Losing My Religion

Or, more accurately, my faith in humanity.
Summer School's a bitch.
Especially when it's not your fault.
Well, not entirely. But if you were brought up being told, "do the hard homework first, and save the easy homework for later," then you'd do your biology, your algebra, your french, your P.E. study sheet, your drama monologue, and then Mr. Stein's english homework. Well, you would if you're me, and not somebody with the I.Q. of a wet towel.
That's how I did it, but I overshot it. I put off the english homework until it was too late. Doing this too many times caused me to recieve an F from what would seem like my dream teacher, a Jew from New Jersey who loves to talk. He sounds like he'd be the older version of me. Except I have a brain. His introduction to teaching us the Hero's Journey involved watching the made-for-TV version of "The Odyssey" while eating a hero sandwich. Needless to say, I wanted out.
Second semester, I was placed in the Media Academy english class. Higher placement than regular english, but not quite EXP. I was fine with that. In fact, I was so fine with that, I recieved an A.
The summer passed with no inconveniences, excluding the little shits that joined High School Musical camp expecting Zac Efron to whisk them off into the sunset on a unicorn that looks like Vanessa Hudgens. Another year passed, taking with it the realization that I needed those 5 credits at some point, and I might as well do it this summer, because I wasn't doing drama camp for the first time in eight years because of the aforementioned little shits.
I reluctantly agreed.
Big mistake.
My teacher, Mr. Douglas, has been doing an activity called "Possible Selves" where we try and figure out what we want to do with our lives, and how we're going to get there. I know all that. I want to be a world-renowned successful musician (a down-to-earth term for "rock star") and I have several plans mapped out on how to do that. May I remind you, I'm not a failure.
Mr. Douglas asked all of us to write it down. I obliged, but most of the other kids decided they had better things to do with their hands, and that they'd rather just talk about it, loudly.
"N*gga, I'ma be a coke dealer, n*gga."
"Yeah, n*gga?"
"N*gga yeah. N*gga, I'ma be a kingpin, n*gga!"
Notice how they bookend their sentences with the N word. This is what I have to endure, four hours a day, five days a week. Most of the time is spent yelling at them, the rest listening to Sissy Spacek read "To Kill A Mockingbird," during which time I sleep, having read the assigned chapters at home.
I almost feel bad for these kids.
Almost.
One kid was talking about how his 38-year-old dad is divorcing his 25-year-old stepmom. This lets us know that they have broken home lives, made obvious not only by the divorce, but by the fact his stepmother is closer to his age than his dad's.
He proceeded to talk about the time he smoked a blunt that was laced with crack cocaine.
Nice classroom talk. And you know the N word was all over that story.
Ten more class days...

It's amazing how crappy life has been since the glory days, here described by Bob Dylan:

"Back to the Starting Point! The kickoff, Hebrew letters on the wall, Victor Hugo's house in Paris, NYC in early autumn, leaves flying in the park, the clock strikes Eight, Bong - I dropped a double brandy & tried to recall the events... beer halls & pinballs, polka bands, barbwire & thrashing clowns, objects, headwinds & snowstorms, family outings with strangers - Furious gals with garters & smeared lips on bar stools that stank from sweating pussy - doing the Hula - perfect priests in overhauls, glassy eyed Insomnia! Space guys off duty with big dicks & duck tails all wired up and voting for Eisenhower, waving flags & jumping off of fire engines, getting killed on motorcycles whatever - We sensed each other beneath the mask, pitched a tent in the street & joined the traveling circus, love at first sight! History became a lie! The sideshow took over - what a sight... the threshold of the modern bomb, temples of the Pawhee, the cowboy salute, the Arapahoe, snapshots of Apache poets searching thru the ruins for a glimpse of Buddha - I lit out fur parts unknown, found Jacob's ladder up against an adobe wall & bought a serpent from a passing angel - Yeah, the ole days are gone forever and the new ones ain't far behind, the laughter is fading away, echoes of a star, of Energy Vampires in the Gone world going wild! Drinking the blood of innocent people, Innocent lambs! The Wretched of the Earth, my brothers of the flood, cities of the flesh - Milwaukee, Ann Arbor, Chicago, Bismarck, South Dakota, Duluth! Duluth - where Baudelaire lived & Goya cashed in his chips, where Joshua brought the house down! From there, it was straight up - a little jolt of Mexico, and some good Luck, a little power over the grave, some more brandy & the teeth of a lion & a compass"

On second thought, maybe it's all relative.

I want to conquer it all, and be respected for all of it.
I want to be in music, primarily.
I want to write, but I don't want people to buy my books just because they like my music.
I want to draw and paint, but I don't want people to buy my artwork just because it's by me.
I want to make movies, but I don't want people to see my movies because they're by me. Because then, I'd have the next "Crossroads" or "Glitter" instead of the next "A Hard Day's Night."
I want to teach a class, but I don't want people to sign up for it just because I'm teaching it.
I want to conquer it all.


Why do people buy t-shirts of a band they've never heard of?
And why do people thing voting McCain is a great idea?
Why are people so gullible?
If I show my summer school teacher the paper proving I scored 100% on the english multiple-choice section of the CAHSEE exam, will he let me stop going?
What about "Tha Carter III" makes it a masterpiece, compared to actual masterpieces by Brian Wilson, Beethoven, and The Beatles?
And most importantly,
What's so funny about peace, love, and understanding?

-Jason

Losing My Religion