admissions Barbara Hall told WSN in an earlier interview. NYU sent admissions decisions last Wednesday and Thursday to roughly 37,000 applicants.
The Western Interstate Commission for Higher Education projected a national all-time high of graduating high school seniors this year, and NYU's 24 percent acceptance rate is the lowest in recent years.
This spring, 8,809 applicants were offered admission to NYU's Class of 2012 for a projected class size of 4,400 students. The university placed 1,867 students on the waitlist.
Hall, who provided WSN with the statistics, anticipated that the number of students who accept NYU's offer of admission would increase to about 40 percent, up from 38.3 percent for the Class of 2011.
Other universities around the country are reporting new lows. Harvard broke records for the lowest acceptance rate in Ivy League history, recording a 7.1 percent rate. Yale followed closely, accepting 8.3 percent of its applicants.

Well, I had dreams once.

John Mayer can get away with being a jerk.

As age eighteen approaches rapidly, I'm beginning to become more accustomed to exploring realms outside my little suburb wherein the Amish roam. For instance, about a month ago, I took my first train ride to Philadelphia, and two Fridays ago, I took a bus to Washington, D.C. It's exciting seeing new places, even if they aren't really all that far away. We Lancastrians don't tend to leave our county, which can be a great annoyance.

Anyway, last summer, I went to my first concert ever and saw John Mayer, who's the epitome of crazy awesome. I was lucky enough to go, as Mayer was playing at a stadium fifteen minutes from my house, which my mom considered within her driving range (but only barely). I had an amazing time there, with Tina and Esther, and I even have a ticket stub hanging on my wall to remember it. Tina and I vowed to see at least one JM show per summer, from now on, and I aim to stick to it.

For the past few months, I've visited Mayer's website incessantly to see when he'd be posting his summer tour dates, and finally a week ago, he did here: www.johnmayer.com
However, this wasn't as joyous an experience as I had expected, for, if you clicked the above link, you'd have noticed that Pennsylvania isn't highlighted on the map. That's right, he's not coming to PA this summer! What about all the famous and popular places in our state? Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, Hershey, etc.? What about those? Yep, he's just skipping over them this summer, which absolutely defines him as a total jerk.

There is a good side to this story, though, and that is the aforementioned fact that I am no longer afraid of traveling. Hence, Tina and I are going to make a bold one hour and forty minute drive down to Maryland to see J Mizz play in concert. Indeed, he is that good and completely worth seeing. I just don't understand how he can completely skip out on PA, as doing so is almost to the same magnitude of skipping New York City. Maybe I'm overanalyzing this, but he didn't seem too thrilled at the first concert he played. This could have been due to the sixty-four people arrested for drug use, but hey, who knows? I'm just slightly sore at myself for adjusting my own plans to accompany Mayer's, when he ought to be coming to my state. Just shows that he can get away with being a jerk.

And if this article isn't proof enough that John Mayer doesn't do much to piss off his fans, then I don't know what will. If you haven't heard him yet, go buy his shit, or download it, or whatever NOW. He's the coolest kid around.

The only sucky thing about the concert is that I'm going to have to make it through the SATs, AP Test, SAT Subject Tests, and finals before I get a summer sort of off (expect for work and summer homework) and get down to see J Mizz. Well, ughiness.

Thoughts of a crammer.

The SATs are coming up in May, and I'd better score well on them, if I want to have any chance whatsoever of being accepted at NYU. I've started practicing everyday after school, but I can tell that it's all going to be grueling anyhow. What's more is that three days after I take the big SAT, I have a three hour AP test for my statistics class. If I score well on that, I can gain credits for college. Needless to say, I'm a wee bit stressed.

To top it all off, this week, the state of Pennsylvania is forcing all eleventh graders to take the PSSA's (Pennsylvania State Standardized Assessment) to see if we meet the requirements for the level of intelligence a junior should be at. In reading and writing, I usually hit way above average. The same used to be for math (the test is administered to 3rd, 5th, 8th, and 11th grade), but after today, I'm not so certain. I remembered learning about the mathematical procedures that I was being asked to perform but couldn't, for the life of me, remember how to figure them out.

The funny thing about being deemed a "smart kid" at a very young age is that it sometimes has negative effects, rather than the predicted positive ones. When I was twelve, the school decided that I was advanced in math and placed me at an eighth grade level, even though I was only in sixth grade. This state of advancement continued through to high school, and now, as a junior, I'm taking precalculus, a senior math class that half the seniors don't even bother taking themselves. This has caused some unexpected problems, in actuality. On the PSSA's today, most of the material was on subjects from Algebra I and Algebra II. If you follow the regular sequence of math classes, then you had these two courses in tenth and eleventh grade respectively. But if you're "special" like I supposedly am, then you're whisked through the Algebra classes at a fast pace in eighth and ninth grade. The problem that is being posed here is that I don't remember a damn thing from math class in eighth and ninth grade.

This is what terrifies me about standardized tests and even the SATs. Here I am, going to school everyday to learn about sine and cosine, when in reality, I should be reviewing parabolas, exponential variables, and factoring polynomials. In short, you're called above average, taken through all sorts of math courses at top speed, and then given a state test on things you haven't done in years so that you can be deemed below average. What's the deal here? Being smart sounded awesome when I was twelve, but now that I'm facing the consequences, I'm not so sure that I want to be advanced. But the paradox there is that NYU only accepts kids in the top classes.

Well damn.

What work has taught me about people.

For whatever reason, I always thought that high school was a gateway into understanding and coping with all sorts of different people. It may appear that way at first, but in reality, high school is an entirely different universe that actually is more useful in diminishing one's social skills, rather than helping them flourish. Let's face it: my social skills are abysmal., and I'm not saying that high school is at fault here. However, since I started ninth grade, I've been waiting for the moment everyone told me I'd have in which a certain group of people or activity in school forced me out of my shell and made me happy. Sadly, it still hasn't come. In fact, I'm pretty sure school has taught me to despise people even more. Surprisingly enough, I believe that my job as a cashier at Weis Markets (w00t) is what is really teaching me how to get along with folks.


Firstly, at school, you're put in classes with those who are just as intelligent as you, a group of friends is always around the corner, and, if you really don't want to talk to anyone, no one's going to force you to. At work, it's different. My coworkers are of all different ages, intelligences, senses of humor, and lifestyles. And we're all stuck working together on the front end. If you expect that we just stand there quietly and service people for a five to eight hour shift, then you're seriously mistaken. Since I've started at Weis, I've met several people to whom I never would have dreamed of talking in school, and quite frankly, I like them. This one girl, for instance, was categorized a loser by my friends. I'd never really talked to her much at school because I had no reason to. She wasn't in any of my classes, and my friends couldn't stand being around her. Now, I happen to work with her, and somehow, through the course of boredom, me not knowing what I'm doing, and her needing a price check, we've become very good friends. And I don't see what my school posse was talking about when they said she was a loser, as, in my opinion she's a pretty cool chick. I could go in depth with other examples of people I never thought I'd talk to (the alcoholic party guy, the football player, the really pretty and popular girl), but I'm tired, so I'll just go on to my next point.


Talking to people you absolute don't know and who you probably won't ever see again is one of the most awkward things a person can do. And wouldn't you know? You can't learn it from school. I'm talking about customers, of course. I ring up the old, the young, the talkative, the impatient - I've pretty much encountered every single personality trait ever defined within a person. At first, I was deathly afraid of talking to my customers, and my mind went blank even if they'd ask me something as simple as what time I was working until. Now, I'm noticing slight improvement, and I've been making an effort at just saying stuff, whatever positive thing comes to mind. If I sound stupid, so what? I'll never see those people again, and, as I always attempt to be pleasant, an occasional good impression can't hurt, either. Maybe I'm just weird or something, but I actually do care about what these people say, no matter how trivial a detail it is in relation to my life. People are so interesting, and talking to them at work is a great way to gain insight that couldn't be gained from a school environment.


Lastly, one of the most important things I've learned is that people are ugly. The media and my high school appear to cooperate with one another to put pressure on folks like me to look awesome. Everyone seems so beautiful when you watch TV or walk through the halls. When I started work, I realized just how few people could be considered "pretty" by societal standards. I'm not saying that I think they're ugly; in reality, I think very few of these people are ugly. And I've met a variety of people since starting my position. Whether rich or poor, everyone needs to go grocery shopping at some point in time. I just think it's amusing how much importance is imposed on looking perfect when really, once you pass your mid-twenties, any hopes of achieving society's tolerated level of beauty are almost automatically obsolete. It almost makes it seem ridiculous to try to look that good now. I think I'm going to stick with the sweatshirts and tie-dye and continue to not do my hair every morning. If I'm going to look like a schlampe after thirty anyway, then I might as well get some practice now.


Well, in conclusion, I don't hate my job because it has been an awesome learning experience so far (plus I can't complain about the hundred bucks a week). I'm not saying that people are decent or anything, just that I'm happy that I'm starting to learn how to deal with them. Call me a sap, but I like the notion of getting along with everyone. It makes life easier to not have to look at someone and despise them (it does help that one of the kids I despise at work was just fired). And thus, I end this rather optimistic post in which I have begun way too many sentences with conjunctions to go to bed.

Cancel Out the Day

Haha, weird, cynical mood. Pretty soon it'll be nine months until my birthday, which basically means that eighteen years ago, I came into existence. I'm glad that tradition made us have birthdays and not conception days because I don't think I'll even be ready to be legal in November. I like getting half hour breaks at work when I've got a five hour shift. I like not having to vote and whatnot. Seventeen is honestly not a bad age, however, it is probably one of the most forgotten. Everyone puts emphasis on what they believe are the best ages, but some of the most crucial moments have happened in the years that are predecessors to my "sweet" sixteen and upcoming eighteenth birthday.

It may not be such a terrible thing that I constantly reminisce my past years and wonder how I could've been so stupidly naive. That means I learned something that changed the course of my thoughts, no matter how trivial a change it was. One thing I hope to never do is stop learning about life, the world, and my perceptions on it. There's something contradictorily satisfying about never actually being satisfied with any one answer to "Why are we here?" I find myself often amused when people say "Everything happens for a reason" or "We're all just wandering around with nothing to live for or look forward to." How do you pick? This is one of the many decisions where each side has as many positives and negatives as the other.

I can't help but smile when I realize that, since I've just stated that I hope I never cease to learn, there probably will come a time where some days only existed as fillers, and the boring events that occurr will combine with my unenthusiastic attitude to practically cancel out the day. I don't want to become a zombie, but then again, two years ago, I didn't want to become a cynic. But now I'm glad to be one. When you look at it, though, my cynicism spawned from frustrated idealism. I'm guessing zombieness can result from frustrated cynicism.