Jazz's not dead
Well, honored friends, I finally have seen the light at the end of the hellish tunnel that Stadium's choir director, Mr. Trembanis has led the Stadium Jazz Band down. Next semester, we will have my private instructor, Eric Stevens, as our boss man. Not only does he know shit about jazz, he knows shit about jazz drumming, perhaps he'll beat some sense, or rhythm, into the two dunces we have at the skins now. This means two more easy A's for Alex, leading to a GPA even higher than it will be by the end of this semester... might even break a 3.0! I'm thinking about dropping Journalism, however... it'd be much easier to finish my requirements with the health class I need taken at Stadium rather than TCC.. Too bad, I really wanted to piss that venture capitalist whore Mrs. Miklin off. Why you ask? Well... it all goes back to Sophomore year...
::ANECDOTE ALERT::
So, Sophomore year, I had her (then Ms. Phenneger) as my English teacher, and we were reading To Kill a Mockingbird. To express the similarities between one of the characters and the class, she had us put certain items in a paper bag that represented us, but were not necessarily noticed by everyone. So, while the rest of the class stuck to pictures of models, and cars, I choose to actually do the assignment, and placed certain items that were important to me in my bag: An empty package from some British Liquorice Allsorts, which I love to no end; an empty jar of Murray's Pomade; Liner notes from my favorite ska cd's; A P-Funk comic book; a picture of me standing next to the most beautiful car ever, a 1934 Pierce Arrow Phaedra Coup; A picture of 1961 Vespa Allstate, taken in Italy, by my friend Rob; My kilt pin with the Badge of my Family's Clan, with its motto "By Dand", which means "Always Ready"; one of my grandfather's vintage ties; a trombone mouthpiece; a picture of me before and after a 8 hour swing dance marathon; and, lastly, my copy of The Communist Manifesto. All in all, several items that serve to define who I am. I went on to say how each influenced me, and went into a little depth on each one. When it came to the copy of the Manifesto, I discussed my political beliefs briefly, and stated how I supported the notion that true equality will only be found when the borders of our class based society are torn down. A great presentation in all, noone really understood where I was coming from on any of the items, and I did not expect them to. So, the next day, I come in to class, a little early, as it was right after lunch, and sit doing my homework in the corner. Another teacher walks in and begins to engage in idle chit-chat with said bitch, Phenneger. They progressed to the "teacher-only" gossip so rife in public schools, and lowered their voices. He finally decided that this was not enough, and asked her who the student in the corner was. "Some kid who thinks he's a communist." she replied. Now, I do not take my opinions lightly, I study things long and hard before choosing my position on them; I had struggled with justifying my contribution to a way of life that requires inequality to exist, and my position was grounded in my moral code. Little did I know that said bitch had invested money in starting businesses in the collapsed Soviet Union, and was engaged to a former Russian citizen. Apparently she had a bone to pick, and chose me as the target. She had no justification to do this; no right to question a part of me that was so integral to the way I think that some have said that I suffer from Hammer and Sickle Cell Anemia. I did not question her belief in Judaism, even though she brought it about in a manner not entirely suitable to a government institution which claims to uphold separation of church and state. What's more, my chronic abuse of marijuana during this time did little to help my grades, and she fell into the same situation all my teachers do. She felt the need to criticize me for not living up to my potential. So what, everyone does that. BooHoo, he's such a good writer, too bad he never turns in his assignments, or shows up for class, I'll have to nag and berrate him.. that will solve the problem. Anyway, she thought I dropped out, because Ex-pin jockey Steve had, and she assumed that I would follow suit. Nope. So, I thought I could blow her mind by being the best damn writer she ever had on the paper staff, even though I would write far leftist papers, and commentaries.
So, thats where I stood. Now I just want to get my 12 year sentence over with... I've served my time, no need to keep it waiting.
P.S. Sage, you're a goofball, and definetly Rizzoesque, but in a good way.
Still haven't had any visitors... what gives, Tacoma ain't that far away
"Dr. put you on a diet of milk, cream, and alcohol." John Lee Hooker
::ANECDOTE ALERT::
So, Sophomore year, I had her (then Ms. Phenneger) as my English teacher, and we were reading To Kill a Mockingbird. To express the similarities between one of the characters and the class, she had us put certain items in a paper bag that represented us, but were not necessarily noticed by everyone. So, while the rest of the class stuck to pictures of models, and cars, I choose to actually do the assignment, and placed certain items that were important to me in my bag: An empty package from some British Liquorice Allsorts, which I love to no end; an empty jar of Murray's Pomade; Liner notes from my favorite ska cd's; A P-Funk comic book; a picture of me standing next to the most beautiful car ever, a 1934 Pierce Arrow Phaedra Coup; A picture of 1961 Vespa Allstate, taken in Italy, by my friend Rob; My kilt pin with the Badge of my Family's Clan, with its motto "By Dand", which means "Always Ready"; one of my grandfather's vintage ties; a trombone mouthpiece; a picture of me before and after a 8 hour swing dance marathon; and, lastly, my copy of The Communist Manifesto. All in all, several items that serve to define who I am. I went on to say how each influenced me, and went into a little depth on each one. When it came to the copy of the Manifesto, I discussed my political beliefs briefly, and stated how I supported the notion that true equality will only be found when the borders of our class based society are torn down. A great presentation in all, noone really understood where I was coming from on any of the items, and I did not expect them to. So, the next day, I come in to class, a little early, as it was right after lunch, and sit doing my homework in the corner. Another teacher walks in and begins to engage in idle chit-chat with said bitch, Phenneger. They progressed to the "teacher-only" gossip so rife in public schools, and lowered their voices. He finally decided that this was not enough, and asked her who the student in the corner was. "Some kid who thinks he's a communist." she replied. Now, I do not take my opinions lightly, I study things long and hard before choosing my position on them; I had struggled with justifying my contribution to a way of life that requires inequality to exist, and my position was grounded in my moral code. Little did I know that said bitch had invested money in starting businesses in the collapsed Soviet Union, and was engaged to a former Russian citizen. Apparently she had a bone to pick, and chose me as the target. She had no justification to do this; no right to question a part of me that was so integral to the way I think that some have said that I suffer from Hammer and Sickle Cell Anemia. I did not question her belief in Judaism, even though she brought it about in a manner not entirely suitable to a government institution which claims to uphold separation of church and state. What's more, my chronic abuse of marijuana during this time did little to help my grades, and she fell into the same situation all my teachers do. She felt the need to criticize me for not living up to my potential. So what, everyone does that. BooHoo, he's such a good writer, too bad he never turns in his assignments, or shows up for class, I'll have to nag and berrate him.. that will solve the problem. Anyway, she thought I dropped out, because Ex-pin jockey Steve had, and she assumed that I would follow suit. Nope. So, I thought I could blow her mind by being the best damn writer she ever had on the paper staff, even though I would write far leftist papers, and commentaries.
So, thats where I stood. Now I just want to get my 12 year sentence over with... I've served my time, no need to keep it waiting.
P.S. Sage, you're a goofball, and definetly Rizzoesque, but in a good way.
Still haven't had any visitors... what gives, Tacoma ain't that far away
"Dr. put you on a diet of milk, cream, and alcohol." John Lee Hooker