My family knows that you just don’t mess with my well-loved and timeworn “Oscar Magazines”, the editions of People Magazine that annually cover the Academy Awards. On my bookshelf is both “75 Years of Oscar Fashion” and “A History of the Oscar Awards from 1928 to 1999”. Pathetically enough, I can probably match the Oscar dress to the actress about as easily as I could pair my friends’ first names with their last.
I’ll bet you can guess what I was watching Sunday night.

Yep: the Academy Awards, the Oscars, my fourth favorite day of the year. More than just an award show this year, it seemed like a break in many respects. Personally, it was a three-hour break from homework and studying. I got to sit on the comfiest couch in the world with my family while watching celebrities parade their designer dresses and tuxes, with the lucky ones stuttering acceptance speeches over sobs of surprise and joy.

But more so, it seemed a break from tension in tinsel town. With the writers’ strike looming overhead, the Academy Awards’ 80th celebration was clouded with the imminent threat of cancellation, even up until last week.

Jon Stewart pulled it off though; presenting a ceremony that did the job and fed the gossip columnists enough fodder to give poor Britney Spears a break as well.

Even though I myself am a teenage girl, I will admit that it seems like all we have on our minds sometimes is hair, fashion, and make-up. The students at my school, the all-girl Carondelet, proved my judgment wrong, however, on February 5. As people all across California and the other 23 states holding their primaries and caucuses exercised their right to vote, 83% of students at my school voted in the mock election for the presidential candidates using computers in our labs and inner court. Although I’m sure that some girls only voted so that they could get to wear jeans to school later in the week, I was nevertheless shocked by the high turn out of voters.

Since Super Tuesday, my classmates have continued to leave me open-mouthed when it comes to their infatuation with politics. In the weeks leading up to February 5th, members of the Political Club had to raise awareness on all of the presidential candidates. It was an unforeseen shock when, on the first day of “campaigning”, I ran out of the 60 copies of my “Where Obama Stands” brochures by 4th period. I was taken aback that so many of my classmates actually wanted to inform themselves on the candidates and their stances on various issues. On Friday, my friend texted me to say she was watching McCain speak on CNN. This came as a shock for me since I knew that a “Grey’s Anatomy” re-run was on at the same time and she has, to put it kindly, an unhealthy psychological reliance on this series. Even though I will probably continue to be amazed by my classmates’ enthusiasm for politics, I hope their interests continue to grow. This is very important, in my opinion, since all of us, even if we cannot vote by November 4, are the voters of tomorrow.

How is it at your high school or with students that you know? Are teens displaying a growing interest in the elections or do they remain oblivious to what is going on in the political arena?

One of the things involved with being a senior at my large high school is inevitably being a T.A. Though most would regard this as a free period for relaxation, my teacher has me busy grading papers. Nice long essay papers. You know, the ones that after the fifth you’re ready to cry. Well, I was through the first ten papers when I came across this paragraph written just as a text message would be. Only a paragraph and with no sense.

I cnt tel u hw annyin it ws 2 hav 2 reed dis lil pragrph. Y has dis txtin epidmc takin ovr are ablty 2 spk nd right.  It sms as if da skools hv anther prob on der hans. Nd it hs 2 do wit tchnolgy an its impct on yuth. Not dat neone culd ntice da sartin pnt. Bt it is obvs dat sum thin nds 2 b dun. Cuz if i hav 2 reed 1 oder pper lik dis, i wil scrm. Bt if sum thin aint dun, da yuth of da footr wil kno nuttin bt dis…

 P.S. How easy was it to read the above paragraph?!? Maybe we’re being affected more than we know.

The past few weeks have left me a little bit scatterbrained. I spent every break and lunch the past seven school days running around finishing homework and projects, tutoring, talking to teachers, and getting my summer applications and senior schedules postmarked and handed in. Coherent thought last appeared when I handed in two in-class essays last week, one on American expansionism in the late 1800s, and the other on boxings role in society.

So it’s going to be a stream-of-consciousness blog today. A break-the-rules day from all the careful t-charts, outlines, and mind maps required for clear, analytical thinking at school.

The playlist in my head for the moment consists of “New Soul” by Yael Naim, “The Way I Am” by Ingrid Michaelson, and “If I Had Eyes” by Jack Johnson.

Jack Johnson re-affirmed his place in my heart as best musician ever through his effort to help the environment, another one of my passions. One percent of all the profits from his new album, Sleep Through the Static, funds research on how to protect the planet. And the CD itself is packaged with 100% recycled paper and recorded entirely with solar energy.

Chuck (NBC) isn’t coming back until the fall, due to the writers’ strike. I don’t know how I’ll get by through the looming months of SATs and finals without the silly antics of Chuck Bartowski and Morgan Grimes stealing marlins, patrolling the Buy More, and guarding top government secrets.

I want the rain to go on vacation and bring back the 68 degree days with sun so strong that it burns my face during lunch (which isn’t saying all that much if you know my complexion).

Standardized tests are looking to become my new weekend-highlight, with classrooms full of anxious students replacing my living room, and a sharpened number-2 soft-lead pencil replacing my remote. I’ve already got the SAT Reasoning Test, three SAT subject tests, two AP tests, and the ACT lined up, and I’m sincerely hoping that that’s the end.

The three-day weekend gave me a chance to surprise my 80-year-old grandfather with a birthday party. I had the chance to talk with my cousins for the first time in nearly nine years, and had a relaxing weekend in Colorado with my family.

I hope that getting all the random thoughts floating in my head out into words will help me think more clearly. Because I’m obviously not in shape to write an essay any time soon.

Sorry.

About a month ago, I was on “Wikipedia.org” and clicked on the link that brings you to a random article. The piece I was directed to was all about Jenkem, a hallucinogenic recreational drug popular with Zambian street children that is apparently gaining acceptance among teenagers in the United States. I won’t paraphrase the article (since I might regurgitate my dinner if I attempt to) but here is a link to the Wikipedia article:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jenkem

When I first read the article I was disgusted and nauseated. After getting over my feelings of queasiness, however, I began to feel a bit offended with the fact that adults would actually believe that teenagers would resort to using their waste to achieve a high. In a way, I can’t blame the older generation for accepting these media reports as the truth since teens do do some pretty stupid things for “recreation” (ie. the fainting game). I just hope that this whole human waste thing is one big hoax.

Survivor. The pioneer of American reality television. True reality television for that matter, where the contestants are actually placed into their environment and are forced to adapt (Laguna Beach…not so much). It just so happens that their environment may be an isolated island or a scorching desert in the middle of nowhere, filled with suspenseful obstacles, twists, and turns (at least Big Brother gets roof over their heads). Probably the one thing that makes Survivor so attractive is its overly complexed strategy to make it to the top, which may require endless lies and broken alliances along the way (seriously, how much strategy is required for Flavor of Love). Survivor is also one of the few reality television show which allows the players to vote off each other with their own discretion (no need for Donald Trump to fire someone here).

No wonder the series has lasted so long, sixteen seasons and counting with no signs of slowing down in the near future. Unfortunately, all reality television shows tend to loose their creativity and uniqueness after their first few seasons. Impressively, Survivor didn’t fall out of the top-10 viewer rankings until it’s eleventh season, and since then the show has never been ranked higher than fifteen. I gave up watching the show weekly after it’s ninth season, realizing the fact that even though game’s energetic charisma was still present in the actions of its contestants, there was a deep need for something new and fresh. The current season of Survivor, which began on February 7, delivered a concept no one would have thought: two teams, fans versus favorites. Yes!

Die-hard fans of the show have the chance to go against their reality television idols as the past contestants have another chance to become the “Soul Survivor.” I am once again addicted to the series, excited to once again root for my favorite players, not going against themselves, but against an entirely new inexperienced team. With the original content of physical challenges, alliances, eliminations, and even romance, Survivor is undisputed the trend-setter for American reality television. Let MTV ruin their reputation by replacing afternoon music videos with dull reality television shows. I’m happy with my Survivor.

Yikes. Up until the past week, I never really realized how many mean things about other people can roll out of my mouth without even needing to consciously formulate these barbed comments. Typically, Catholics (including me in past years) give up chocolate, soda, swearing, or late-night TV during the forty days between Ash Wednesday and Easter. But last week, when my fellow classmate made the sign of the cross with ashes on my forehead, I decided to spend this time forgoing any and all mean comments about anyone else. These self-sacrifices are supposed to symbolize our recognition of Jesus’ forty days in the desert, when He was constantly tempted by the devil. Of course, His conviction never swayed and He never gave in to temptation.
Obviously, I’m no Jesus. But I didn’t think that I would end up clamping my hand over my mouth so many times in the past week. It’s not that I intend to insult other people, but it seems like comebacks, jokes, and sarcasm have become all too familiar with my vocal cords. I never thought I was a perfect little angel, but I definitely didn’t believe that so many of the words I speak and so much of the carbon monoxide I exhale into the air were laced with poisonous, hurtful words. Even within only a week, it has made me step back and reflect on how I view other people, if insulting thoughts and jokes come so naturally that I can hardly stop them from coming.
On the flip side, my mistakes have also helped me become calmer with people who used to make me want to flip my desk upside-down and scream in the middle of class. My remedy for slipping up in my Lenten promise is to say a genuinely nice thing about the victim, but not necessarily to them. As a result, I’ve learned to appreciate the better side of everyone, partly because that gives me more ammo for the next time that I make a mistake. Even though I know that I will probably still screw up down the road, if not in the next several hours, this past week has already helped me realize that my hurtful words never really helped anyone, and that I can get along fine without them.

Today during track I was having a conversation about music with a fellow trackmate.  She was describing how good the song “Pictures of You” by The Last Goodnight is.  I replied that I do enjoy pop, but that I find that particular song to be incredibly formulaic and, quite honestly, boooorrrriiinnng.  Her haughty response was that The Last Goodnight aren’t pop, they’re ‘alternative’.  (Apparently the iTunes store is the last word in this matter.)  I’ve heard the same label tacked on to every ‘punk’ band that has come along in the last 20 years, as well as everything else under the sun, and I’ve begun to believe that the word has lost all meaning.

In the past ‘alternative’ was applied to music culture that was ‘below the radar’ so to speak: bands that were either too brash, too wierd, or too complex for the general masses to appreciate.  But ever since Nirvana made the jump from lo-fi grunge to platinum chart sales the definition of ‘alternative’ has become a hipster ploy.  All of the sudden everyone wearing Hot Topic and some kind of attitude is ‘alternative.’

I personally do not advocate this bandwagoneering and abuse of culture for t-shirt sales.  The same thing happened with hippie culture in the early 70s.  Corporate bigwigs caught on to the hippie craze and began marketing hippie culture to the masses all over the world (I personally believe that screen-printing tie-dies is one of the bigger travesties capitalism has yet produced.  If you can’t make it, don’t friggin’ wear it!).  And do you know what the response to this was?  The last true flower children in San Francisco went to a cemetery and held a funeral for the hippie movement.  Hippie culture is legally deceased with a gravestone and a death certificate, which means that the people living on the streets along Telegraph aren’t veteran hippies, they’re just professionally homeless.  (The truth hurts, doesn’t it?)

You may claim that you can’t kill an idea, which is absolutely true.  But you can stop advocating it when it becomes perverted (just look at Communism).  That is exactly what the SF hippies did, and although I don’t particularly like hippie ideology, I have immense respect for their decision.  So I have a request.  Do the truly ‘alternative’ bands a favor and start calling Fall Out Boy what it is: pop-inflected angst mongering.

Oh, and if you want to hear a truly ‘alternative’ album, check out Mourner by Caina on iTunes.  For those who understand his message, you will revel in the incredible and awe-inspiring beauty of his work.  If you don’t understand, listening to the whole album will probably make you cry for days and then check into an insane asylum to prevent suicide.  The same goes for anything composed by Frank Zappa, who hid seminally genius musical arrangements beneath deranged lyrics about schizophrenic muffin men.  Now THAT is ‘alternative,’ my friends.

-Craig Dathe

            The deans from my school sent out a letter last week to all the parents of senior students. The gist of the 3 page correspondence was that the administration and teachers at Carondelet do not believe in a little thing called “Senioritis”. When my mother let me read the letter, I could not suppress my amusement at my school’s lack of common sense. How could they deny the existence of Senioritis? In my opinion, it’s the same as saying that the Holocaust never happened or that politicians are not at all corrupt. The reality is that Senioritis is a bona fide aliment.

            Though it is not a genuine medical condition, the effects of Senioritis can be just as drastic for a student. Throughout my senior year and especially now in my second semester I can look around in any of my classes and see at least one student fast asleep on their desk. I know that, for the first time during my high school career, I have started going out on school nights for non- academic and non-extracurricular reasons. Last week, in fact, I went out for dinner once with friends and out to the movies twice during the week. I also find that I am pushing the limit when it comes to doing my homework. Although I have always been a procrastinator, I find that I don’t start my homework now until the class period before it is due (if I can even motivate myself to do it at all). I know a lot of people who have shifted their focus from academics to “livin’ it up” because they have already gotten into their first choice college. I think it is safe to say that the majority of seniors I know, and perhaps a fair amount of juniors and sophomores, have a bad case of this syndrome.

Maybe I’ll find a cure for Senioritis… later.