Recent Rants

Rant #1 :
Ok, so there is this poor old lady that lives two doors down. You can easily guess she is in her upper 80s. We believe that her daughter visits her everyday and sometimes with her children, so its good to know she is not completely on her own.

About a month ago she held a garage sale. The usual types of people that you see at a garage sale were looming around for the day, blocking driveways... you know, the usual. Then there were the "white trash people" whom live across from us... they did a lot of looking... but never saw them drag anything back to their junk yard of a home. I was guessing she was about to move.

About two weeks ago there started to be a HUGE exodus of STUFF coming out of the old lady's home. Maybe about 5 dumptrucks were filled with furniture and assorted crap coming out of that home. Whatever was not taken was put on the roadside... in waves, for the last couple weeks. Everytime a new load was taken to the curb a flood of scavengers would show up.

These sacvengers include "salvagers" showing up in the night rummaging through the trash, "the white trash people" who first send their kids over to case the area and other assorted traffic. What really pisses me off is that little old lady was probably on a harshly fixed income and any proceeds of her garage sale would have probably helped her out. But the "white trash people" and every other jackass in my neighborhood decided to take advantage of the situation. Scavenging trash is not against the law, but SPREADING the trash all over the yard and creating as much noise as possible as you do it... is. The "white trash people" have a RECORD for going through people's trash, so when I put mine out, I make sure I give them no opportunity to rummage before the collection happens.

I'm still not too sure what to think of the wierd looking guy that went into her backyard and turned the swingset into scrap metal. I'm almost waiting to see if there is a police report looming that says the copper wiring was ripped out of the wall. Its been kind of feverish and funky over there.

Rant #2
So a quaint extremely rich neighborhood that sits right next to the ghetto has been hit with 3 aggravated robberies in the past week. Each time the residents where stripped and tied up and released of their valued possessions. To stop the problem, the police have created a "strike force" to stop this from happening. No argument. That's their JOB. Now, why can't the same fucking police force do the same for my neighborhood? We have more theft from vehicle, vehicle theft and burglaries than that neighborhood will ever see.

Rant #3
I'm in pain and the dentists office is making me wait 6 days to go in and fix the issue. Wha? I would go elsewhere but I had an extremely insane experience with a quack dentist last year and I am terrified to go and find somebody else.

Rant #4
Why in the HELL did my niece's high school call me... thinking I was the father...??? Let alone, they did not know how to contact the mother nor had any other numbers available to them. I am one aggravation away from calling the county Children's Services. The father is a loser that will not help and is off the radar. The mother is more engaged into finding boyfriends to leech off of and her new weird hobby of women's roller ball league (one of their events was rough "musical-chairs" in a bar). Making sure the schools have correct information, taking care of the 4 (four) kids and having any type of adult like responsibilities is obviously taking a second chair.

Confronting My Demons (Intermission)

State of Mind

Hook In Mouth

[Music by D.Mustaine/D.Ellefson, lyrics by D.Mustaine]

A cockroach in the concrete, courthouse tan and beady eyes
A slouch with fallen arches, purging truths into great lies
A little man with a big eraser, changing history
Procedures that he's programmed to, all he hears and sees
Altering the facts and figures, events and every issue
Make a person disappear, and no one will ever miss you

Rewrites every story, every poem that ever was
Eliminates incompetence, and those who break the laws
Follow the instructions of the New Way's Evil Book of Rules
Replacing rights with wrongs, the files and records in the schools

You said you've got the answers, well who asked you anyway ?
Ever think may be it was meant to be this way ?
Don't try to fool us, we know the worst is yet to come
I believe my kingdom will come

[CHORUS:]
F, is for fighting,
R is for red
Ancestors' blood in battles they've shed
E, we elect them,
E, we eject them
In the land of the free and the home of the brave
D, for your dying,
O, your overture
M, will cover your grave with manure

This spells out FREEDOM, it means nothing to me
As long as there's P.M.R.C

F, is for fighting,
R is for red
Ancestors' blood in battles they've shed
E, we elect them,
E, we eject them
In the land of the free and the home of the brave
D, for your dying,
O, your overture
M, is for money, you know what that cures

This spells out FREEDOM, it means nothing to me
As long as there's P.M.R.C
[CHORUS:]

Put your hand right up my shirt
Pull the strings that make me work
Jaws will part, words fall out
Like a fish with hook in mouth

Rewrites every story, every poem that ever was
Eliminates incompetence, and those who break the laws
Follow the instructions of the New Way's Evil Book of Rules
Replacing rights with wrongs, the files and records in the schools

I'm not a fish
I'm a man
Hook in mouth

Confronting My Demons (Part 3 of 6)

SOPHOMORE versus LOCK-BOX

1 Year previous to this point in my life was the complete opposite. I was an athlete, musician, successful and normal kid.

At this point I either purged all of the extra hobbies and activities or they were outlawed. I started smoking and had anger festering and rippling beneath my skin. I was walking longer distances at night and taking more chances. In between all that, I was working at the McDonald's at the grill. I usually closed the grill at night way past the time a person at my age was supposed to be doing that. I had a strange enjoyment with cleaning the grill with the green acidic slime that came in a package. Once you dump it on the grill, it immediately cooked and spiked your arm with shots of firey pain.

I was taking off in my bike after work to where-ever, sometimes just ending up on the wrong side of town. I ended up walking a lot because once I got home I would have the bike in the garage. It was too loud getting that bike out of there again. Plus, I would stick out like a sore thumb biking down the street. Walking was the quietest way out.

Also, sometimes my bike was taken away and let at other people's homes so I would not have access to it. That is not the first time something was taken away. My mother created quite the history of the art of confiscation.

Explanation of the "Brass Box":
My step-father owned a 3' x 3' x 3' brass box that was lined with cedar. It had a flat latch lock on it but most of time it was open. My whole childhood in pictures, among others, was stored in that box and still is to this day. I loved looking at those pictures. It has all my class pictures, vacation pictures and the assortment collage of my life there. At some point the lock was closed during the last summer and the key was "lost". I lost access to my childhood suddenly and this became a fighting point against my step-father and mother at that specific point. It was plainly obvious what they were up to. But this was not my biggest fighting point.

Explanation of the "LOCK-BOX":
This box had been around since we lived in Cleveland. Just a regular cash box you would see at a garage sale. At some point after we moved to Richmond Heights I had gotten a paper route with the Sun Messenger. Just a once a week paper route in which all of the money I collected from that route and earned went into that box. Mysteriously there was never any money in it.

I found out YEARS later that my sister had found the key to that box and took out "portions" of the money. I do know some of the money went to paying for the canoeing trip I went on but as for what happened to years of working that paper route is beyond me. One can only assume that the person responsible for that box had some shifty accounting practices. Maybe as payback?

Now at this moment in time, the box was being used as leverage against me. Deep within a locked file cabinet was the LOCK-BOX with its trusty lock keeping my prized possessions away from me. For a household with television outlawed, my most prized possession was my GameBoy. Unfortunately, 50% of the time it was not in my own possession. This was a key point in getting me to "do what I was told" and "keep me in line". I think the person that thought up of this control and manipulation device should have realized it wasn't really about the materials taken away, but the way they were taken away. It was only fueling the anger. Flaunting the whereabouts of where my stuff was locked up and/or my mother acting like she didn't know where those things may be... it just wasn't working. It became a power game and I think she enjoyed watching me get frustrated.

As I have said, I also started working at McDonald's and as you can imagine, I took the weekly paychecks to get cashed myself. No more of this control crap. At first, the suggestion that I get a job seemed horrible to me but then I slowly realized the potential as I got paid for the first time. It was my hard earned money and I had a whole world to purchase from.

That down part was that I still lived in the totalitarian household where normal things were outlawed and certain material possessions were locked away or disappeared. My sister and I came up with the word "Mommunism".

Still, I started a purchasing spree of cigarettes, heavy metal t-shirts, walkman, headphones, GameBoy games, cassettes and food. What else does a teenager need. I also used these new funds towards my night escapes.

Then the confiscation started up in full force as my new items made their debut in the hell home. One of the techniques used against me really got me to a new level of anger. One day I was looking for my fairly new heavy metal t-shirt and I just could not find it. I search everywhere and even asked my mother what happened to the shirt. As I walked around the near museum like home I walked into the living room and made the discovery. My mother was dusting the furniture.... with a cut out square of one of my shirts. What a coincidence she would pick that very moment to start using her new dust rag. My shirts that I bought were torn up and cut so that my mother could use them to dust.... she didn't use it once in front of me... she did it every time she wanted to get under my skin. Among other things taken were my music being deemed wrong and unchristian-like.My bike, clothing, music and the raccoon skull (I found that in the ravine behind us) was all disappearing. It was either leverage to get me to do something or the manipulative christian speech.

My night walks were getting longer and more exhaustive.

During all this stealing, bickering and constant fighting I did start at my new public school of Richmond Heights High... the Spartans at the time had the worst football record in the whole United States. You can image how hard I laughed at the principal when he asked me to be a kicker for the team. It was his way of compensating the fact the school had no soccer team. I was not interested in sports though, I was too busy being angry.

[click to enlarge]

LEGEND:
(1) - RICHMOND HEIGHTS HIGH SCHOOL
(2) - RICHMOND HEIGHTS GOVERNMENT CENTER (POLICE STATION WHERE I WAS HELD)
(3) - MCDONALD'S (WERE I WORKED FOR ABOUT 3 OR 4 MONTHS)
(4) - MY GRANDMOTHER'S HOME (AT THAT TIME / SHE WAS MY MOTHER'S MOTHER)

The school I found to be boring and uninspiring. Basically two hallways stacked on top of one another with a gym and cafeteria on the end. I hated it there.

The worst football coach in the nation was the Health teacher. Coach teaching health, it was odd.

My English teacher was, believe it or not, also my mother's teacher at one time. At this point in her life she was waging a war on cliches and I was her target. Lots of busy work... no real learning going on there.

Then there was SPANISH..... THIS teacher was teaching it with the MEXICAN dialect.... TOTALLY FUCKING DIFFERENT from that CUBAN teacher I had at US. What a mess that was! I was constantly being yelled at for pronouncing everything wrong.

The only other class I remember from there was art class. I liked art class... that was nice and easy. One day the teacher wanted us to carve some linoleum so we could make prints with them. Well, I decided to carve what I knew and saw in the previous year. I carved an odd picture of a video monitor (Sony) sitting on a desk, the monitor was displaying a kid strapped down and knocked out in a padded room. Apparently the teacher didn't think that was too funny but I told her I knew what I was drawing because I have seen it with my own eyes. Eventually she told me that she did some side work for the institution I was booked into and she backed off.

The teachers were not the only problem though. I had the peers to contend with as well. Some went to grade school with me and started to remember me.... and to start off where they last left me.... continual jeering and teasing. "Mr. Popular" was not I! One student was also in US the year prior and we just glared at each other mostly... mutually assured destruction... "don't talk about US". For the most part I was ignored, nobody knew me and I was too self consumed to warrant anyone to approach me.

As a couple of months past I was in full escape mode. I walked extremely long distances and night. One night I walked past University School, it felt so strange to see the driveway and sign again. It felt embarrassing. By the time I got back to Richmond Heights, the sun was up and school was starting soon... I still went that day... I had no choice. The more I pushed it... the more I worked and walked... the more tired I got. At one point I fell asleep in class and the next thing I knew... I woke up and there was a whole new class surrounding me. I got up as the class laughed at me and fell into the hallway. I was burning out. After some time I guess my parents knew what I was doing sometimes and bolted the door on me. Some nights I would come home to only be able to sleep on the porch. No food. No water. No bathroom. One day I knew I was going to be stuck outside for over 8 hours so I wrenched open / broke the gears of the kitchen window (the opening reel) with my bear hands. Yes, that was expensive. Another night I knew if I kicked the bottom of the sliding glass door the piece of wood, set in place to secure it, would pop out, then all I would have to do is tilt the door till it jumped the lock. What happened this time was I kicked the door and the glass cracked in half. Ah yes, the dumb things we do. I was getting so tired and defeated.

So I changed that. I was working late at McDonald's one night and I orchestrated my biggest escape yet. I arranged for a cab to pick me up at a house that was not my own and I had them drive me to the Cleveland Bus Station. There, I bought a ticket to Columbus. As I waited to get on the bus a hippy started asking me way too many questions... so I just acted as if I looked way much younger than my real age. Eventually he left me alone. When I arrived in Columbus I called my surprised sister and she picked me up. I stayed with her for about a week... but my sister took me back... I think she took me back on Thanksgiving.

I ended up in "in-school detention" or another way of saying stare at a wall for 16 hours over two days. Small price to pay for the much needed vacation. Plus there was a cute girl in there the whole I was there... it wasn't so bad in detention.

School felt so low on my list of priorities at this point thought. My main focus was to win the fight. So one day I was in a fight with my mother about that damned LOCK-BOX. I went down to the basement and got a hammer and a file. What better way to open a file cabinet than with a metal grooved file? I was determined to get in and take what was rightfully mine. The yelling dragged on and on. It was so stupid and petty. I was so tired of the repetition defense of her reasoning. So I threw in the towel.

"I hate you and you hate me so much! Why can't I just leave for good? Why can't I live with my dad? You don't want me here anyway!"

Seizing the moment, my mother quickly called my dad and told him,"It's your turn... I can't handle him anymore!"

I was eventually handed the phone and he started to explain the bad situation he was in when my mother was in the background jeering me. I don't think he ever got to finish what he was saying because my mother and I started to fight again.

By the day's end, I was at that Cleveland bus station again booked on the longest possible bus trip to Massachusetts. The express bus was only $15 more but I guess my mom wanted one more jab at me.

In case you are wondering, I did get the contents out of that damned fucking LOCK-BOX but the most precious of possessions are still, to this day, out of my reach in the Brass Box.

My mother finally got what she wanted. She wanted rid of all the kids and she accomplished that years before she planned it to. The financial burdens were finally over for her... for good. It must be an awfully lonely life.

Confronting My Demons (Part 2 of 6)

In Freefall

After clunking through the 1990 - 1991 school year as a freshman at a psychotic mind altering school for the wealthy, I was drained. I felt helpless about my environment and I could not change what I did not like.

I did not like failing, though I did not literally fail classes at US, it was a failure due to the fact I knew I would not be returning there. I could not fix the issues that were created there. I failed my mother and especially my step-father. I can tell he had some extra hate towards me because he gave up a job opportunity in Cincinnati in order for me to go to that specific school. I was especially pained because I failed my grandmother, I feel as though I had marred the good name she once had upon our family there.

I did not like my religion. I don't believe I had a clear thought as why back then. When I was finishing my 8th grade, I was also finishing my 2 years of Lutheran Confirmation classes. I'm guessing my experiences from that being shoved down my throat helped me see clearly what the religion was really for. I did not agree with it and it exasperated me. I was still forced to go every Sunday.

I did not like my surroundings and ambiance. Like I have said before, my step-brother was not around due to a court order against my mother. My sister had gone off to college and was trying everything to not ever come back again. That drew the target to just me. I was alone and I felt like a parental experiment for the first time in my life. I was labeled guilty by my mother and step-father with whatever I did that did not look reasonable to them. And I was being severely punished for things beyond my control. Don't forget, I was just a young teenager and I wanted to do teenager types of things. I had no type of support system for myself... everyone had either left or just didn't want to hear anything from the now labeled "failure".

Since the summer started, I tried like hell to leave all the crap of the last school year behind me. The one thing that did help was my dad was in contact over the last year. He was a new pair of listening ears and a new support system. I still did not have the ability to make long distance phone calls without being punished, but it was nice the realize there was something else out there. Even calling my sister in college was a punishable offense.

Even better was the fact I was invited to goto Milford, MA for about two whole months to stay with my dad and my new step-mother, 3 step-brothers and one step-sister. A whole new diversion and world was opening up for me. I fled from my old world and jumped happily into the new one. No rules, no bullshit and lots of normal people to talk to. I thoroughly enjoyed it while it lasted. Backyard baseball and hockey, computer games everywhere you looked and CABLE television! "Culture Shock!" Unfortunately it lasted only about 10 days. The new marriage was not working for reasons beyond my knowledge and I was told that I had to go home. The plane ticket was bought and my things were packed. So, I panicked.

I had been walking for a couple hours and I was completely lost in Massachusetts. By this time I was quite used to walking long distances but when you have no idea what your surroundings are... it makes 1 mile seem like 10. The day was hot and I was hungry and tired and finally called my Dad's place. After that incident I created, it was determined that my Dad should drive me back to Ohio than to send me packin on a plane to hell. Though I did thoroughly appreciate the gesture, this was still an extremely crushing blow.

I was in a Massachusetts state of mind when I arrived back to the schedules, chore lists and room inspections household. With my mother on one hand telling me, "I told you your father was a loser, he is no good." My brain was thinking wildly independently for the first time and that crap was the last thing I needed to hear.

I was also hearing stuff like, "You are not returning to University School, you are not good enough for all that. Your work there was an embarrassment and poor. You don't deserve it. You will be enrolled to Richmond Heights."

Something you (yes, you, the reader) should never do is continually kick somebody while they are down. One of two things will happen. The person you are kicking will either cower like a fool or snap and fight back.

I believe I was ready to go back to US and fight my way to better grades. I hated the place but I wanted to prove it wrong. Though I felt my balls were kicked in after being sent home from my father's early, I was still ready to march back and get things done. After the news above and the way it was dealt to me, it was changing me. Every good thing that was happening to me was immediately taken away. So I wanted to make some of my own changes on my own terms and do things my own way.

Obviously, that was pretty useless in my totalitarian household. The arguments turned into yelling and screaming fights. I was getting bolder at voicing my own opinion. I was disappearing into the night.

One evening when a usual yelling fight ensued, I got a bit too bold.

"Why do you have to be such a BITCH?!"

My mother immediately threw me to the floor and started kicking me. First it was just in the leg. She was enraged and red faced and a blur of bullshit words were coming out her mouth. I retreated to the kitchen corner where I could guard myself better but it just created more anger. Her foot started taking aim at my face as I pleaded with her to stop. It was not stopping. So the next time she went to kick me I put up both my arms, while crouched on the floor, and pushed back on her leg in defense.

You would think it would be defense.

My step-father quickly jumped in the way and held me in the corner. Meanwhile my mother called the police.

If you might imagine, the police were taking their word over my own sobbing anger and put me into the cruiser. The whole neighborhood was watching. So I was put into an interrogation room complete with a two way mirror. I stayed locked in there for hours. I could hear stupid drunks trying to beat there way out of jail. I was bored and annoyed and depressed and conquered. When the police realized I was taking apart the chair I was sitting in, they came in to finally talk to me.

"They want to press charges for battery. What do you think of that?"

I acted as if I didn't care.

"You will have to goto the juvenile county lockup downtown. Do you understand that?"

I told them that they were not listening to my side of the story. I also told them it would be a nicer place than the crap I was in now.

They repeated what they said.

I cracked. It all poured out.

Though not fully understanding what the hell I was talking about, the police returned me home.

The next couple weeks went the same way. I refused to give up the fight. I was betrayed by my own mother. In one incident, my step-father got so enraged that he tackled me and started slamming my head into the kitchen floor face first. The police were called, but again they would not listen to my story. In disputes with parents versus children, the parents word is always taken, no matter how beaten the child looks.

My anger was wildly growing out of control and the irresponsibility and childishness of my mother and step-father were just continually feeding it. Then one day after having a loud yelling fight with my mother, she called my step-father home. They boxed me in a corner and asked me a bunch of stupid questions like....

"Is this the type of life you want?"
"Do you really want to go down this road?"
Do you really want to fail this early in life?"

I personally couldn't figure out where the fuck they were coming from. As my step-father was "guarding" me in the corner of the dining room, my mother was busy dialing numbers in the next room. After about 15 - 20 minutes she came back and exclaimed," Ben, we are going to help you today!"

Huh? Isn't that the sole responsibly of a parent?

I was put into the car and we drove for some time. Everyone was silent. My questions were not being answered. It was creepy.

We arrived at a two floored building within an odd looking complex. We walked through the white front doors and into a white waiting room. I was then registered as a patient at the Windsor Mental Hospital.







After I entered through the next set of doors, I was officially locked up. My parents were now free to take their vacation to Lake Chautauqua.

I stayed for a total of 17 days. There were indeed a bunch of wackos there. Angry kids. Extremely slutty girls. Some 17 year olds were put there as a holding place before they were sent to a state prison to fulfill the rest of their sentences. A lot of screaming and yelling all the time. Holes punched into the walls. Kids being dragged to padded rooms, strapped down and drugged for hours to get them to settle down. A lot of suicidal cases and some cases where the kids were just not handling the death of their parents.

The funny thing was, after my 2 day evaluation lock-down, I was given more freedoms than if I lived at home. Aside from the threats of being beaten to a pulp, I kinda liked it there. If this place was to be a kennel to keep me out of trouble, it didn't work. I learned all kinds of things there. I learned how to hide things, how to be more deceptive, how to smoke cigarettes without being caught and how to properly hate.

Another funny thing was that after all the testing, the staff was kinda thrown off guard. After the 1000 True or False questionnaire, ink blots and the whole kitten kabudle.... I was normal. Extremely smart and kind of passive aggressive. Otherwise... normal. Normal feelings, normal wants, normal needs. The doctors asked me when I wanted to go home. I told them to just throw away the key, I had no home.

Eventually, I was sent home. Back to my own personal hell.

I was given medications to settle me down but after about 5 days of taking it, I flushed it all down the toilet. It wasn't just settling me down, it giving me breathing problems and making me feel light headed all the time. I was not about to be turned into a fruitcake just because I disagreed with jackasses that locked me up so they could go on vacation.

I did keep in contact with one of the girls in the hospital. When her parents would pick her up on a weekend, I would bike to Chagrin Falls and meet her there. We found a way to get away and do what teenagers do. I don't think my parents ever realized I was doing that.

I also did stay on schedule to go on a canoeing trip up in Canada that summer as well. I know I ended up paying for the whole thing. I was kind of mad when I found out my mother told the group leader, before we left, where I had spent almost 3 weeks that summer. The rest is fuzzy of what happened on that trip other than I remember filling my canteen with Vodka for the trip.

We also ended up going to a psychologist sometimes as a family and sometimes on my own. The problem was that my mother was steering the psychologist on to only talk about my faults. When he tried to do this in my own sessions, I would just sit there and stare at him... square in the eye... and say nothing.... for the whole hour. When I lashed out about how horrible a parent was for not understanding what position I was in and how crappy their parenting skills were...during one session and he backed me up.... we never went back again.

Otherwise, the fighting continued, though it did not get as far as it had in the past. I started work at McDonald's towards the end of that crazy summer. My new school year at my first public school experience was about to start up........

Confronting My Demons (Part 1 of 6)

The Freshman





Take a left through the gates... signs at this time were boasting about their 100th year of traditions. I sat quietly and nervously on the yellow school bus that was obviously out of its element. I traveled down the same winding and heavily foliaged drive for 9 months... not once did I ever feel at ease. What lay at the bottom of the hilly drive was a world I could only see from the outside, never understand.

Finally the road flattens out and off to the left is the structure and parking area. Vehicles with brand names of Porsche, BMW and Jaguar litter the area. The building mainly plain brick and concrete from this view except for the brand new stained glass window.

Getting off the bus... my legs and knees turned to jelly. I was not supposed to be here. My obvious Sears garb was making me stick out like a soar thumb within the all BugleBoy wearing , LLBean toting Preppers. To get through the front doors I had to walk down the large concrete staired courtyard and between the coveted waiting ports. It seemed like a mile to those large front doors.

Upon entering the structure I was immediately in the largest and widest hallway I have ever seen. Flanked by black and white portraits of distinguished individuals, plaques denoting anonymous donors and trust funds and awards cases... many filled with awards about educational and scholastic excellence.. not sports. The walls seemed of thick concrete construction and the floor of flattened but extremely clean carpeting.

Just past the front doors to the immediate left is the arts wing. Band room, art room and backstage to the auditorium. To the immediate right is the sports wing. Gym, dressing rooms, showers, pool and the exit to the back paths.

I spent a lot of time in the arts wing. I played trombone for the jazz band. I was absolutely horrible at it. I also spent some months in the backstage area helping build an extremely expensive set for "Cabaret". If there was ever a time I felt in the least bit comfortable in this building, it was helping build that set.

A short walk down the large central hallway got you to the auditorium doors towards the left. The auditorium was all concrete and stadium seating with extremely comfortable chairs. It had an A/V Booth and catwalks for lighting. Policies, rules, regulations, event information and all other important information deemed by the headmaster was dealt with in this venue. Seating was assigned and yes, freshmen were in nose-bleed. All students were to report to this area dressed in proper attire (Shirt&tie/turtleneck, sport or suit jacket) by a certain time or be the receiver of a one hour detention.







Ok.. back into the main hallway. A little after the auditorium doors and to the right was what they called "monkey island". A large open are with carpeted odd shapes so that you could crumble into a ball and study or just hang out and peer out the towering windows that gave you a beautiful view of the lake. Directly across the main fairway was the locker area. Again, the freshmen had the furthest located lockers.

At the end of the monstrous hallway was stairs leading down to the extremely open and large cafeteria, giant sized concrete slabs that led you up to the second level and a small hallway that ran into maintenance, wood shop and elevator access.

The cafeteria was an interesting part of the day. Yes, seating was assigned. Each table had a faculty member that assigned jobs. Each week we would rotate who would obtain and serve the food and another person who would clean up the table afterwards. I don't remember the food very well but I do remember the French dressing giving me the worst heartburn... but it was soooo goood. This cafeteria had a awesome broad view of the lake and woods.

Up a flight of stairs and back into the main hallway we now make our way up the huge concrete stairs to the upper level. At the top you are immersed into another large open room. Along the wall to the left was a huge case that displayed hundreds of photos. Some of the photos were of distinguished graduates and faculty. One photo towards the center features my grandmother smiling happily at a typewriter. At the opposite side of the room is an enclosure of administrative offices. Basically where the Headmaster resides with all of his support staff.

Directly right of the stairs is a hallway to the History & English Wing. This is a small nondescript hallway lined with doors to extremely small classrooms. The largest history class was about 12 students. I had Western Civilization with a Mr. Aliazzi. Though he nearly failed me in every trimester, he is probably one of the most influential and eccentric teachers I have ever come across. A master of dozens of languages (reading, writing and vocal) he buried us with books and demanded only a reflection of his enthusiasm in the subjects he taught. Misspelling his name while preparing and documenting an exam gave you an immediate failing grade. I remember all the Jewish students (most of the students) raising hell the day he handed out a bible that included the New Testament as part of our required reading. In English we all sat around a board room table, we had a spectacular view of the side of the all glass tiered library section... and the only memorable part was a student got kick out of class for say"Uckfay Ouyay Illbay NielO'ay".

Taking a left and turning 180 degrees from those same central stairs led you to the brand new library wing. It had sectioned off study areas, stained glass quiet areas and a four-tiered book section. At the end of the book rows were study desks that looked out upon the same lake and woods but at a much higher level. This area was my escape because nobody could raise enough noise to bother me here. It was always extremely quiet and peaceful.

Starting back at the top of those crazy huge stairs and you walk directly across the open room and take a left took you down another hallway that split into the Science Wing, and in the other direction, classrooms that looped around back towards the library. I think I took algebra along the looped hallway and I took Bio-chemistry at the very end of the science wing. The science wing was rebuilt 2 years prior due to a student burning it to the ground. Don't worry, the parents easily covered the $2 Million price tag. If I remember correctly, I was in the classroom to the left in the picture below. In that class room we ended up working on an experiment in which we tried to change the DNA make-up of bacteria in order to make it continuously glow. I think the most we accomplished was stinking up the whole science wing with a horrible warm rotting smell.




The other wing I did not mention yet, was the Language Wing. Another set of plain classrooms and where I started my weird odyssey of Spanish. In this spanish class I learned it from a Cuban teacher. Please remember this when you read future posts.

In addition to trying to play the trombone for my forth year, I also continued playing soccer. The soccer and other athletic fields were through the Gym wing... around the lake... through another quarter mile of woods and down the hill. It was a hike to get to practice. I was never deemed good enough to get past playing the home games. That all seemed odd to me because before this experience I was always at the top of my team. Another memory from that Gym wing was in order for anyone to be able to get past the 9th grade, you had to attempt an inverted dive off their diving board. No reason why... just had to do it. It being my first time, I belly-flopped and was in a ton of pain.





I must say that while my overall experience was absolutely awful at this school, I did learn a lot about another level of status in the United States and I learned that failing was not the end, but the beginning of a different world for me. A struggle. Don't get me wrong, I did learn the subjects in the classes I was in. But the this was probably the first time I took a hard look at what was going on around me... and I didn't like it.

The only reason I was admitted into the school was because my grandmother put in 25 years of work there. A lot of the less fortunate students that did not have millionaire parents worked within the school like myself. We were responsible for cleaning the classrooms, floors and taking out the trash... at other times we were assigned to helping the administrative offices with paperwork. It wasn't hard work but it did put a target on your head. Between showing up on a schoolbus that was from a suburb 10 miles away, wearing the "wrong" clothes, not going to school with the other students k-8 in the Shaker Heights division and not having the proper education to succeed in this environment... I was fated to continual ridicule, harassment and failure.

I am glad I had the chance to have a taste of that world, but I don't ever want to be a part of it again. Even if I could afford it.

I only spent one year at University School in Hunting Valley, OH. As far as the education is concerned, it is probably the best money can buy for a teenager. I can only hope that this school can identify its faults and promote more tolerance and consideration for others. Being an all male school makes that hard to achieve.

"hE's HaViNg a MeLtDoWn" (FINAL)

"He's Ba-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-c-k!"

You know, from my own personal experience of blowing my top at work, though a much different scenario from "meltdown boy", I came back to work humiliated and thoroughly embarrassed by my own actions. While there are some similarities with both of or bad days... like the yelling and swearing... There are huge differences. I have kept this in mind the last couple days, making sure to catch my tongue so that I don't make myself a jeering asswipe.

What pissed me off today about "meltdown boy" is that he walked around as if nothing happened. Back to his stupid run-on conversations about what gadgets he has recently bought and how he used to live in New Orleans.... blah, blah blah... the same crap was rolling out of his mouth... the same crap that got him to his "meltdown" in the first place.

Exactly one week after the incident I was having some trouble with our equipment this evening and even though I didn't ASK for help... it should have been obvious that I was going to need some assistance by the rest of the crew to figure out some issues. While one of the crew members was making sure the studio was set and rundowns in place another member immediately came to my aid to help solve the equipment problems. MEANWHILE, "meltdown boy" was busy playing with his cell phone in the back of the studio.... ignoring the situation... trying to NOT get involved.... kinda like dereliction of duty....

Meanwhile we have some people who are begging to get his job, people who desperately need the money and are actually interested in doing the work necessary. There were people literally counting on "meltdown boy" to NOT return so that they could further their careers. BUT NO, "meltdown boy" was given another chance.... not the first chance ever...one in a huge long line of chances. How does he respect the situation he put himself into? He didn't! I have a severe problem with this ongoing lazy& bare minimum crap. The next guy in line to take his job is the absolute opposite. Should sad sack seniority prevail? I would rather have somebody in that job position that outwardly challenges me... not act as a slothing roadblock to excellence!

CV79 tells me that this is not my problem and to chill out. I will take her advise, but I'm not sure if I'm going to keep my mouth shut about the laziness on his first day back from suspension.

Goddamn! I needed to get that outa my system, thank you!

Its your ball, you dropped it.

My hats off to Republicans. You have been given full control of our federal government and you are blowing it. Your theory of democracy does not work. Your old guard, good ole boys way of handing out high profile, high pay and highly important government jobs to your P.A.L.s has crumbled on you. You have once again sunk us into a recession. My own Republican Governor now has sunk to a ALL TIME LOW approval rating of 15%, of which, only 2% strongly approve. Good job Senator Tom Delay! Your exposed... but I don't understand why anybody didn't bust your balls when you tried to keep a brain dead corpse "alive" by trying to erode public trust in our judicial system.

I watched a President Bush presser this morning. He was being hammered by the once "terrified to be unpatriotic" media on all sides. (Does that make Bush a terrorist? By definition it should.) The set up of the conference was the usual Bush family control system. You see, there was only 1 (one) handheld wireless microphone being passed to each reporter as they asked their pre-set, presidentially pre-determined single question. As soon as the reporter was done with the question, the microphone was immediately taken away by the White House A/V guy. The funny part was that Bush repeatedly didn't answer the obvious questions with straightforward answers. Every politician does it, but the reporters were not paying him the respect today. The reporters were blasting back while Bush was in mid-sentence to correct what exactly was asked in the first place... without the microphone.. sometimes yelling to make sure they would be heard. Meanwhile, the White House A/V guy followed orders and would not hand back the mic.


Some things that pissed me off about the presser were the following:

1)When asked why he (Bush) said there were more "battle ready" Iraqi Battalions, when right before a Senate hearing the generals testified that the Iraqi Battalions did not increase, it went from3 ... to one lonely battalion. Uno. Bush's response was the same basic, "its hard work", "we are making progress you can't see", "there are 30 battalions getting really good". Meanwhile, all I hear about is the insurgency is getting worse, it will take almost ten years to get Iraq to "settle down" and Iraqis' wanting to join the army or police keep getting killed while waiting in line to just sign up. That $400 Billion bucks we are spending in Iraq doesn't have enough room for the bomb sniffers they are putting in our airports?

I seem to remember that before Bush Jr. took office, Iraq was "contained" and had no terrorists. Even on November 11, 2001, there were no real problems that threatened our nation in Iraq. Oh, that's right, our new UN ambassador, Michael Bolton, who is still legally unconfirmed by our congress, was responsible for all those lies back then. Remember?

2) When a black reporter asked what Bush was going to do about the still obvious rift between races and how the poor response to Katrina exposed it, more Bush bullshit. Bush didn't even touch the racial issue other than to say he was disappointed that more black people did not vote for him and acted as if he didn't understand why. He also mention that he has filled his cabinet with enough black people. Isn't that the most taboo way to say you are trying to not look like a racist? Say,"See... I gots me some black friends... SEE I'm not a racist". Well, it could mean it you dumbass and they were all watching you fake it today too. I do not have any evidence to support that Bush is a racist (though his mother has managed to blurt out some bad stuff), he sure made a harder case for himself today. Meanwhile he focused the question on poverty. He was saying that ownership is the key to getting out of poverty. In my own case, I am hard pressed to buy property within the next 5 years. I have a job, an ok credit rating, a car and formal education... How does he expect people without even what I have even try to make it to ownership? Very foggy world you live in Mr. Bush.

Those were the two big dodges I saw from him today. It kinda reminded me of a Nixon press conference in some ways.