28/09/2001 - 10:42 p.m.

Aries Rising Record Group (ARRG!)

ARRG! pretty much says it all today. Today was Homecoming. Oh yes. My assertations yesterday on the existance of God have been proven- there isn't one. (Or he's really really spiteful.)

Let's just say I don't really get into the whole "School spirit rah rah rah" routine. I come to school to learn. I really do. The friends I make there are an added bonus to keep me from going absolutely mad. How the football team does is not something I care about and nothing that I want anything to do with. I participate in none of the traditions, not "spirit week", not "king and queen" voting, not going to the dance or game or buying "spirit links". If you don't know what any of these things are, you are lucky and I will trade existances with you now.

However, the rest of the school, being stupid and human, goes all to hell on the last day of the week, the day of the ceremonial rite of "the Big Game". (This wouldn't be such a problem if more men were simply castrated.) Anyway, I sat through all four of my morning classes, where (surprise surprise) nothing happened, and then through the morning Homecoming assembly. Peter Sloterdyke performed his song he wrote for "the tradgedy", and Varsity performed (and Ren's hair looked fine), and then they did the sacrafical offering of students unto the popularity contest that is Homecoming Court. I was ready to puke and it wasn't even 11:30.

The crowning glory of today comes when I walked into my ADVANCED PLACEMENT (and for those of you who don't know, that translates to "college level") English class. Now, we're reading a bastardised version of "The Illiad" in there. Except that I'm practically the only one who read anything, so they decide to read it aloud in class for everybody to understand, and those of us who DID read it, can find something else to do.

I flipped out. I told the student teacher (who's teaching the book and is part of the reason nobody read it: cause they're sure they can get away with it, which they are accomplishing) that I had not gotten up at 6 AM this morning to come to school to have my time wasted. Why do I have to suffer because it's Homecoming and the whole world must stop for the worship of football? Well, she's from the popular party of Ankeny (meaning the clueless preps) and so she just looked at me and went "You don't like Homecoming?" I told her it was every person's right to joing the counterculture and to be left alone about it, and that no, I was not at all a fan of Homecoming. She told me she was showing HER school spirit and she'd never even gone to Roosevelt. (What do I care?)

Well, I got to sit there and listen to them haltingly stumble out good poetry (you'd think that seniors were supposed to know how to read) and then translate it into ghettoese for the good of the class. They're supposed to be intelligent people. Where did we get this idea? The Illiad is simple, it reads like an evening sitcom for crying out loud. Everything in there is stock by now; it's all been done to death. What's wrong with these people, and why do I have to suffer for them?

The rest of the day was OK as I got out of the afternoon Pep assembly in the gym. It's just noisy and awful and I'm so glad I'll never have to go to one again if I can help it.

I got home and my mother started in on me about college. The way she whines about any decision I make and then asks why I never tell her anything is starting to get on my nerves. I'm ready to say forget the whole thing because I don't know what to do. I don't know what a major is and why you choose on, or a minor either. Everybody just assumes you know how college works. Well, I don't. I never asked, and nobody ever told me. I don't know how anything about college is supposed to work. Other than that, I don't know where I want to go or what I want to do or anything. I don't know if it makes a difference.

That's right now, after fighting with her about it. Ask me some other time, and you'd get a positively completely different answer. She just pisses me off.

I'm getting too tired to continue on about it. Falling asleep on the keyboard practically.