March 1, 2003 at 2:59 am Leave a comment

After 2 hours woke up at 5 a.m. pushed the button and eventually emerged around 6:oo p.m.
drove down 436 listen’n to bonnie prince billy and arrived late to sub a social studies class. Some kid who reminded me of Lee Wilson walked me out to the building. He seemed like a cool cat, we talked about getting 2 hours sleep, me from being up all night, he from playing Everquest till dawn. Like most kids at Lake Brantley he didn’t seem afraid of me at the least. When I get in the class there’s a bunch of girls sitting around two of whom play the bathroom trade off game, one of whom seems angry that I won’t give her the pass, but the other one is much cuter I want to tell her. We can’t get the door to the cabniet with the DVD player open, and when we finally do the other teacher says you not actually going to put that movie on are you? They won’t be able to finish, but what else can I do? These kids have finished their worksheets long ago. The other less cute girl pulls out her PDA and I ask her to put her PDA away, she snickers at PDA, as if I’m telling her to stop knecking or something. The kid who walked me to the room and his friends and discussing everquest and xbox to loud so I have to threaten to write down their names. No one watches the movies, compacts come out in force, I try and get on-line, but you need a password. The usual student, geust, and anonymous user names don’t work so a student logins in, and I sit there hoping she won’t log out and I can spend my planning period reading e-mail and looking at web site. She logs out. I think of asking one of the autistic kids in the next room for their password, but instead I take my 90 minute planning period at Borders, picking up the new William Gibson. Pattern Recognition turns out to be much better than his last book. I also make my wat through the latest issue of Res which is a great indie-movie zine.

2 hours of sleep somehow does me right, I chug along all day awake and alert. I look through the teacher’s desk and find quarters and dimes strung through her out desk. I decide to take some of this change, until it becomes apparent this is daily coke money and she’ll notice it’s gone the next day. I shuffle the loose change into the plastic bag with the rest of it. I walk over the coke machine knowing it doesn’t work. It’s funny how you develop that sense of technology, the way you can spot a defective device just from the aurua it gives off, but the machine gives a postiive sign with a light flashing and a slight sturdiness to it, so I get a minute maid and drop my nickel in the teacher’s bag with her dimes. Exact change everyday she has. I decide I need to steal something. Candy, pens, tests. I take one answer sheet from a test months off and a couple nice looking pens hiding in a back filing cabneit. The phone rings and two girls say they won’t be in third period becuase they have a project to do, and please don’t mark them as absent. Before the class even starts, enough people have come in asking for permission to go do projects, I write down their names and I don’t bother taking roll, out of a class of 27 only 7 aren’t “on project,” which a young girl informs me, means their skipping school to go to lunch. One kid walks in, sees me and walks out. Another borrows the hall pass and doesn’t return it. A teacher calls and asks for one of the students. I get the hall pass back, and the 7 still in class sit attentively through a few episodues of Roots for Black History month while I read my William Gibson book. I think about updating my journal and come up with fascinating facets to throw in, little asides that go into the dynamics of these relationships, the way these kids don’t fear their teachers and hence come across as innocent, to re-inforce this a young couple walks in, hands me note telling me they were working on a documentary and hence late for class. So at least some of these kids aren’t getting out of a days’ work. It’s important that people rebel in school, else you wouldn’t learn anything. During lunch I put on Sister Wendy’s history of painting, and just like the kids in the class I only soak it’s information up sub-consciously, hearing lisped british murmurs of mesopotanian art, egyptian heirograplhics, and a few other little factoids that as a whole sum up the experience, and could possibly be used to fill in answers on a test. That’s the only advantage of monotonous boring work, the only thing that makes the job day boring, if not down right stupid. A boring job makes you focus on whatever will occupy your imagination. I spend 90 minutes reading non-stop, when these days I’d spend maybe 10, answer some e-mail, get AIM’d, get DC’d, check limewire to see what’s downloading, watch an episodue of futuruama and btw the smoking gun just posted that series of e-mails sent between NASA engineers before the shuttle crashed that appeared on stereotypography weeks ago. For the most part all school seems to do except the miniscule amount of sister wendy monologue sucked into the brain, is let kids focus on breaking rules, setting up a system of boredom that ensure they’ll have the creativity to seriously fuck stuff up later on. Although at Lake Brantley, like many schools these days, certain allegeniances have been formed, the cafetory has been hip-ized to look like a mall, only with neon signs that advertise “pizza” and “burgers” instead of “the gap” and “urban outfitters.” A minimal amount of colour has been allowed into the place. Before kids can get into the classroom, a huge ornate court yard holds them, acting like a giant mixer, as if you just walked into an upscale 16 year old cocktail party. Laptops are out in earnest in the mornings, PDAs (or whatever the hip term for them these days) in class. Cell phones between classes, and plants everywhere. The high school looks more like a college campus, implies we respect you so respect us, yet I don’t think we actually do.

The castles documentary brings up an interesting tactet, the way the irish fought the British by starving them out of castles. Castles were supposed to be able to stand a seige, obviusly someone thought of that before looking themselves inside a huge brick fortress, but it wasn’t hard to take down a castle. Once you cut off the water to the moat, they had to live in wells. Disease ran rampant in castles, all you had to do was wait and hope when a few months from now you attacked, most of the people defending the castle were either sick, dead, or to mal-nuroished to drop boulders and oil on you. While they make cool ideas in the mind, and repelled immediate attacks, it seems the appeal of the castle was the secuirty it provided mentally, or at least the cover it provided you untill re-inforcements came from the back to trap your invaders. Anyway, somehow this got lined to roots where it occurs to me it most have been somewhat satisfying to be a slave sold to a better master while your former master and his family starves to death.

I have a new project, which to check out books from the library and write alternative plot lines in the margins. Maybe I’ll come up with something more appealing, something that the next borrower will feel compelled to eloborate on. I like this idea, especially in the more entertainment-forum books like Tom Clancy etc. maybe write in a little scene from Gide etc.

Pattern Recognition, as I said already I like this book a lot more than Gibson’s last book. It does have the minor flaw of not being edited enuff, at times Gibson’s prose is a little wearing and could use a re-write, but hey that’s what the margins are for.

Get off work and e-mail Laura around what 4:00 p.m. doesn’t get back. e-mail randy and fred. fall asleep.
wake up at 2:10 a.m. and update journal.
That’s it for today.


Entry filed under: media.

the issues miami’d again

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March 2003

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