My School Spirit

Since I am fourteen, and since I don't have the same goals as my mother does for me, I've gone a bit red-nailed over the idea of midterms. Sometimes, you fail a class without knowing. Other times, you fail a class because the suggestion of working on homework makes you nauseous. I'm not sure where my priorities are. And somehow, I get the feeling that the mantra, "I just want to pass," is only half helpful. I will be honest, though. I've been trying much harder at The New School than I was at Strest. Perhaps it's the group mentality contrast between both schools. At The New School, the majority of students have already resigned themselves to hating every class and every other student. At Strest, you enter the International Bullshit program in hopes of getting accepted to an important college. Not trying simply is not an option.

And looking back, I really was that kid in my classes who constantly complained, who only turned in projects I felt, and feigned the "I Just Don't Know Where It Could Be" face too many times to count. I didn't try very hard, because I didn't plan on staying. I went into my enrollment at Strest with the stuck future in my head of being here instead. Sure, I blamed my bad grades on stress, but the stress was all building up in my tendons, not the part of my brain which dictates task enforcement. Being at Strest did teach me some things, though. It taught me how not to act. It taught me the meaning of discomfort and reminded me why I had never wanted to go to public school. Strest left a big mark on my memory, and not just because of the friends I made there.

Tonight, the Boyfriend and I are going to a local ska show. The headlining band is fronted by two of my friends from Strest, Henry and Keenan. I drew them a logo once upon a time in November, presented it to them, and was given orders to slap the logo on as many shirts as I could for January 9th. Tonight, you see, is the night they play Kilby Court.

There very well may be thirty thousand blogosphere entries completely dedicated to shows at Kilby Court, a local music venue in Salt Lake, because Kilby is where the Indie artists play. Of all the all-age venues in Salt Lake City, Kilby is the only one worth paying to enter. And tonight, a band of High School freshman and sophomores rocks Kilby's soundsystem.

I used to always think that Strest was the school of no culture, a brain-sucking parasite that you willingly went to each morning, that turned you into a thoughtless drone with College on the brain. But now, I'm not so sure. I'm not so sure whether or not you find more culture in a brain-sucking parasite, where it has to be fought for, instead of somewhere like here that takes individuality for granted. I wish people here would appreciate their ability to wear their belts out of the loops. Their right to walk across the street and visibly have a cigarette, without being immediately expelled. The Canon cameras for check-out and the colored pencils which haven't passed through the hands of two thousand other students. I wish they would stop cursing the principal and the student body like their fault lies in the hands of people like us. Kids who are just glad to know their teachers' names, let alone be given tangible help.

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead, and I don't feel so hot, either.