December 4th, 2000


Blueberry Muffins

Chris called. He sounded distressed. So like a fool I ask him what is wrong.
Half an hour later he is still pouring out his sorrows and woes to me. His girlfriend is mad at him. He doesn't understand any of his classes. He has a secret crush on his ex-girlfriend's lesbian lover. His bicycle is broken. He failed his driver's test again. There's a martian in his bedroom.

I may have made the last one up. Maybe.

Finally, I cut him off. "Chris, by your account you are one sorry and screwed up little boy."

"Well, what should I do?"

"What do I look like, Ann Landers?"

"Sam, you're the one person at school I can trust who won't go spreading my life around at school." He does realize that my code of silence doesn't spread to this diary, right? Well, if he doesn't...he can hope no one cracks his code-name, then.

"I'm flattered, Chris." I reply, chewing on the phone cord. I'm terrified I'll get electrocuted, but it's a nasty habit I've developed. Ah, but if only we had a cordless! "But really, I'm a lousy person to ask for advice. My life isn't exactly perfect."

"What do you mean? You're smart, rich-"

"Strike one, strike two, don't go for a third. I'm more asinine than Bush, and just because my dad has a little money doesn't mean I have a cent. But do you really know what I think you should do?"

He waits.

"Wait 'til you're 18 to take the driver's test. Memorize the manual while you're on the public bus. Give your girl a bunch of roses. Get over the lesbian - she isn't ever going to be interested in you again.

"And give the martian a muffin. Blueberry if possible, poppyseed as a last result."

"Thanks, Sam. You're so nice." he replies, slightly ruffled. My answers weren't what he wanted to hear.

"I know, aren't I?" Click. He can listen to a dial tone, I have an English assignment to complete.

And I suddenly have a wild craving for a blueberry muffin.

Equal Opportunity Racism

I love my English class. Everyone in there is unique and wonderful. And racist as heck.

There's this Palestinian boy. He has the same name as a Presidential candidate. We'll call him Hagelin to protect his identity. Not a day goes by when someone in the class mentioning the fact that his people "throw rocks." It's this pathetic cycle. For example,

Teacher: "And in WWII, the invention of the A-bomb led to the destruction of Hiroshima in Japan."
Apu: "I bet the Palestinians wish they had one of those babies, no?"
Hagelin: "Yeah, but we'll always have the rocks."
Petruchio: "YEAH - ROCKS!"

Petruchio's one of the worst. He's a little Italian boy who never quite got over the fact that he's a skinny litle wimp. He's the class clown, a screwball who occassionally will say something truly profound. But not often.

He and Spaay have this constant battle going. Spaay, bless his whitewashed little heart, is what you call a banana Asian. Yellow on the outside, but all white within. He likes to wear bright shirts of yellow or orange. Anyway, he and Petruchio are constantly at it.

Petruchio (continuing,): "Of course, the Asians would throw POTSTICKERS!"
Spaay: "What would you throw, sausages??"
Petruchio: "Well, my sausage is bigger than your sausage!"
Spaay:"Asians don't have sausages, we have eggrolls!"
Spaay: "Be careful, you're stepping into the International Waters!"

You see, Spaay and Jim sit in a corner of their room. This is the Asian corner, as both boys are Korean. If you go into the surrouding area, unless you are Asian as well then you are trespassing into the International Waters.

Spaay:"The Asians are smarter! We have Cathy and Ail and Samantha and Apu and Jim!"
Me: And Ran.
Spaay: Ran's black.
Me: Ran's Indian, you baka!
Spaay: Don't go using your Spanish on me!
Me: ... You also forgot Marisa.
Spaay: Marisa's Filipino, she don't count.
Marisa: EXCUSE ME????
All: ...yesma'am...
Teacher: I swear, you kids...this room is just equal opportunity racism all around.

We're honored to be so cultured.
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