Friday. Friday, Friday, Friday. Late start Friday. Friday the Thirteenth. What happened on Friday?
In Po-Lit, we read Vladimir Putin's Syria editorial--or Mr. H. did, aloud. He made certain that we knew exactly who Putin is (does anyone not know who he is? Seriously? Well, then again, I doubt many of my classmates listen to NPR all day on Saturdays, which, to me, dictates the schedule of my weekend life). This allowed him to practice his Russian accent while stressing the country's geopolitical importance.
"Russia," he informed us, "has the largest stockpile of nuclear weapons in the world. Now, I don't think it's likely President Putin would go ahead and say, 'Good'thbye, Wushington! Poosh button.'...but it's something we as Americans should be aware of."
Then we were to break up into groups no bigger than six but no less than four. I caught N.'s eye from across the room, H., sitting next to me, caught mine, and before long, we had a group of six (then of five when M. left to join a group that had only two members). We pulled desks into a weird sort of improvised semicircle and talked politics.
Mostly, I sat back and watched while N. and another boy worked their way closer and closer to an open argument. Thankfully, the discussion remained civil. Neither party changed the other's mind.
No Advisory on Fridays. Went to Calc.
We have a test next class, so we spent this period reviewing and eating goldfish. Nothing else occurred that was worth discussing. Last year, in Precalc, when we had Mr. W., a simultaneously funny and somewhat frightening German, there would have always been something to write about. Not that I'm complaining. Calculus is much less stressful.
The cross country team left for a meet in the next state over during lunch.
We modified t-shirts in Fiber Arts. Mine turned into a medieval sort of tunic. Not hip, I know, but I thought it was cool. Being fashionable is overrated, in my books. I generally wear jeans and t-shirts, often with nerdy prints, such as "Regional Science Bowl, 2010", or "Evolution: it's all in the family." If not, I might wear something that was trendy fifty, seventy-five, or a hundred years ago, paired with something that was trendy never. Thus, the green tunic with the logo of my old elementary school printed on the front.
Mrs. D. will return next class, I think.
After school was Creative Writing Club, in the library. We had three new members. It was fun, but nothing much worth reporting.
I walked up the hill to my piano lesson.
My mother picked me up.
We had homemade pizzas for dinner.
We watched La Ciudad, a Spanish-language film about immigrants in New York, then I listened to a few episodes of Welcome to Night Vale. This combination led me to leap out of bed late in the night and write a news story about flying avocados in Spanish. ("Los aguacates voladores han vuelto a la plaza central hoy"...it goes on, but I won't print it all here) which translates roughly to:
The flying avocados have returned to the town square today, and they have resumed their orbit of the dead streetlamp in front of Mr. Martin's soap shop. The avocados continue to appear harmless, save for some cases in which they collided with windows, causing minor damages, mostly in the form of green smears on the glass. Nobody knows how the avocados navigate, nor if they have eyes.
It sounds much better in Spanish, I swear.