always picture me using this blog as a way to write down events in my life prior to starting it. my greatest fear in life is losing the memories i have so someday i hope to be able to find the time to just start writing. so maybe i'll start right now. here's a glimpse of some of the last days of school in my life. sorry if its all the bad memories, but like i said, that's all i remember. all the others were probably just too ordinary to remember. and there's nothing worse than being ordinary, right?
i went to school in san jose at trace elementary, which was a third-fifth grade school. loved the place to death. felt so special that i was in this really smart school and in the "smart" math classes. also loved seeing this girl day in and day out. her name was emily kine (i think i'm spelling it wrong, but it sounds like i spelled it). she had long blonde hair and was reminiscent of dj from full house. i basically went all three years without really talking to her or showing interest. when the end of fifth grade came around, she signed my little "yearbook" which was basically about 6 sheets of colored paper stapled together. i still remember her little cursive writing on about the second page in, which was as far in as anyone signed from my lack of friends. so the last day is here that i'd be at that school and as i walked home alone, sure enough there she was about 100 feet away getting on her bus. i seem to remember looking over to her and smiling and her maybe waving back. or maybe that's what i wanted to happen. i probably just kept looking up and down, hoping she'd glance and think i had happened to glance in her direction as well. either way, i walked home listening to my mom's tape of garth brooks on my walkman. never saw her again and i'm sure she forgot about me right about the time she hit 7th grade.
in fresno now "graduating" middle school from el capitan. had some really interesting friends at the time. loyal and good as far as friends go, but just kinda weird. white fat kid me, mexican paul, mexican adrian, hindu or indian or something "bicky" as we called him, white trash aaron, and brian tolmachoff (sp.). this was our little group for most of middle school. i had a few other and probably closer friends, but never hung with them because they were on a different track schedule than i was. and of course there were my gangster "friends" that only liked me because i did all their homework. then there were the elite types like tommy forester, brandon lee, a-hole ralph, and mr. ryan clay. we all knew each other, but i wasn't cool enough to be more than a close acquaintance. ryan was everything i wished i was. he was actually the first person that i ever heard utter the word "weezer." he had the girl i wanted (andrea alonzo), was good looking and smart and witty and athletic and i hated it. i wanted so much to be close to him, but just never happened. the closest i ever got was when he would make fun of me. but we were cool so come graduation, he was taking off to another school. i had this image in my head for some retarded reason that during all the mingling i would go to him and shake his hand, give him a hug (didn't sound this gay when it was in my head at the time) and tell him thank you for being my friend and good luck to you. clad in my first tie i ever owned (and still own), i walked to him and basically stuttered out a goodbye. he and ralph were looking around for someone else so he did say bye, but like the two years we knew each other, he was too busy doing other things to really notice me. maybe i really didn't want to be noticed anyways. who knows.
jump to end of fall semester, freshman year. we were playing this little winter concert at the school cafeteria. one of the songs was o holy night which the first, second, and third trumpets each had solos that eventually turned into a nice little trio. the song is 12/8 time (for some reason i'm actually thinking it was written in cut-time, which i also didn't know) and of course my gay beginning band teacher the year before never taught that, so i had to give up my little solo because i didn't know how to play it. so i practiced forever and a day to get it right and learn 12/8 and 6/8 time and the day of the concert i went out on a limb and asked sly, our band director, if i could take the part now. of course he said no and i was so bummed. to top it off, my first girlfriend ever broke my pathetic little heart a short time before. so there i am playing in this concert, crying during o holy night because i was too retarded to play the part and my oblivious ex-girlfriend was tooting away on her flute. to this day i can barely sit through that song.
duncan olds was the epitome of cool. as a junior in colorado, my only goal was to be a senior, graduate early, and head back to california. so i took some senior classes my junior year which included senior english technology taught by mr. olds (before that clown mr. foley), who happened to be duncan's dad. he was my jordon catalano, except my name's not angela and i didn't want to jump his bones. he was one of the first people ever in my life that cared about me just because he was a nice guy. a truly, genuine, nice guy. popular, good looking, and as perfect as can be, and here he was looking out for me. i didn't even have to do his homework for him to care. at that time i was ditching class for the first time in my life to hang out with patti and for some reason, he was concerned and wanted to make sure i was okay. so we began talking and out of nowhere i was friends with this guy. it only lasted a semester because he was a real senior unlike me. at grad time, i ran around the arena trying to track him down. i pushed my way through his crowd of groupies and this time, unlike ryan, i got my nice goodbye. cried afterwards because i was so sad i'd never see him again (although i did a few years later). there are a certain group of guy friends in my life that have come and gone without a friendship fully blossoming like i had imagined or hoped. another crappy feeling of what if. is this all because i lacked a real father figure growing up? who knows, who cares now i guess.
cut to what feels like so many years later. semesters are never what you hope but can sometimes surprise you beyond belief. oh how much a few classes and months can change a person. lots of good, lots of bad. i'll never know if its the good or bad that has been the predominant outcome of each semester. haven't determined what i would classify today as. ask me in a few weeks when i have more time to reflect . . . goodnight all. see you in colorado.
They will detail their pain
In some standard refrain.
They will recite their sadness
Like it's some kind of contest.
Well, if it is, I think I am winning it,
All beaming with confidence
as I make my final lap.
The gold medal gleams
so hang it around my neck
cause I am deserving it:
the champion of idiots.
In some standard refrain.
They will recite their sadness
Like it's some kind of contest.
Well, if it is, I think I am winning it,
All beaming with confidence
as I make my final lap.
The gold medal gleams
so hang it around my neck
cause I am deserving it:
the champion of idiots.
1 comment:
Wow. Great post.
J
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