I’m not going to write about my summer because for one thing, I can’t remember it, and for another reason, no one needs to know what happened.

So, it’s still August, but bring on the cold weather. Tomorrow is the first day of my senior year in high school, so go ahead and bring on the cold weather. There’s no need for nice warm weather when you’re sitting in a non-air-conditioned room with 25 other fat sweaty high school students. If I have to wake up at 6:30 in the morning, why not have it 28 degrees with horrible ice on the roads which crumble under all of the salt and cause pot holes which will only be taken care of about this time next year? At least this way all of the minors at school will drive like jackasses and wreck their new Honda Civics and loose their license for 39-90 days. Then at least that way there will be a parking spot near the building for me—so at the end of the school day I can get to my car earlier and will have more time to try to get the frozen diesel engine running after six hours in the cold—and just in case you didn’t know—diesel fuel freezes. Oh, I almost forgot, I’ll to get up a half hour earlier to unplug my car from the outlet and get it running because It takes about a half hour for the heater to warm up the car 15 degrees more than the outside temperature. A diesel engine is pretty pointless in a 1984 Cadillac Fleetwood—it’s like cutting the traction off the bottom of a new pair of Jordan’s—it defeats the purpose. If a diesel truck gets stuck in the snow, the powerful engine will be helpful along with the snow tires to pull the machine to freedom. That’s not the case for me. If I get stuck in the snow—I’ll be there for a while. 18½ foot long luxury cars made for old widows and sleazy businessmen are not all-terrain vehicles.

Now I must forget all of my first nature habits…again. Now, more then I need to, I must think before I speak. Watch what I say. Watch my language. A little more politically correct. Now I must be a little less offensive and less rude. No more waking up at 1:00pm and having ham, eggs, toast, grapefruit juice and Wild Turkey for breakfast…whoops, can’t say that…turkey bacon is what I meant.

In fact, things are going to be so different now, that I have to watch what I wear. Don’t wear a hat, don’t wear a shirt that says "Leftover Crack" on the front and "Shoot the kids at school" on the back. I can’t carry a gun or knife or explosives anymore like I use to. And on a serious note, I won’t be well rested anymore. Lack of sleep and working until 5:00-midnight won’t help schoolwork or anything except my bank account and learning how to sleep in the horrible excuses for chairs in the little theater during study hall.

The worst part of the high school experience is the only reason there is a high school—the students. The students—with their beady little insecure eyes—combing the crowded hallways looking for people to notice them. Notice how cool they’ve become. Make sure everyone learns how cool they became. And for those who care a less—they seem to be the target. Just like when you’re sitting at a red light and a car comes around from the other road onto yours. If the driver is an old man, he won’t even glance at you, but if it’s a young student, they stare you down like passing dogs on the sidewalk. No one is as uncomfortable with who they are then high school students. Some have to act out and make sure they are heard where others have to act too cool for themselves. The one who always has an announcement to make might as well shout "HEY! I’m here! Look! Notice how funny I am?" And the one student—who just doesn’t give a damn about anything because they’re so cool—just puts his or her head down and never speaks. And as far as I’m concerned that’s just fine.

Well, now that I have gone over all of the discomforts and annoyances that I will be experiencing this school year—who wants nice weather? I don’t want to look out the window and think, "Great, look how nice it is out there. So bright, sunny and green—how beautiful. Even though if I could leave now I’d probably sit at home and watch a mobster movie…" I’d much rather be having a pathetic day, look out the window, see a gray sky with gray snow and think, "Yeah, that’s what I thought".

Of course, none of this really matters as long there is nothing I, Jared Allen, can do about it. And as far as the school is concerned, I am not Jared Allen. So as long as there is nothing that I, 136962, can do about it—then these will be pretty strange and sick times in which we live.

-136962

August 25th, 2003