The non-chronological collected works of my misspent youth, with notes, for your reading pleasure. Most names have been changed because I probably didn't ask you first.

Tuesday, September 9, 2014

Parlando: Journal, April 15 1992

Somehow I ended up sitting in the front seat of the school van beside Mr. M, the Calculus teacher. Annie says that he’s the smartest teacher in the school and has some kind of mathematical proof for chaos, which sounds cool, but I hate math so I’m probably not going to understand it.

We’re the Opera Club and hence on the way to see an opera in Knoxville on a Sunday. How many teenagers would honestly choose to spend their only weekend day off at “Carmen?”  That’s probably why I didn’t have many friends in public school.

Steve’s picking the music for the van and most of it is Dan Fogelberg and a bunch of other guys that sing like goats and some sort of embarrassing folk music his brother’s roommate recorded in his dorm room This song is inane but Steve’s talking about how it’s really hard to write an easy sounding song. He might have a point, but this song sounds like the guy wrote it in two minutes.

Steve says it’s silly to try to be a non-conformist because you’re just conforming to the opposite of being a conformist.  It’s reactive. That sounds good, I guess, and Steve gave that chapel speech about being an iconoclast, which was amazing, but Steve is also a prefect. Can you really be a great iconoclast if you have to turn people in all the time for breaking the rules? Maybe I should try harder to conform to the rules. Maybe I’m just fucked up enough not to care.  Maybe that’s why Steve didn’t want to date me.

Frances’ Jimmy Buffet tape has ruined my musical mood. Seriously, she is actually reading aloud a book written about Jimmy Buffett. It's terrible.

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