Sighing

He talked to Prutz that day. It was just Aiko, Dayu, him and later Rowena. When it started he thought it was going to be a single sided debate and it kinda was.

"Wasn't gonna happen. Isn't happening. Will never happen." is what he said to the the whole idea of him being mentored by Andy. "We're like two lions in a den. When somebody throws some meat in there, only one lion gets it."

Novak wanted to shout, "But you're STEALING Andy's meat from the next den! It's not the same, you vulture!" but he knew that that would get him nowhere. They needed to start on a different path.

Dayu started off with the emotional stuff, followed quickly by a logical followup by Aiko, which was interupted in a most PE teacherly way. Eventually everybody got to express what they felt about the situation. What else did they have left? There really was no way around the union and the administration, and now it seemed that this otherwise nice guy was stealing their xcdaddy away from them. There were tears at times, but Prutz had expected it.

"All that's left for you to do is to move on and pick up the pieces." It was harsh, but they all knew that it might come to that.

"Don't you think it's wrong," asked Novak, "to take away somebody's job, somebody's LIFE, and just throw it to the wind because you want to do exactly what andy wants to do?" But Prutz just shook his head and referred back to the lions. "It's just morally WRONG for you to exchange one life for another. That's why we, why everybody, feels that Andy is getting jipped." But it was useless. It was as vicious as a cycle as the teammates hoped Prutz's removal would be.

Sometimes Rowena would go off topic about experience or training. Novak knew that this would get them nowhere, as experience can only be gained by trying, which is exactly what they didn't want Prutz to do. Why wouldn't he back down? Perhaps he needed some persuading.

"You do know that there will be resistance." Rowena started.

"Oh i know that. But that's the your choice. Sure, i dont appreciate it when people in my reg come up to me in reg or elsewhere wearing tshirts against my coaching the team, but that's your decision. Part about being young is that you get to be immature, and if you don't want to join my team next year, you dont have to. Even the varsity runners, it makes no difference to me if every single varsity runner quits. I'm going to be head coach, even though it's hard for you to understand. And of course it'll be a big knee-jerk at first, but that's to be expected in a major transition such as this. But you just got to move on and pick up the pieces."

They all sensed a pattern now. But there was really nothing they could do about it. So they all shook hands and left. To them there was no clear 'winner' of the discussion, but Prutz sure had held his ground. He was determined, and by any other circumstances, Novak would have liked him. But the fact was that they were all getting screwed. Their only available option, now struck down by some 5'9'' PE teacher.

Novak knew that whether or not Andy got his job back, or whether or not he liked it, he would eventually have to move on. But he knew there was hope. But if he ever had to pick up the pieces, he had love, support, and friendship backing him up at FALL RUNNING CLUB '05!

ABcdf

I'm taking these precious minutes from my coucher to tell you why i hate report cards. It's not that i hate report cards, or the stupid D i have in Pinocci, rather it's the way that the grades are interpreted by the reader. Here's an example. I don't try all THAT hard in math, but i get the material. In fact, nearly every test that i do poorly on can be attributed to my abundance of careless errors. This is why i have a D in precalc. Easy algebra and trig messing up my entire grade. Not fun. I don't believe however, that the the D on my soon-to-come report card should be what it says. A 'D' is just so harsh. It practically yells out at your parents "HE'S STUPID! HE'S LAZY! HE'LL NEVER GO TO COLLEGE! RESTRICT HIM NOW BEFORE HE HAS A CHANCE TO FUCK IT UP AGAIN!". I believe that if the 'D' on my report card changed to a 'd', my parents wouldn't be so angry. In fact, all grades c and below should be lower case. The only caps allowed on your report card should be A and B, to show your success at finally throwing back your math test and dancing on the old bird's face.

And comments? What a load of bullshit. "Student makes a consistant effort", "Student never does homework", "Student threatens me in the hallway". What good does that do? All the positive comments mean nothing. But then when you start getting into the higher numerals, then all of a sudden your parents start caring. What about all the times i DID do my homework. Nobody remembers that, even though i do it every single day for one class of the other. Goddamn it.. Pinocci's hw is unreasonable anyway.

Maybe i need to try harder. and maybe i should beg pinocci to put me back on the list. and maybe i should just get it over with and fail.

BurnSnapSnap

Barney always taught me three things: 1) Love thy neighbor 2) Thou shalt not kill and 3) Everybody is special. Now the first two might have been Jesus, but number 3 is just bullshit.

I guess we are all, to an extent, different. i don't look like anybody but my family and I'm not identical to anybody who could be called 'my twin'. But goddamn if I don't feel so bland. There are people who are really good at what they do, but somewhere out there is one person who can operate at the same level as the first person. There is only one 'best' in the world and only he can truly feel special. The rest of us just have to sit on our hands until somebody in a big, violet, prehistoric carnivore tells us that we're "special".

Special how? There are these people who try to prove that they're special. You know who I'm talking about. Artists. don't get me wrong. I like art. Pretty pictures, skillful sculptures, masterpiece theatre, beautiful symphonies...bullshit. Short stories, rock songs, photographs. Bullshit. Giant pizza's, videogames, and sex in the park. All bullshit. But you know what i hate most of all? Poetry.

Poetry has got to be the biggest crock of bullshit of all time. Right after modern art, and that's saying quite a bit. When you can throw a bunch of words together and draw imaginary lines between coincidental words, accidental phrasing, and haphazard placement then you, my friend, have got yourself an imaginary artform. It's just so full of shit, I can't stand it.

I guess that's why I hate art so much. It has too much potential to be faked. To be bluffed. To be exaggerated and overrated. If you took that away, I wouldn't think too unhighly of it. But the fact is, art is abused, harassed, and, unfortunately, spoken for. Art is not special. Just like each and every single one of us.

Again?

Pat followed the yarn rapidly now. He was frightened, being led by a hunter much to dispicable and cunning to be human. He was sprinting now, and panting hard. He had to go on; the curiosity was killing him. He came to a clearing in the bushes. In the middle of the little grove was a glass elevator.

'What is this doing here?' thought Pat. But yet again, he asked himself, what was he doing here? He pressed the up button. The elevator dinged automatically as he stepped inside. He was nearly knocked off his feet as the glass vessel rocketed upward. The g-forces were almost too much as he reached for the 'stop' button.

Pat slammed on the tiny, silver disk and the elevator screeched to a halt. The doors opened and Pat crawled outside. In a corner by a full length mirror, pat found a box. The box had reindeer and snowman patterns on it and was topped off with a big red bow. He carefully undid the package, placing the big red bow sticky-side in on the mirror.

As he lifted the lid he gasped in amazement. Here was his sweater, which was destroyed all so long ago. The yarn, he supposed, was from somebody he knew quite well... Before the mental picture of the person popped into his brain, two armed guards came out of a hidden door and shot their pistols at him, which popped into his brain.

What's This?

Pat stared at the trail of yarn he was following. It disappeared for long distances in many places, but it had always managed to pop up next to him. He thought about how when he first saw it, he picked up the litter and threw it away. Upon finding more yarn, he did likewise. But after so much yarn it got ridiculous. So he just walked away. It didnt matter though, it was always there. The whole park was lined with yarn. As he was deciding on whether or not to find the source, he suddenly felt like he was being watched. It was a faint feeling, but it was there. Whatever it was, it was very crafty to elude Pat for so long with such sparce hiding places. Yet again he was busy daydreaming, so it wouldnt be too hard to get so close. Pat played it cool, he felt it was the best thing to do. So he just walked casually on the sidewalk, whistling as he went. It was going his direction anyway.