Discovering Life...

I'm just saying: 4/26/09

2009-04-26T22:42:00.002-04:00

Not sure if this fits the category, but I've noticed recently that the people who clean the trains at 3 in the morning...look disturbingly similar to the people sleeping in the trains at 3 in the morning.

Not saying there's a connection.

Hmm...

I'm just saying: 3/30/09

2009-03-30T22:31:00.002-04:00

When your job posting contains the phrase "salary commiserate with experience," I'm less than inclined to apply.

Did you know...? #2

2009-03-19T00:03:00.002-04:00

...that the American tradition of fried chicken was actually introduced to the South by, of all people, the Scottish? Turns out there's more to them than just those disturbing/intriguing man-skirts.

I had a dream...

2009-03-13T11:49:00.002-04:00

...a dream I had a job.

And a good one at that.

How depressing is that?

I'm just saying: 2/19/09

2009-02-19T21:22:00.002-05:00

When the volume on my MP3 player is at 80%, yet I can still hear your MP3 player--and we're on a train--one of us has a problem.

I'm just saying...

Did you know...?

2009-02-09T22:33:00.004-05:00

So I was looking at the Wikipedia entry for last night's Grammy Awards because I couldn't be bothered to actually watch the damn thing (some nice wins for artists I like, i.e. Daft Punk, Estelle, George Carlin, John Mayer, The Raconteurs on a weird one I still want to research).

So scrolling down through the categories, I discovered some odd ones I'd honestly never heard of, and probably weren't televised, such as "Best Historical Album" and "Best Long Form Music Video." The one that really threw me, however, is "Best Album Notes." Apparently, there is a competition about who has the best...album notes.

At first, I had no idea WTF that meant. How do you rate something like that? Who had the best photos? Maybe a font contest? Or who wrote the best tribute to their mother for inspiration for the album?

So what do I do when I don't know something? I Wikipedia it! And what luck, I'm already here. (Of course they didn't provide a handy little link for the inquisitive, but I have Firefox and almost always have the Wiki search engine on call.)

And guess what? I'm still not sure. What constitutes excellent album notes? Seriously?!

Such notes often contained a mix of factual and anecdotal material, and occasionally a discography for the artist or the issuing record label. They were also an occasion for thoughtful signed essays on the artist by another party, often a sympathetic music journalist, a custom that has largely died out. However, the liner note essay has survived in retrospective compilations, particularly in box sets.
--entry on Liner Notes

This is my best guest, but I honestly would love to be in the committee that decides on this particular award. It sounds like a trippy experience, possibly one involving some...controlled substances.

Just saying.

Reminisce

2009-02-05T22:02:00.002-05:00

Today, while fiddling around with my Yahoo! account, I was reminded of the fact that I used to have a deadjournal account, so I clicked, and sure enough it was still there.

I forgot what a moody, morose person I was way back then, aka ~3 years ago.

I feel like I displaced myself several years, so instead of being the 20 I am, I'm the 16 I wish I was, maybe younger. How the hell does a teenage consciousness survive in the adult world? ...I feel like I'm two seconds away from a nervous breakdown, a schizophrenic break...

I'm so much more well-adjusted now, right?

Right?

RIGHT?!

Gives ya chills, don't it...?

2009-02-02T23:00:00.002-05:00

"Nature does nothing in vain, and more is in vain when less will serve; for Nature is pleased with simplicity..."

--Isaac Newton

First ridiculous (kinda) encounter of the New Year

2009-01-14T19:20:00.004-05:00

I'm walking down 14th Street, killing time before a job interview. Ahead of me, I see a (white) man handing out flyers in front of a tanning salon. (Because it's winter in New York, but everyone wants to look like they just flew in from Cabo.)

Now, I'm the BlackMan, so you know what's going through my mind: "Is he or isn't he?"

Sure enough, he hands a flyer to the guy directly in front me, looks at me, and does this weird thing where he's no longer standing in sub-freezing weather to advertise his business, he's just waiting for a friend to meet him next to the sign board with "<-----TAN INSIDE" on it in bold white letters (no pun intended, though it is intriguing).

pause for laughter

Now, do I think that's racist? No, of course not. I mean, first rule of business: Know your client.

But, I would have LOVED to have heard that guy's sales pitch after he did give me the flyer. Can you imagine? What would be a greater test of salesmanship than to sell tanning to the BlackMan. Hell, I would shy away from that challenge.

I really hope this is just a taste of what '09 has to bring.

I'm Dreaming of a Drunk Christmas....

2008-12-25T13:18:00.002-05:00

So apparently there are no liquor stores in the Bronx open on Christmas Day.

So, what? I have to deal with this entire holiday sober?

I don't freakin' think so!

Where's the Nyquil?! I'm going down hard, and dammit if I'm not going down sniffle-fuck-free!!

(Semi)Mass Text

2008-12-18T21:53:00.000-05:00

I sent this to some of my people after my Shakespeare Survey final today:

"Is it wrong that I prepare essays on trains that are better than those others actually study for?"

(BTW, yes I do, and yes, they are.)

Here are their responses:

Nadia:
"It's cause you're awesome"
[isn't she sweet?]

Chuck:
"You are from the school of hard knocks so its expected"
[true dat]

And finally,

Olga:
"No. It just means that if you'd done it beforehand, you might have owned the world by now."

It's funny, cuz I've always wondered, if I really applied myself and--what's the phrase--gave a shit, what I could accomplish. Now, I have a vision...

Wolverine Trailer

2008-12-16T22:31:00.000-05:00

huh

huhuh

nnngggg--AAAHHH!

That was me having a geekgasm.

Are you shitting me?! This may just make up for that fiasco called X-Men: The Last Stand.

via Marvel

Cure for Cancer postponed for Another Two Centuries

2008-11-30T10:15:00.000-05:00

People in Boulder, CO are having their kids tested for a "sports gene."

How many things are wrong with this? Let me count the ways...

Let's start with the fact that, conspicuously, no one is testing to see whether their kids would be predisposed to, I don't know, science, or maths, or art, or music. Instead they're banking on their kids becoming professional athletes, which is wiiiide open for new employment these days.

And then there's the whole "WTF do you think you're doing testing for a goddamn sports gene when real genetic threats like Tay-Sachs and fucking Sickle Cell still threaten our children daily?!" argument. But that might be a bit tacky, dontcha think?

In the article, someone made the comparison to Hitler-esque eugenics, Master Race and all that. To be honest, though, I'm not all that worried about that happening, because we all know how that particular experiment ended. (cf 1936 Olympics, Jesse Owens)

“But if you wait until high school or college to find out if you have a good athlete on your hands, by then it will be too late. We need to identify these kids from 1 and up, so we can give the parents some guidelines on where to go from there.”

Such as Child Services for the abuse, Drug Rehab for the addiction (steroids if you're lucky, but I'm thinking heroine, meth, and prozac), and Planned Parenthood for that inconvenient fetus around Nationals time.

I'm going to sleep. Wake me when we have a gold medalist in the javelin as World President for Life. Oh, and have the gun ready nearby, cuz one of us is going down, and let's face it, I'm a shitty optimist.

Apparently, it's like the plague...or Walmart...

2008-11-25T10:19:00.000-05:00

Word of advice to the "hatebigots" (love that word): Don't show this to actual gay people. If they find out how powerful they really are, THERE'LL BE NO STOPPING THEM!!

gratitude to omg

The Itchy Menace

2008-11-23T23:34:00.000-05:00

About 1 out of every 5 people in the United States have herpes.

Look to your left. Now the right. In front of you. Behind you.

Just throwing it out there...

Ring-A-Ling-A-Ling

2008-11-11T14:13:00.000-05:00

Wendy Ho is a ghetto, raunchy, caucasian--ghraunchasian, if you will--comedian/performer. She's been featured on late-night LOGO, and I think she's a real up-and-comer in our YouTube society.

This is not for the light of heart or the heavy of prude.

The hat makes the video

2008-11-11T14:10:00.001-05:00

Least Effective Ad Ever -- powered by Cracked.com

Horrible ad, but a great video. Go figure.

via CRACKED

Sarah Palin's email gets hacked

2008-09-21T19:20:00.000-04:00

Umm...who cares?

Does someone wanna tell me what she ate for dinner last night? No? Didn't think so.

Yep, that's the whole post. Deal with it.

Ripped (literally) from "The New Yorker"

2008-07-15T15:50:00.000-04:00

I read this just today in the "Shouts & Murmurs" section of the mag, and felt obliged to reprint it here, simply because it's so funny and reminds me so much of myself at my most cynical, except admittedly more clever. Not to mention it combines two of my loves: food and black humor.

"Fourteen Passive-Aggressive Appetizers" by Yoni Brenner

1. Top thick slices of country bread with fresh goat cheese. Sprinkle with herbs and bake until crusty; serve to everyone but Jeff.

2. Vegetarian friends? Try veggie rumaki: wrap a strip of imitation bacon around a water chestnut, spear with a toothpick, and broil--but instead of imitation bacon use real bacon, and instead of a water chestnut use veal.

3. Steal Cheryl's famous potato-salad recipe. When Cheryl asks, "Why did you steal my recipe?," say, "I don't know, Cheryl, why did you break my heart?" Then laugh so she knows you're just kidding.

4. Blend fresh crabmeat with diced avocado, scallions, and a dollop of mayonnaise for a canape topping so delicious that it will take your guests a full minute to realize that they're eating it off dog biscuits. Once they catch on, act mortified and stammer that you must have "mixed up the boxes," until everyone calms down. Then start crying because the biscuits remind you that today marks exactly eight weeks since you had to put down Buster, and you just miss him so much.

5. Tell Marissa that you appreciate her concern, but in the two years since Cheryl broke off the engagement you've grown up a lot, and you're really in a much healthier place now. Then say, "Speaking of fiances, how's Peter's alcoholism?" (Note: This is not technically an appetizer.)

6. For a taste of the U.K., fry up mini-servings of fish-and-chips. Take it to the next level by wrapping them in small pieces of newspaper, which, oddly enough, all seem to be printed with unfavorable reviews of Jeff's novel.

7. Have you ever noticed how sun-dried tomatoes and top-grade peyote look exactly the same? Not a suggestion, really. Just saying.

8. Another one for the vegetarians. If they think they like tofu, wait until they sample your delicious mock tofu--all you need is chicken fat, pureed pork loin, and five cups of piping-hot tallow. Cheryl will never know the difference.

9. Tempura makes great finger food, and the batter locks the flavor of just about anything in a savory, opaque crust. Impress your friends with creative choices, from squash blossoms to mislaid car keys to the two-carat engagement ring that Cheryl gave back to you after she "reassessed things." Surprise!

10. Guests getting antsy? Head them off with a big bowl of steamed mussels. No one can resist mussels, not even emotionally stunted ex-fiancees and their new poorly-received-novelist boyfriends. Besides, disappearing into the kitchen will give you a chance to collect your thoughts and also to go slash Jeff's tires.

11. Homemade sugared almonds make the perfect sendoff, sure to please all your guests, even the ones who would be bludgeoning you with a tire iron if Peter weren't standing between you. Good old Peter. He may not be the brightest or the handsomest person, but he's very large.

12. As the party disperses, your guests might seem a little ungrateful, calling you an obsessive sociopath or pelting you with sugared almonds. Don't worry, it's probably the peyote talking. Just stand on the porch as their cars pull out, your eyes brimming with tears, and shout, "You know, I try, I really do..."

13. Add, "My dog died! He died! And he's never coming back!"

14. Hepatitis! (Note: This is not technically an appetizer.)

Little nuggets like this are why I read The New Yorker. Hell, they're why I read at all.

----------------
Now playing: Ben Harper - Run Eyed Blues
via FoxyTunes

Review: “Wanted”

2008-06-29T14:14:00.001-04:00

I believe the first time this movie came to my attention, I was scrolling through Oh No They Didn't some months ago, and the joined name drops of James McAvoy and Angelina Jolie caught my eye accompanying a trailer for an upcoming movie I had to date heard nothing about. At the time I actually ignored it because my Firefox browser was giving me crap about playing YouTube videos without jerking infuriatingly. Over the next few weeks or so, however, I kept hearing vague but excited buzz about it all over the net, so I sucked it up and opened that hateful Internet Explorer to check this thing out. By the time McAvoy had hit the bullseye around Jolie and a pig carcass, I was hooked. Now that I've seen it in its entirety, it is taking the full breadth of my self-control to restrain my geekful squeals long enough to write this post.

Let us begin.

(BTW I'm not going to give a plot summary out of fear of spoilers, the bane of any movie reviewer. I'm also not going to post a link to a trailer because…well I'm lazy, and let's face it, it takes more effort for me to create a link than you to Google one. So there. Any complaints, file them with the appropriate department. *snicker* if you can find it.)

Now. Yes. Plot. Pretty good, great if you ignore the premise of the movie, i.e. the first third of the story. (This sounds like a bad thing, but it works) It's largely an Oedipal story, a young man seeking to find an identity, and looking in the most inconvenient of directions, that of a woefully absent father. Couple that with some boy wizard plot turns (not twists, just turns), and Wesley Gibson (McAvoy), a guy who starts out as a pencil pusher with an anxiety disorder and an overall miserable existence becomes very important very quickly. Very much like a young Jedi I once knew…

But the real chunky stuff comes when he is inducted into the Fraternity of Assassins, a millennium-old institution of people who "Kill one, save a thousand" as the many trailers will hip you to. Again not delving into details, I will tell you that the story deals quite smartly, and always unexpectedly, with themes of blind faith, god-complexes, and circles of violence, or in this case, flat-out un-sugarcoated murder. Where they could have gone wrong was inserting some weak and sloppy love interest BS between Gibson and Jolie's character, Fox. While there is an implied, if not inherent sexual tension (this is Angelina Jolie we're talking about), I am elated to report that little pitfall was skillfully averted.

One of the things I loved about this film is the quirky writing and dialogue. It borders on camp in a consistently entertaining manner, but is never awkward or ill-fitting. The film is based on a comic book, and though I have not read it, that influence is salient on the screen. The near-corny expositional speech; the voiceovers by McAvoy that permeate the movie and guide you through the protagonist's journey; the atmosphere of danger and violence, pockmarked by an intelligent but quite dark humor; all remind me of some of the better comic series, those with genuine grit and substance, those that the parents read but should really keep away from their children. And it all coagulates into a truly rich backdrop for the action of the film.

Ah, action. That is what we're after isn't it? I've heard a couple of sources compare Wanted to The Matrix, which revolutionized action films in its own right. And as much as I love it (well, the first one at least), the Wachowski Brothers were doing Power Rangers stuff to Timur Bekmambetov's MMA cage-match. The CGI integration, a staple of contemporary action films, is integrated artfully without slipping into overuse. The real goal here seems to be as much live-action as possible in the stunts and fight scenes, picturesque, playful, and gruesome all at the same time. One minute it's Crouching Tiger, the next it's Alien (sans aliens), with little to no downtime and a refreshing disregard as to the physical integrity of the "hero." I mean, the truly vicious punishment they pile upon McAvoy makes you wonder if he'll even live to the end of the movie.

Maybe he doesn't.

Just kidding.

Or am I?

Now, despite how much or how little one may have gleaned from trailers, the clincher for me was the casting trifecta. Jolie, McAvoy, and the indomitable Morgan Freeman. Three of my favorite actors, and all doing something a little different here than before.

With the possible exception of the television miniseries, Children of Dune, I've not seen McAvoy do any real actiony-type stuff, and he falls into this role perfectly. Wesley Gibson goes from cubicle pussy to violent fanboy in the blink of an eye, assuming his newfound raison d'être with an unhealthy zeal. Jolie slinks sexily in her role as Fox, McAvoy's mentor de guerre, as no one else can. Combining sex and death is no stretch for her talents, but chuck in a bit of creepy cult-like faith and you have a woman from whom you don't tear your eyes away for more than just the obvious reason. And if Freeman's Alex Cross is a badass with a gun, Sloan, the current leader of the Fraternity, is an über-badass for not really needing one. The man is a menacingly classy amalgam of quiet intensity and calm menace; that persona is one you cross with only the utmost consideration and one hell of a contingency.

This is one of those rare movies that sucks you in with enticements of flash and candy, and then reveals itself in the soft darkness of a movie theater to be something far more special and exciting than I think is legal to preview on normal television. Notice, I made only perfunctory mention of the whole curving bullet trick that seemed to be the linchpin of all the trailers, because in my opinion, it is so less than integral as to not bear more notice than that. What make this a great film are its substance, its creativity, and its remarkable execution. If you see this movie and aren't floored, you need to leave. Now.

Seriously.

In Memoriam

2008-06-23T16:21:00.001-04:00

He will be missed.

Album: "Flight of the Conchords"

2008-04-30T13:05:00.000-04:00

I haven’t been able to check out this kiwi duo’s acclaimed HBO sitcom because I no longer have the channel group. (I have Starz! It’s like comparing Haagen-Dazs’ most delicious, high-end, gelato ice cream to overcooked broccoli, but I digress.) I do, however, remember catching several of their stand-up comedy specials, and remember being floored by how talented and hilarious they were. So when I heard they were wide-releasing a full-length studio album, I leaped on the opportunity to renew my fanship.

From the jump-off track “Foux du Fafa,” a careful study in French illiteracy set to jazzy guitar with a bossa nova feel, the incessant and inappropriate laughter began and lasted throughout. I say inappropriate because I was listening to this on the street in broad daylight, so I probably seemed a bit touched in the head to passersby. Had they heard what was flowing through my earbuds at the time, they may have understood.

The comic appeal of Flight of the Conchords, composed elf-like Bret McKenzie (yes, that's him) and powerhouse baritone Jemaine Clement, is a synthesis of surreal observationism and charming dorkiness. Their awkwardness, whether real or crafted, sweetens and rounds out an already intelligent and effective comedic repertoire.

Coupled with backing music that is actually quite good, it sets them ahead of the game in comparison to a lot of other music-comedy acts. These are songs that you can actually groove to, and pull from across the musical spectrum. From “Bowie,” a contextual and musical homage to “Space Oddity,” to the WASP-reggae track “Boom,” FOTC acknowledges their inspirations without overworking old territory.

For the already-enthralled, classic tracks like “Business Time” and “Hiphopopotamus Vs. Rhymenoceros” are a comforting reminder as to why we liked them in the first place, but now with studio sound quality. After hearing the album, I find myself physically compelled to watch the series by any means necessary, and look forward to any and all forthcoming material.

Book Review: Nothing's Sacred

2008-04-09T16:39:00.000-04:00

Anyone who knows me knows Lewis Black is one of my heroes. One of the best comics we have today and a true veteran to the craft, he makes my own angry rants about the absurdity of this here world seem like a kitten's mewling over a saucer of milk. He is a comedian of fiery emotion, but also with blazing intellect and insight, which is probably why he's so damn angry. Knowledge may be power, but it's also a big pain in the ass.
Yes, this book came out over two years ago. Yes, I am a sad-ass Lewis Black fan for not having bought it and read it at least three times by now. Yes, when I finally did get it, it was in the bargain section of my local bookstore. I confess my sins to the Gods of Comedy, but knowing them, they're probably preoccupied working on a way to make relationship dynamics around the world even more difficult and strained than they are now, and therefore more amusing. So I think I'm safe for the time being.
Alongside being an impeccable translation from the comic's voice to the printed page, much of the piece takes directly from the comic's stage performance. Having heard Lewis' routine literally hundreds of times in my life, I was a bit underwhelmed by the sections of autobiography that retreaded those same familiar paths. Don't get me wrong, it's still funny as hell to me; maybe not funny "haha," but intellectually the stuff is still gold. If you are not as versed is Black's material as I am (meaning you have yet to reach the point where you can recite it), you may actually find yourself laughing out loud in inappropriate places while reading, such as cafes, subway trains, boring funerals, boringer weddings, etc.
The best parts of this book, and that which makes it so worth the read, are the tales of Lewis' own life. Growing up in the sixties and seventies, Black offers a sardonic account of the Vietnam war, Nixon, social disobedience, and hallucinogenic experimentation. His anti-establishment outlook is genuine and innate, fostered early on by a mother and father who never feared to question the status quo. His scathing sarcasm, fearless criticism of authority, and boundless ire towards those who don't live up to a basic human standard: This is the legacy to which he is heir, and that which he passes on to his audience through his finely honed comic sense.
The innate humor of Nothing's Sacred is to be expected. What might surprise readers is the immense heart with which Black relates the formative moments of his experience. It is a side of the man which belies the brazen and incensed persona we see on stage. This is not to say that there is a normal Lewis and a stage Lewis. After reading the book, it becomes evident how much that vulnerability informs the stage act; the pain, the disappointment, the whimsy, and ultimately, the intelligence is present in both. It is here, though, that Black is able to express it without the primary intent of provoking a laugh.
Black is true to his title. Death, sex (and lack thereof), religion, politics, everything is fair game. No iota of the human experience is beyond reproach, question, or mockery, and that is what comedy, for him and for us, is all about. In my opinion, the more taboo, the better.

----------------
Now playing: Jamie Cullum - Well You Needn't
via FoxyTunes

Izzard in the CIty

2008-03-08T18:04:00.001-05:00

His name is Eddie Izzard. He's English, born in Yemen, often performs in women's clothing, and is one of the funniest bastards out there.
He's been one of my favorite stand-up comics for years, fostering and feeding my love of the performance genre to this day. He first came to my attention around the turn of this century when, as I am wont to do, I found myself awake at some ungodly hour of the night flipping channels in my basement/bedroom. I came to HBO and was immediately transfixed: there was a man there in a kimono-type shirt, shiny leather pants and chunky shoes, gobbed in make-up, and telling some of the most innovative jokes on language, religion, and monkeys I think I had heard to date. It was called "Dress to Kill," and though I only caught about the last half-hour or so of the show, I was an instant fan.

So when I got a chance to see him live, I jumped at the chance. Thursday night, he performed at the Union Square Theatre in New York City, part of a stretch of performances since late last month. It was one of the best nights of my life; my face has never hurt so much in such a good way.
Izzard is famous for his wandering, fanciful, utterly absurd brand of storytelling comedy, and the evening was no exception. (Yes, he's also famous for "the whole transvestite thing," as he calls it, but none of that last night, and at no loss to the performance.) He started off the act riffing about the New York tunnel-people who hop in cars to commute into the island, and from there jumped every which way you could think: from dancing chicken musicals, to international war, to Noah's untenable Ark, and seldom failed to get a laugh from the audience. And even when a joke didn't work that well, the audience still laughed, due simply to Eddie's effortless charisma and ease on the stage. He is one of the few comics I know of who are relaxed enough to let even a bomb work for them, so much so that it has become one of his trademarks.
One of the themes that seemed to run through this particular performance was Eddie's mistrust of religion and disbelief in God. Being on the spiritual fence myself, and being radically anti-religion in general, it didn't turn me off in the slightest; nevertheless I must note that it was probably the most blatantly atheist I've heard Eddie profess to be. In a very tiny place in the back of my mind, I dreaded the moment the audience would turn on him for his blasphemous rhetoric. It never happened, though: the people there seemed to thoroughly enjoy listening to him pick apart the dogmatic absurdities that still thrive around the world today, even though James Mason didn't provide the voice of God this time around (Izzard fans will know what I'm talking about).

It was one of the greatest treats of my life to see Eddie Izzard live, to experience first-hand the atmosphere, the genius, and of course the hilarity that caught my attention years ago and have never let go. As I understand it he is preparing for a new major U.S. tour called "Stripped" which I hope to attend when it comes to NYC, and be able once again to share the experience.

----------------
Now playing: Maroon 5 - Infatuation
via FoxyTunes

Science Report

2008-01-16T18:10:00.000-05:00

According to the New York Post, the ever-political students at my alma mater, the Bronx High School of Science, staged a walkout yesterday, protesting the administration of Principal Valerie Reidy. Her "micro-managing" ways and increasingly strict disciplinary style prompted a 10:30am exodus from classrooms to publicize their discontent.

This is by far not the first outcry to reach me from my old stomping grounds. A friend of mine spoke on similar incidents in her blog.

Ever since she became the permanent replacement for former principal, Stanley Blumentstein, Reidy has caused stirs within the Bronx Science community from both students and faculty alike. When I graduated in 2003, we were only beginning to see the fascist transformations the high school seems to haven taken these past years, including electronic ID's, restricted campus access, and only in my last year do I recall any form of detention system.

I was by no means a model student during my tenure. I cut classes, I slacked off academically, I tended to the social more than the educational. However, I count those years among my happiest, not just for the friendships created and maintained to this day, but for the education I took from it, and I can only attribute that to the excellent teaching faculty employed there. (Let's make it clear: I learned, I just didn't do the work.)

These teachers weren't just people; they were experiences, stories, adjectives. Instructors were famous (or infamous) whether you took one of their classes or not. There were bonds created between the adults and teenagers that surpassed tutor-pupil; advisers, counselors, mentors ready and willing to fight for and with those who deserved it.

Watching that legacy wither into needless bureaucratic melodrama is a baffling experience. Despite the petty yet playful competition we held with other "gifted" high schools, we weren't really wanting for anything. What insidious omens "Dr." Reidy sensed that initiated this crusade for improvement escapes my logic. I can only hope that the Science student body retains not only their voice, but their agency in directing their own futures; if this article is any indication, they are the only ones left who are equipped to do so.

----------------
Now playing: Norah Jones - Wake Me Up
via FoxyTunes