One Teenager in Ten

 

“In this life, things are much harder than in the afterworld/ In this life, you’re on your own!”—Prince

High school is a laugh riot.  It’s a jolly funhouse where the unpopular and the unusual are punished for their crimes against conformity with a topsy-turvy ridicule.  Here, overweight boys have “due dates”, homely girls are proposed marriage by homecoming kings, underwear waistbands are wedgied into easy carrying handles for Special Ed students, and exchange students, (regardless of country of origin) are addressed in mock Chinese.  In this swarming mosh pit of ha!rassment, powered by sweaty insecurity and raw, smelly fear,  homophobia stands as the indisputable height of hilarity.  At least that’s how I remember it.

“Gay” was the Golden God of Comedy at my Iowa high school back in 1985. 

Requiem for the English Language, Part One: You Can’t Outrun The Long Arm Of The LAW

Imagine what a quick read The Bible will be when the texters take over.

I’m giving my dictionary a Viking funeral today.  The English language is dead, taken out Caesar-style, by a rabid mob comprised of pop stars, chickenshit English teachers, the communication zeigeist known as texting, and a certain unstoppable three-headed monster that I’ll get to later.  Truth be told, I probably should have administered services a long time ago.  But I guess in that way I’m like one of those old people who, deranged by denial, cohabitate with the mummified remains of their moms, and collect her Social Security checks until the cops come a-knocking.  (If you think about it enough, everyone has something in common.)  The English language has sort of rotted into a book-shaped crater in its little death bed, and it’s time to admit all the Glade Plugins in the free world aren’t going to hide the gut-wrenching funk of its demise any more.

Getaway! Day 3

Awww…

• Mabel has befriended a bossy little girl she calls “Emma” and a preternaturally small boy she calls “Dandle”.  The two indulgently attempt to coach Mabel into joining them in song but Mabel, never a slave to the agenda, regards them with stoney superiority.
• A sign at the entry of the park reads “Michigan Critical Dunes.”  What makes them “critical”?  Did they, too, drive here from the suburbs in a foreign car festooned with hipster stickers, an MA folded up in the glove box?  No?  Well, just who the hell do they think they are, anyway?