My English Paper

I feel totally unprepared for my math test tomorrow.

On the lighter side of the news, the judyhoof.com Gallery and Wallpapers section has been updated. The Gallery has some new pictures in the Summertime section, and an entirely new section called, "Collegetime," which, includes a few pictures of me and my dorm.

I think I've discovered that my alarm clock will stop after you hit the snooze button so many times. That's definitely not a good thing -- seeing how I like to do that at least ten or so times before waking up in the morning (either that, or Kurt Douglas thinks it's funny to come over here and turn it off. I will find out sooner or later and he will go down). So, of course, Wednesday was yet another day that math class didn't seem that important to my sleeping brain. The weird thing about that is that I randomly wake up at 9:30 AM. That's right when the class ends. Now, can anyone explain that?

Nevertheless, Wu Jing (they put their names backwards in the ancient Mayan culture) taught an interesting question and answer class today. It was good to prepare for the upcoming test tomorrow. The only problem is that I still can understand that man. Every time I go to his class, it seems to get worse. His accent becomes more foreign, and that doesn't make the math any easier to understand.

I had a sudden desire to go to BestBuy today after class and take a look at some digital audio recorders. You know, like the old fashion tape recorders that kids would bring to class, right? However, their objective was usually to listen to the lecture on tape and relearn some of the material. While that's a totally noble reason to record a lecture, my reason is so I could post them online. I think it'd be very interesting for everyone to have access to a free college education (and furthermore, a chance to hear the wondrous English inabilities of Kung-Fu-Wu). However, upon arrive to the store and seeing the $109 digital audio recorder positioned every-so-purchaseably on the shelf, I decided to think about it some more before making this purchase. So, maybe in the future, kids. In the meantime, I can still record things that are happening in my dorm room via my USB Logitech Microphone (which I may just take back to BestBuy -- I think the one I have at home is better, anyway).

My English paper is due tomorrow, and I want a chance for everyone to read it. However, since everyone does not have Microsoft Word, I figured I'd just post it here online for you. So, if you'd like to read it, feel free. If you don't care about it, skip down past it. If you don't want to read this journal entry anymore, go eat some babies, or something.

The Day I Stuck a Math Compass in my Math Teacher’s Eye

In it, I didn’t really plan to kill my math teacher. In fact, it was just this random thing. I remember sitting down at my desk, plotting out every detail in my mind. I knew that it was going to be crazy, but I wanted it to be funny, too. I didn’t want anyone to take me too seriously; although, looking back, very few people found it funny. Maybe it was the way in which I killed her. I found it apropos – a math compass for a math teacher. In fact, I remember laughing when I decided that’s how she should die. Any other day of the year, I would have walked into my middle school with a normal element of the classroom – today, it was this weapon that would change my life forever. Looking back, I didn’t even think twice about what I had done until after I was in the principal’s office; still, I didn’t realize what was happening when I walked into the office and saw a police officer standing next to the principal’s desk. The principal’s eyes were screaming at me for what I had done; she remained silent. Before I could even catch my breath, another police officer walks in, forcing me into the office – closing the door behind me. I didn’t understand. They were treating me like a criminal. All I did was write a story.

You could blame my English teacher if you wanted to. It was she who assigned me this fateful creative writing assignment. The teacher instructed us to listen to different types of music and see how it affects your writing style. With music blasting through the air, my fingers began typing. The plot of the story was nonexistent, the locations were fabricated, and the people in the story were friends, celebrities, and characters from movies – and my eighth grade math teacher, who, offhandedly, was murdered in the story. Nevertheless, the story’s randomness created a unique style of humor that could be considered anything but serious. When I finished writing the story, I printed out a few copies of the three-page weapon, eager to have all my friends at school read it.

“Next, I had to go to the bathroom. I won’t get into details, but right when I had to go, Gloria Estefan jumped out of my toilet.”

I walked through the front doors of Buddy Taylor Middle School, opened my backpack, and passed out my story to a few of my friends. Before I knew it, the story was being passed around the school. “What’s that you got there?” Mrs. Donchez, our school guidance counselor, walked up to someone in the hallway who had a copy of the story. I’m surprised she didn’t follow that up with, “Do you have any idea how fast you were walking?” Or perhaps, “School identification and registration, please.” Mrs. Donchez reached across the kids face and whipped the story out of his hands.

Now, if Mrs. Donchez would have done this to someone in the real world, she and Christopher Reeve would have something in common. However, in the public school system, you have few rights as a citizen. Let’s take the second amendment of the Constitution as an example: the right to bear arms. Now, we all know that there are perfectly legitimate reasons to ban guns from school – Mr. Eric Harris and Mr. Dylan Klebold from Columbine High School have demonstrated this point nicely for us. However, we find that schools have tried to eliminate freedom of speech – this is a constant debate among many high school newspapers.

“’I am invincible,’ He shouts. Unexpectedly, his jet pack catches fire, and explodes – killing him. In the place where the explosion occurred, a dark figure stands. The figure flips onto the patio of Alex’s apartment. The figure is Darth Vader.”

Did I mention that the story was blatantly fictional?

From Mrs. Donchez’s reaction to the story, you would have concluded that Eric, Dylan, and I had something in common. While the principal was being notified, I was heading to my math class. While I was working on problem sixteen, the police were entering the building. While the teacher was talking, the annoying double-beep of the intercom interrupted him: “Mr. Tutak, please send Jesse Chapman to Mrs. DePalma’s office.” On cue, the class let out a collective, “ooooohh,” suggesting that I was about to get into real big trouble. Of course, no one ever really thinks you’re going to get in trouble unless you did something really obvious – like put a gun in your locker and forget to shut the door, or bring gasoline to school and set fire to the cafeteria. Since I couldn’t remember doing either of those two things, I assumed I was being called down to be commended for my perfect attendance, numerous community service activities, or my excellent news anchor smile on the school announcements.

Mrs. DePalma, our principal, and I knew each other well for various reasons. I was the school news anchor every day on the televisions. I didn’t receive a single referral or detention that entire year – which entitled me to attend the Universal Studios end of the year trip. Also, I was one of the few students who came to school every day and received the prestigious Perfect Attendance certificate. This means that you get to hang a paper on your wall for years to come that says your behavior was consistent for one-hundred eighty days in a row, that you take no chances in life, and that you are a loser. I didn’t date much in middle school.

However, back then, that award meant a lot to me. As did my job as a news anchor. As did the end of the year school trip.

The visit to the principal’s office was anything but congenial with two police officers standing guard. I still wasn’t aware of why I was in trouble, but I knew I was. It’s a feeling that everyone’s experienced at least once in your life – perhaps from getting pulled over from going over the speed limit – you just know that you did something wrong, but you aren’t aware of what. This is exactly how I felt. I remember my smile immediately fading away, and everything slowing down. I could feel my heart beating faster now, ready to explode through my chest. The screams in the hallway from late students suddenly became background noise in my movie. I walked through the doors of her office, surrounded by the two officers. My hand slid across the back of the leather chair in her spacious office, and I immediately sat down.

“Hello,” I said.

“Jesse, I think you know why I’ve called you down,” she cut through the conversation starters.

“Actually, I have no idea.”

“We found your story.”

“What?” I had heard her correctly, but this didn’t make any sense. I just had no idea where this was going.

She continued, “And we read the section where Mrs. Ortmayer was killed. We going to have to consider this a threat to the teacher’s life, and we’re going to have to prosecute you for attempted murder. You’re going away for a very long time, Mr. Chapman.”

Alright, so she didn’t say that. But the conversation didn’t go so well. We were friends, Mrs. DePalma and I, but I knew that she had a job to do, and I could see the cause for concern – no one wants Gloria Estefan jumping out of toilets or Darth Vader using mystical powers. Do I think a ten day suspension was overkill? With the death of the teacher in the story, they felt that they had to inflict severe punishment. Did they assume that I planned on actually killing the teacher? Possibly. Did I assume that anyone reading the story would have taken it as serious as the Bill Clinton presidency? Of course. I see now that both of our assumptions were wrong.

I was told to wait in the hallway while my mother was called. Wait in the hallway? This was my opportunity to kill my teacher if I wanted to. Obviously, they didn’t consider me a threat. This whole morning was filled with inconsistency and overreaction. Walking out of her office, I was furious. Maybe they would have suspended me for twenty days, had I actually killed her.

Sitting here writing this now, I laugh, thinking of how amazingly absurd the punishment was. The suspension was only the beginning, too. When I came back to school, I walked into the media center hoping to find some friendly faces; instead, I was told to leave and that I wouldn’t be needed for the announcements any more. They told me that Bobby Malesra would be taking over for me. The kid had to sit on phone books to even be seen by the camera. Then, they told me that the suspension automatically gave me a referral; consequently, I was not able to go on the end of the year trip. And if that wasn’t enough to make me want to break down and cry, I was informed that this suspension counted against my perfect attendance, and I would not receive the certificate (my life was never the same after this).

When I was in eighth grade, I wrote a story about my math teacher being stabbed in the eye with a math compass. This action caused me to lose many of my privileges at school, but also to doubt the validity of the freedom of speech in the public school system. A question I’m often asked by others is, “If you could do it all over again, would you have still written the story – knowing what the consequences would have been?” I laugh. Of course I would have written my story. I just wouldn’t have brought it to school.

And that's the paper. I'm hoping that my English teacher will enjoy it. Of course, the final copy is double-spaced; the length comes to five and a third pages. We shall see how good it is soon, I suppose. Questions, comments, corrections (grammatical, content)? I'm happy to hear everything, positive or negative. Please contact me.

I'll of course post my grades when I get them. Wish me luck on my math test!