For Chadipher
Chad wanted me to post the columns I've written for the Press, so here they are!
Wait, Where is SLO?
Every year, hundreds of students walk into the high school slowly, gazing at their surroundings. They wonder at strange classrooms like F202 and that classroom by the school store and words like SLO (Student Life Office) and APush (AP US History). Usually these gazing students constitute just a small percent of students (though, admittedly, the freshman class of 2010 is almost twice the graduating class of 2006), walking through the big doors for the first time. This year, however, immediately upon entering the building, almost every student stopped dead in his or her tracks.
Plasma TV screens in school? And another? No way! Yes way, my friends! RHS now has message boards on TV. There is one at the community entrance, one at the flagpole entrance and the mother ship of them all, a very large one in the student center. Last year during announcements, my physics teacher, Mr. Ustie would profess his dislike for the announcements and would express his dream of scrolling announcements in the student center. For Mr. Ustie and all other third period teachers, the day of no interruptions has arrived. For students needing to read announcements, it means either incredible timing to catch the specific post or an awkward wait underneath a monitor. It will take time, but we’ll get it eventually.
Another roadblock many old students encountered was the location of SLO. Personally, I almost walked in on a meeting trying to get my parking permit. Where teachers used to dine, the student life now lives and Student Life’s old home is now an administrator’s office. If one wishes to find dining teachers, one would need to go to the old preschool, or the even older greenhouse. The logic behind this, of course, is that students prefer to have lives and not see teachers doing the same. Or, the other way around. Either way, a few administrators are going to know exactly where parking permits and all sorts of forms are located, very shortly.
The last obstacle, as usual, comes in the form of library changes. Even in the middle of the year, the library confuses the oldest seniors. While freshmen struggle to understand the library sign-up system, seniors attempt to locate the inner library rooms. Upon a few days of free periods, I discovered that the Abe Lincoln room has morphed into the Toni Morrison room, and vice versa. Speculation included a suggestion that librarians wanted alphabetical order because the Abe Lincoln room is in the front while the Toni Morrison room is now in the back. I took it upon myself to do some research, some investigative journalism and found that the librarians thought that Toni Morrison, as a Nobel laureate for literature deserved the bigger room, over Abe Lincoln. They had no comment on Abe Lincoln’s opinion of the matter. Regardless of reason, the library switch up serves as one final trial to turn seniors into freshmen.
There is a reason we do not have a severe freshman bullying problem: every year, for at least a little bit, the upperclassmen are freshmen again. If we can not figure out where SLO is and even manage to actually call it SLO (our freshman year it was SAO), we cannot feasibly expect you to understand the high school. Most of us don’t even know when we can leave school. So do not worry, gazing freshmen! RHS is often like the concept of an unending universe: don’t stress about trying to exactly understand it because in the end, no one really knows and the correct idea will change just as soon as you understand the old one.
A Modest Proposal about Deer
For months, we argued over deer. To kill or not to kill? That was, indeed, the question. Now, we argue over the deer's death. I'd imagine once we kill the deer, we shall argue over the dead deer. To stop this arguing, I have devised a far simpler method of deer population control.
Reading the Ridgefield Press over the summer, I noticed a startling picture of a black bear, Bob, on a porch. At first, I was shocked to see such a sight in Ridgefield for I thought I was safe from such wildlife. However, I soon grew to enjoy the bear's presence and was delighted to see Bob's return a few weeks ago. In fact, on the off change that Bob reads the Press, I would like him to know that I really would enjoy a visit to my house one day! Bob, of course, is the perfect answer to Ridgefield's deer problem.
Instead of hunting deer, we should pursue Bob. This would, of course, be attempted by only trained professionals or, perhaps, Garden Club vigilantes. Unlike the deer hunting plan, these groups would not try to kill Bob, but capture him and raise him in a loving home. Bob would be constantly taught to hate deer and slowly tooled as a deer killing machine. If Shakespeare could train a bear to dance, I have no doubt that the Ridgefield Police could train a bear to attack deer. Once Bob reached maturity, he would be let loose to roam Ridgefield. By this point, Bob would be completely trained to befriend all humans and have an official "Deer Hunter" badge.
Therefore, Ridgefield's deer problem and recent bear problem would both be solved. Deer would have a natural threat that is not a car and parents would not have to fear stray bullets or medieval bows in their backyard. No more would Ridgefielders have to buy silk flowers because of deer feastings. Bob the bear will bring real flowers and safety back to Ridgefield homes!
But let us not be selfish and keep Bob for Ridgefield. If Ridgefield trained Bob as a natural deer enemy, he would roam surrounding towns too. The deer plight has infected our neighbors as well and it would only be fair to share the cure. All Fairfield county women should be able to wear flowers in their hair without fear of it being munched off. Bob will end all troubles!
On a serious note, I do understand the safety concerns with an uncontrolled deer population prancing about and I also understand animal activists' concerns. I too have argued over Ridgefield's deer population. However, one day I realized that I was arguing about deer instead of the school budget. I was arguing about deer instead of Iraq or even more abstract, yet significant, topics like religion. While we can and should discuss deer overcrowding, when it overshadows students' decreased class options, perhaps it should take a lesser role in town politics.
That said, I still hope that the town and Board of Selectmen will take my suggestion of using Bob the bear as a deer population controller to heart. Also, on the off change that Bob reads the Press, I would like him to know that I really would enjoy a visit to my house one day!
Bubblicious
For my column this week, I intended on clarifying that senioritis pertains only to seniors and some rare 4th quarter juniors. For those underclassmen wondering (I’ve heard many of you proclaim your senioritis in the hallways…): No, you do not have senioritis. Your disease is more in the realm of laziness and procrastination mixed with copious work. This, of course, is perfectly acceptable, but until you have filled out applications and can really, seriously, see yourself in college (and pretend often that you are), you do not have senioritis.
However, at work today, something hit me while I was unpacking mountains of toffee boxes and notepads. Every time I went to remove another item from its box, I unconsciously popped at least one bubble on a sheet of bubble wrap. It was not an enormous revelation, but it was one that made me think nonetheless. Here I was on November 1st, working in a pharmacy and popping bubble wrap.
Every senior, and probably most juniors, understand the significance of November 1st. It is the deadline for applying to colleges either by Early Action or Early Decision. Early applications, of course, are a double edged sword. They put more pressure on the student to send applications, recommendations, transcripts, essays, test scores and other nonsense during the first quarter of senior year, but they also return admissions decisions in December which allows the student the luxury of acquiring a severe case of senioritis before Winter Break. A quick glance at the date announcing itself in my planner sent my heart racing and resulted in a mad computer relay during my free to make sure everything was, indeed, sent. As I write this, November 1st is drawing to a close and now there can be no more mad dashes. All there is to do is wait for those envelopes and emails.
However, deadlines were not the only thing on my mind as I popped that bubble wrap. I also reviewed how I thought my SATs went, for the results come out the 2nd. My stomach turns even as I write this thinking of checking my scores. But it will be over quickly enough. For me, the SAT process finally ends tomorrow. Another college hurdle leaped, another milestone passed.
All this milestone business led me to think about how old and mature I was becoming. And then I noticed my hand popping bubbles. Here I was, in this incurably mature and classy pharmacy, contemplating my future and yet, my subconscious seemed intent on popping. Even when I tried to refrain from making the delightful clicking noise, I couldn’t resist and I inevitably felt the joyous pop under my fingers. Once I had finished unpacking and pricing, I yielded to the urge and spent a few minutes popping bubble wrap.
All the while, I could only wonder why these bubbles placed in a perfect hexagonal pattern would be so addictive. In my quest, I asked other RHS seniors their opinions on bubble wrap. To my excitement, every single person I asked shared my enthusiasm. Answers ranged from “I LOVE bubble wrap!” to “It’s actually how I stay alive these days” and a rather powerful, “Whoever does not love bubble wrap is a liar and deserves to be smote immediately.” So it seems that among RHS seniors, the overwhelming consensus is in favor of the beloved bubble wrap.
Online, too, the phenomenon continues. You can pop bubbles online and test your bubble/second popping time. Best thing about online popping? A fresh new sheet is just a click away! Well, certainly then, it is not just me who has this unexplained attraction to a sheet of plastic. It is a national, if not global, movement and affinity towards the wrapping of bubbles and the addiction that popping one bubble creates. Why? My theory is the immediate satisfaction it causes. Push a bubble and, right away, it pops and makes a fun noise! It’s also a very practical method of anger management. Instead of attacking the College Board for creating the SATs, you can attack the sheet of bubble wrap. A nice plus is the noise of many bubbles popping together. A board member on the College Board probably wouldn’t make such entertaining noises when hit.
So, after thinking on bubble wrap for a while, I have come to this conclusion: bubble wrap gives us a sense of balance in so many different ways that anyone of any age can enjoy it. As children, it’s the fun sensation a bursting bubble creates. As we age, it’s the desire to be young again and the every effective stress neutralization that drives us to the bubble wrap. But why analyze? Bubble wrap is most fun spontaneously and enjoyed in the moment! Therefore, I urge, nay, command you to find a piece of bubble wrap and immerse yourself in all its youthful bliss. Forget essays as you squish bubbles and ignore scowling faces as you hear the inevitable “pop!”.
Personally, I plan to bring some bubble wrap to school tomorrow for moral support when checking those SAT results. So, if you saw the librarians attacking a senior girl on a computer for popping bubble wrap and therefore making noise, you know who it was.
An Apology and a Dare
To begin my column this week, I would first like to apologize to Ridgefield’s deer community regarding my October column in which I suggested we use bears to kill deer. I come face-to-face (or rather, hoof-to-windshield) with a rather annoyed deer a few weeks ago when the said deer jumped into the road and onto my windshield before disappearing. I got the message. Deer, you have the same rights to be here that I have and you should not be killed by bears. I was horribly inconsiderate. To express the depth of my apology, my family has even set up two lighted feeding doe outside my house. Nothing says sorry like a feeding doe. Now I would really appreciate it if you left my car alone.
Now, on to more serious matters. Last Monday, I had my very first real fire drill. The official word is that it was a “small fire in the boys’ bathroom”, but I’m not entirely convinced. Considering the amount of amount of fire trucks and personnel brought to the high school, I’m pretty sure it was a blaze of epic proportion, on par with California forest fires. I can not believe that my only real fire was but a “small fire”!
I passed a freshman on Tuesday believing that a senior must have set off the fire. His logic was that all seniors dislike school and thus, clearly want to burn it down. Besides having some glaring fallacies, his argument missed several key points. First, a very large number of seniors leave school early. The fire drill occurred during 6th period and left most seniors stranded without car keys until the end of the school day. Yes, we first rejoiced in having no class, but we soon grew frustrated as we stayed later and later than usual. Staying past our normal time was almost unbearable to the point of cruel and unusual punishment.
Whoever set off the fire had to realize that it would create a massive fire drill and probably send us home. A senior, knowing that students cannot stand outside for six hours, would have set off the fire in the beginning of the school day to get a full day off and not spend extra time at school.
Also, most seniors fully understand that the English Department is terrifying when unhappy. Few seniors would risk angering any English teacher. Their frustrated vents can cut you down with eloquence and they have many large books that they can throw. Most seniors also know that the English Department resides under the now famous boysbathroom. Inevitable, due to the laws of gravity, they felt the brunt of it, dealing with falling ceilings, flooding and other nonsense. A nice piece of ceiling attacked Mrs. Wassall’s desk. Mrs. Wassall also happens to be writing many recommendations for seniors like many English teachers. No senior would risk their recommendations.
In all seriousness, the fire was horribly inconvenient for the whole school, inconsiderate and frankly, just a really idiotic act on someone’s part. One teacher mentioned costs in the $50,000 range for repairs. I have had disagreements with school policy and teachers, but I can’t begin to think of a qualm that is worth $50,000, risking people’s lives and countless hours of students’ and teachers’ work. I like to believe that our creativity reaches far beyond arson as a method of discontent. For the rest of the year, I dare the entire student body to try and prove me right.
Enjoy, I'm working on my column for next week now! Yay Girls in Science! :D
Wait, Where is SLO?
Every year, hundreds of students walk into the high school slowly, gazing at their surroundings. They wonder at strange classrooms like F202 and that classroom by the school store and words like SLO (Student Life Office) and APush (AP US History). Usually these gazing students constitute just a small percent of students (though, admittedly, the freshman class of 2010 is almost twice the graduating class of 2006), walking through the big doors for the first time. This year, however, immediately upon entering the building, almost every student stopped dead in his or her tracks.
Plasma TV screens in school? And another? No way! Yes way, my friends! RHS now has message boards on TV. There is one at the community entrance, one at the flagpole entrance and the mother ship of them all, a very large one in the student center. Last year during announcements, my physics teacher, Mr. Ustie would profess his dislike for the announcements and would express his dream of scrolling announcements in the student center. For Mr. Ustie and all other third period teachers, the day of no interruptions has arrived. For students needing to read announcements, it means either incredible timing to catch the specific post or an awkward wait underneath a monitor. It will take time, but we’ll get it eventually.
Another roadblock many old students encountered was the location of SLO. Personally, I almost walked in on a meeting trying to get my parking permit. Where teachers used to dine, the student life now lives and Student Life’s old home is now an administrator’s office. If one wishes to find dining teachers, one would need to go to the old preschool, or the even older greenhouse. The logic behind this, of course, is that students prefer to have lives and not see teachers doing the same. Or, the other way around. Either way, a few administrators are going to know exactly where parking permits and all sorts of forms are located, very shortly.
The last obstacle, as usual, comes in the form of library changes. Even in the middle of the year, the library confuses the oldest seniors. While freshmen struggle to understand the library sign-up system, seniors attempt to locate the inner library rooms. Upon a few days of free periods, I discovered that the Abe Lincoln room has morphed into the Toni Morrison room, and vice versa. Speculation included a suggestion that librarians wanted alphabetical order because the Abe Lincoln room is in the front while the Toni Morrison room is now in the back. I took it upon myself to do some research, some investigative journalism and found that the librarians thought that Toni Morrison, as a Nobel laureate for literature deserved the bigger room, over Abe Lincoln. They had no comment on Abe Lincoln’s opinion of the matter. Regardless of reason, the library switch up serves as one final trial to turn seniors into freshmen.
There is a reason we do not have a severe freshman bullying problem: every year, for at least a little bit, the upperclassmen are freshmen again. If we can not figure out where SLO is and even manage to actually call it SLO (our freshman year it was SAO), we cannot feasibly expect you to understand the high school. Most of us don’t even know when we can leave school. So do not worry, gazing freshmen! RHS is often like the concept of an unending universe: don’t stress about trying to exactly understand it because in the end, no one really knows and the correct idea will change just as soon as you understand the old one.
A Modest Proposal about Deer
For months, we argued over deer. To kill or not to kill? That was, indeed, the question. Now, we argue over the deer's death. I'd imagine once we kill the deer, we shall argue over the dead deer. To stop this arguing, I have devised a far simpler method of deer population control.
Reading the Ridgefield Press over the summer, I noticed a startling picture of a black bear, Bob, on a porch. At first, I was shocked to see such a sight in Ridgefield for I thought I was safe from such wildlife. However, I soon grew to enjoy the bear's presence and was delighted to see Bob's return a few weeks ago. In fact, on the off change that Bob reads the Press, I would like him to know that I really would enjoy a visit to my house one day! Bob, of course, is the perfect answer to Ridgefield's deer problem.
Instead of hunting deer, we should pursue Bob. This would, of course, be attempted by only trained professionals or, perhaps, Garden Club vigilantes. Unlike the deer hunting plan, these groups would not try to kill Bob, but capture him and raise him in a loving home. Bob would be constantly taught to hate deer and slowly tooled as a deer killing machine. If Shakespeare could train a bear to dance, I have no doubt that the Ridgefield Police could train a bear to attack deer. Once Bob reached maturity, he would be let loose to roam Ridgefield. By this point, Bob would be completely trained to befriend all humans and have an official "Deer Hunter" badge.
Therefore, Ridgefield's deer problem and recent bear problem would both be solved. Deer would have a natural threat that is not a car and parents would not have to fear stray bullets or medieval bows in their backyard. No more would Ridgefielders have to buy silk flowers because of deer feastings. Bob the bear will bring real flowers and safety back to Ridgefield homes!
But let us not be selfish and keep Bob for Ridgefield. If Ridgefield trained Bob as a natural deer enemy, he would roam surrounding towns too. The deer plight has infected our neighbors as well and it would only be fair to share the cure. All Fairfield county women should be able to wear flowers in their hair without fear of it being munched off. Bob will end all troubles!
On a serious note, I do understand the safety concerns with an uncontrolled deer population prancing about and I also understand animal activists' concerns. I too have argued over Ridgefield's deer population. However, one day I realized that I was arguing about deer instead of the school budget. I was arguing about deer instead of Iraq or even more abstract, yet significant, topics like religion. While we can and should discuss deer overcrowding, when it overshadows students' decreased class options, perhaps it should take a lesser role in town politics.
That said, I still hope that the town and Board of Selectmen will take my suggestion of using Bob the bear as a deer population controller to heart. Also, on the off change that Bob reads the Press, I would like him to know that I really would enjoy a visit to my house one day!
Bubblicious
For my column this week, I intended on clarifying that senioritis pertains only to seniors and some rare 4th quarter juniors. For those underclassmen wondering (I’ve heard many of you proclaim your senioritis in the hallways…): No, you do not have senioritis. Your disease is more in the realm of laziness and procrastination mixed with copious work. This, of course, is perfectly acceptable, but until you have filled out applications and can really, seriously, see yourself in college (and pretend often that you are), you do not have senioritis.
However, at work today, something hit me while I was unpacking mountains of toffee boxes and notepads. Every time I went to remove another item from its box, I unconsciously popped at least one bubble on a sheet of bubble wrap. It was not an enormous revelation, but it was one that made me think nonetheless. Here I was on November 1st, working in a pharmacy and popping bubble wrap.
Every senior, and probably most juniors, understand the significance of November 1st. It is the deadline for applying to colleges either by Early Action or Early Decision. Early applications, of course, are a double edged sword. They put more pressure on the student to send applications, recommendations, transcripts, essays, test scores and other nonsense during the first quarter of senior year, but they also return admissions decisions in December which allows the student the luxury of acquiring a severe case of senioritis before Winter Break. A quick glance at the date announcing itself in my planner sent my heart racing and resulted in a mad computer relay during my free to make sure everything was, indeed, sent. As I write this, November 1st is drawing to a close and now there can be no more mad dashes. All there is to do is wait for those envelopes and emails.
However, deadlines were not the only thing on my mind as I popped that bubble wrap. I also reviewed how I thought my SATs went, for the results come out the 2nd. My stomach turns even as I write this thinking of checking my scores. But it will be over quickly enough. For me, the SAT process finally ends tomorrow. Another college hurdle leaped, another milestone passed.
All this milestone business led me to think about how old and mature I was becoming. And then I noticed my hand popping bubbles. Here I was, in this incurably mature and classy pharmacy, contemplating my future and yet, my subconscious seemed intent on popping. Even when I tried to refrain from making the delightful clicking noise, I couldn’t resist and I inevitably felt the joyous pop under my fingers. Once I had finished unpacking and pricing, I yielded to the urge and spent a few minutes popping bubble wrap.
All the while, I could only wonder why these bubbles placed in a perfect hexagonal pattern would be so addictive. In my quest, I asked other RHS seniors their opinions on bubble wrap. To my excitement, every single person I asked shared my enthusiasm. Answers ranged from “I LOVE bubble wrap!” to “It’s actually how I stay alive these days” and a rather powerful, “Whoever does not love bubble wrap is a liar and deserves to be smote immediately.” So it seems that among RHS seniors, the overwhelming consensus is in favor of the beloved bubble wrap.
Online, too, the phenomenon continues. You can pop bubbles online and test your bubble/second popping time. Best thing about online popping? A fresh new sheet is just a click away! Well, certainly then, it is not just me who has this unexplained attraction to a sheet of plastic. It is a national, if not global, movement and affinity towards the wrapping of bubbles and the addiction that popping one bubble creates. Why? My theory is the immediate satisfaction it causes. Push a bubble and, right away, it pops and makes a fun noise! It’s also a very practical method of anger management. Instead of attacking the College Board for creating the SATs, you can attack the sheet of bubble wrap. A nice plus is the noise of many bubbles popping together. A board member on the College Board probably wouldn’t make such entertaining noises when hit.
So, after thinking on bubble wrap for a while, I have come to this conclusion: bubble wrap gives us a sense of balance in so many different ways that anyone of any age can enjoy it. As children, it’s the fun sensation a bursting bubble creates. As we age, it’s the desire to be young again and the every effective stress neutralization that drives us to the bubble wrap. But why analyze? Bubble wrap is most fun spontaneously and enjoyed in the moment! Therefore, I urge, nay, command you to find a piece of bubble wrap and immerse yourself in all its youthful bliss. Forget essays as you squish bubbles and ignore scowling faces as you hear the inevitable “pop!”.
Personally, I plan to bring some bubble wrap to school tomorrow for moral support when checking those SAT results. So, if you saw the librarians attacking a senior girl on a computer for popping bubble wrap and therefore making noise, you know who it was.
An Apology and a Dare
To begin my column this week, I would first like to apologize to Ridgefield’s deer community regarding my October column in which I suggested we use bears to kill deer. I come face-to-face (or rather, hoof-to-windshield) with a rather annoyed deer a few weeks ago when the said deer jumped into the road and onto my windshield before disappearing. I got the message. Deer, you have the same rights to be here that I have and you should not be killed by bears. I was horribly inconsiderate. To express the depth of my apology, my family has even set up two lighted feeding doe outside my house. Nothing says sorry like a feeding doe. Now I would really appreciate it if you left my car alone.
Now, on to more serious matters. Last Monday, I had my very first real fire drill. The official word is that it was a “small fire in the boys’ bathroom”, but I’m not entirely convinced. Considering the amount of amount of fire trucks and personnel brought to the high school, I’m pretty sure it was a blaze of epic proportion, on par with California forest fires. I can not believe that my only real fire was but a “small fire”!
I passed a freshman on Tuesday believing that a senior must have set off the fire. His logic was that all seniors dislike school and thus, clearly want to burn it down. Besides having some glaring fallacies, his argument missed several key points. First, a very large number of seniors leave school early. The fire drill occurred during 6th period and left most seniors stranded without car keys until the end of the school day. Yes, we first rejoiced in having no class, but we soon grew frustrated as we stayed later and later than usual. Staying past our normal time was almost unbearable to the point of cruel and unusual punishment.
Whoever set off the fire had to realize that it would create a massive fire drill and probably send us home. A senior, knowing that students cannot stand outside for six hours, would have set off the fire in the beginning of the school day to get a full day off and not spend extra time at school.
Also, most seniors fully understand that the English Department is terrifying when unhappy. Few seniors would risk angering any English teacher. Their frustrated vents can cut you down with eloquence and they have many large books that they can throw. Most seniors also know that the English Department resides under the now famous boysbathroom. Inevitable, due to the laws of gravity, they felt the brunt of it, dealing with falling ceilings, flooding and other nonsense. A nice piece of ceiling attacked Mrs. Wassall’s desk. Mrs. Wassall also happens to be writing many recommendations for seniors like many English teachers. No senior would risk their recommendations.
In all seriousness, the fire was horribly inconvenient for the whole school, inconsiderate and frankly, just a really idiotic act on someone’s part. One teacher mentioned costs in the $50,000 range for repairs. I have had disagreements with school policy and teachers, but I can’t begin to think of a qualm that is worth $50,000, risking people’s lives and countless hours of students’ and teachers’ work. I like to believe that our creativity reaches far beyond arson as a method of discontent. For the rest of the year, I dare the entire student body to try and prove me right.
Enjoy, I'm working on my column for next week now! Yay Girls in Science! :D