Monday, July 7, 2008

Journals Section: November, 2002


November 1, 2002

This journal is a bit different from the others I’ve had, but that figures because of where it came from. It came from my Grandmother Weird Family, who is always very different. She is really the most odd person, and to be quite honest, some of her implications frighten me sometimes. More than once I’ve wondered if she’s not quite there mentally. But then my fears are dismissed because she’s just too intelligent and some of her decisions too logical for her to be really crazy. We’ve been writing letters back and forth to each other, and I really enjoy writing to her. We’ve been discussing, of late, Slavic culture, the Russian Empire, the Soviet Union, a bit of the present-day Russian Federation, and, let’s see, the Electoral College, and a bizarre incident that happened concerning my grandmother and which has mystified my family for roughly twenty years. I’ll go into detail about that tomorrow. Oh, also, tomorrow is my audition in Boulder Town! Supposedly, a very important person from Columbia Tristar Pictures will be there, so I’ll really have to be at my best. I’m terribly excited. I don’t know if I’ll have any time to actually speak with this person from Columbia Tristar, but I should really hope so. That would probably make things look a lot better for me. What can I say, my personality’s overwhelmingly sweet and good-natured. I’m just kidding about that. It may or may not be true, but I’m not that conceited. I have a friend named Pretty Girl who does that beautifully, and it’s absolutely hilarious. She was telling us in class today that someone kept flashing lights into her house last night, and her mother became annoyed or frightened or something due to the lights. Anyway, Pretty Girl was telling us that she said to her mother, “Hey, I’m an attractive girl, what can I say?” Or at least something like that. I’m so excited about tomorrow. I hope that I do very, very well and that I impress them all a lot.

November 2, 2002
Today were the auditions! I was so excited! I got up quite early for a Sunday morning: before nine o’clock. I didn’t really eat much of anything, as I wasn’t very hungry. At about 9:30 I went and got into the shower. After I did that, I went into my bedroom and locked the door, then I proceeded to try to find something that would be right to wear. I don’t know much about clothes, but I think that I can look nice when I want to. I selected a red Polo Sport Ralph Lauren tee-shirt with a small American flag on it (I love American-geared clothing) and some long pants (blue jeans). I also wore short ankle socks and my bright white tennis shoes. My hair was still a bit wet, and I quickly combed it back and put some fastened behind my ears. As we needed some type of photograph, my father hastily took a Polaroid of me. I made sure that I wasn’t looking directly sideways, as I hate my profile. I think that my profile makes my head and my nose look too large. Anyway, I looked off to an angle and when the picture turned out I looked surprisingly and calmly serious. I thought that I looked a bit wise. We got there with about twenty minutes to spare. It was a magnificent tall (well, tall for the area) building with a wondrously clever design both inside and out. The outside was charming, but the inside was truly beautiful (or so I thought). There was a woman holding the door for everyone, and at first I thought that she was just holding the door. I said, “You don’t have to do that.” Well, then I realized that she was employed to do that—to hold a door all day. Poor thing, right? She seemed genuinely happy about it, though. She was very kind and helpful. And the hallway leading to our room was breathtaking. Everything was marble. Everything was different colored marble. We walked through this magnificence to a darker room, a small room, furnished mostly in brown, where we were handed a booklet and application form. We then went through a narrow hallway, branching off of which were several offices. We went into a large room of gray and white. We took our seats at the back of the small auditorium-like room. A few important people spoke to us for about an hour, and my father and I became genuinely bored. Then the interviews started. We spoke briefly and privately with a woman in an office and we gave her the application and the photograph. She gave me a script, which I memorized, and I had to go in front of a camera and say it: “What makes you cool is your attitude…your inner self. It’s not how your hair’s cut. It’s not the clothes you wear. It’s not what you drink. Or is it? Pepsi, the choice for a new generation.” I was so nervous. Afterwards we went to Checkers. We had to get out of the truck and walk a little bit, and I caught myself in the reflecting glass of the pick-up booth (which oddly enough, was outside. The entire place is merely a kitchen! You can’t eat inside) and I thought that now I looked like I should be on the cover of Teen Magazine, but in there I’d probably been different somehow. There is the thought on my mind that this could be a scam, but I certainly hope not, and call-backs are tomorrow. We’ll know as of about 12:30 tomorrow whether or not I’ve made it. Then we have to go back between two and eight p.m. I hope that we get to go. I hope that I’m selected, and I hope that I’ll finally be able to do what I’ve wanted and dreamt of for so many years.

November 10, 2002
Well, I did make the call-backs. My father called the place the next day and made an appointment for six o’clock that evening. The woman on the telephone told him that if I made it, three thousand dollars would be needed. He said, “And that would be due today?” The woman must’ve said yes, because my father then said, “Okay, then I’m gonna have to cancel that appointment.” When he hung up he hugged me and told me not to take it personally, although I’ll admit that I really was disappointed. Money had limited us once again. It always angers me when I have to pass up an opportunity due to lack of money, which is why when I get older I shall always have a lot of money. I am a bit disappointed about something else as well. My Grade Point Average has fallen from a 4.0 to a 3.2. I cannot tolerate this. This Grade Point Average will raise back to 4.0, at least. Two days ago, Friday, my grandmother Normal Family picked Powell, Thomas, and I up to take us to her house. Grand Pa was driving, and Grand Ma insisted that I should sit in the front seat, although I tried to dissuade her. I turned on the radio. I was very well aware that I was with my grandparents, and that I would have to use more discretion than usual in what I listened to. A new Mary J. Blige song came on, but my grandfather insisted that it was rap music (even though it clearly wasn’t) so I switched to classical music. I changed back and Christina Aguilera was on. It was her song “Dirrty.” I thought, “Oh, this will be okay.” Keep in mind I’m not incredibly familiar with the lyrics of this song, so I didn’t quite remember what came next. “I need that, uh!, to get me off, sweatin’ ‘till my—” my hand flew to the radio and it was classical music again. We went to bed shortly after arrival, but first I got a shower. I love the shower here. There is no bath, it’s just a stand-up shower. I closed the curtain, sealing in the heat, and aimed the shower head into one corner of the shower. I turned it up rather hot, then sat back with my head resting in that corner and my body resting against the wall. It is the most luxurious and cozy shower experience I’ve ever had, and it happens every time I come over here. As the water penetrated through my hair, I felt such extreme comfort. Weighed down with water, my hair hung down, and I let it flow onto my knees and I felt magnanimously at ease, like in a paradise. It’s just one of the many good things about this house. And the occupants of the house, my grandparents, couldn’t be more deserving people. Yesterday was a good day. We just spoke and laughed all day, occasionally going outside and talking with friends. Tall Cousin and Rowdy Cousin came over. Other things happened as well; I’ll write more later. Okay, back again. Yesterday morning Tall Cousin did the funniest thing! He called here and I happened to pick up the telephone. I said, “Hello?” and he said, “Hello, who’s this?” I said, “This is BB. Who’s this? Is this Tall Cousin?” “Yeah,” Tall Cousin answered. Then he spoke arbitrarily for a little bit and prepared to hang up, but first he said, “Oh, by the way, we were trying to call Grand Ma Normal Family’s number; do you know what it is?” I said that he had called the right place and I handed the telephone over to Grand Ma. Yesterday was delightful. Tall Cousin asked me why my hair was so long and Rowdy Cousin insisted that I had retained my horns from Halloween. I finally had to explain to him that it was just my bangs, which I can now barely get into my mouth. He said, “Jeez, I didn’t even know that you can grow that much hair!” It’s true that my hair is getting rather long. By my next haircut in February (well, it will be in February if my father keeps his promise) my hair will be seven or eight inches long. I have to get a job before it gets that long. My friend Blonde Girl gave me the number of the place that she works. I’ll have to check that out. My father says that he believes that he knows where the Beautiful Town Pike is (the Beautiful Town Pike being the road that the place is on) and so I’ll have to go and get a job application. I’ve wanted and dreaded work at the same time for quite a while, wanted it because I want money, dreaded it as the final and definite end to my childhood. Oh, well, I’d rather have the money.

November 12, 2002
The years was 1929 when the Dynasty collapsed. My grandmother (Weird Family) told me the saddest story last night. Our family dates back to the 900’s AD, and unquestionably extends further back, but is documented to the 900’s. In 1066 we came into possession of Ireland, which was renamed after our family, “Eyre.” We would rule for roughly seven centuries through British authority until quite suddenly the line pops up in the American Colonies. A peasant revolt most likely. We had a hand in the Revolution. Our family came at various times to America from Denmark, Sweden, Spain, France, Germany, and Great Britain as well as Ireland (or Eyre). My great-great-great grandmother was French. My grandmother says that she can’t count the number of houses that her family had. They ranged from massive estates to tiny little homes. Their favorite, my grandmother said, was an estate in Decaying State, the name of which escapes me now, although she did tell me. Anyway, up until they lost this estate things went very slowly and the crash hadn’t really gotten to them yet. However, my grandmother says that afterward things began to deteriorate quite rapidly. She remembers going in practically a flight to their Southern State estate (or one of them) and of sitting in front of a fireplace with her father and mother. Her mother had apparently asked her father to put the Decaying State estate in her name, and he hadn’t; it had been seized and now they were dismissing their servants. My great-grandmother, seated with a silver tray and porcelain tea cups, looked at my great-grandfather in a frighteningly-angry way, and, in a passion of magnanimous fury, she said, “You know, Idiot Great-Grandfather (or I believe that that may have been his name), this is all your fault.” She then picked up the tray and threw it, tea and all, at my great-grandfather. Grand Ma describes other stories. The last of their diamonds being stolen during a visit to Cold City, Lake State; their selling of their Pearcearrow for (ugh) a Chevrolet (ugh). I thought that the entire thing was terribly sad. Grand Ma said that she’s glad that the money went. She said that she never would’ve met some of the interesting people that she’s met and that she would’ve gone to an all-girls’ school and grown up to be stupid, although very well-educated in snobbery. All of that money? The trips to Largest City, Independence City, Revolutionary City, not to mention other cities? She must be insane. I know that the Dynasty teetered on the brink of destruction or salvation that Christmas. Unfortunately for our family, the Dynasty collapsed (with my own future I hope to prove that that collapse was temporary), and it had immense physical, emotional, and psychological effects on all of them. To go from absolute wealth to poverty can’t be easy for anyone.

November 20, 2002
I’m sorry that I haven’t written in this diary for so long. It’s a shame I didn’t as I had a delightful time at the theatre (notice I spell “theatre” different than “movie theater”) on Friday night, which was the fifteenth of November. I went and saw the play “Lend Me a Tenor.” I auditioned for this part and wasn’t selected, and although on a professional level I accept the director’s choices without inquisition, I still personally believe (and I am agreed with on this point) that there was some age discrimination involved. Only Upperclassmen (in other words, Juniors or Seniors) were selected for any of the parts. Quarter Canadian Boy's sister actually played a part, that of a woman named Julia. Besides Singing Theatre Girl, she was quite possibly the best actress (well, actor as well, as she certainly measured up with the talents of the guys) on stage. Although, there was one boy on the stage who convinced me (and most of the rest of the theatre) that he was a homosexual. He reminded me of a character named Jack (I think his name is Jack) on a television show that my mother watches called “Will and Grace.” The women all love the show, but my grandfather (Normal Family) and Great-Uncle Responsible (also Normal Family) do not like the excessive homosexual humor. Even my father finds the show hilarious, though, and he actually watched it once when my mother was still at work (it comes on every Thursday night) and he laughed until he turned red. (Oh, by the way, Theatre Guy really is gay. Someone in the crowd told me. Who knew, right? Well, actually, now that I think about it it’s kind of obvious) For one reason or another, or possibly and quite more likely for many reasons, today was a spectacular day, as many days have been of late (of late meaning this week). Earlier this week I found out that I have a 97% in Algebra I, which for me is amazing as Algebra is my worst subject. It’s funny that Government is naturally easier to me and math naturally more difficult, and yet my Algebra I grade is now quite possibly higher than my Government grade (which I believe to be roughly 94%). Oddly enough, I took a test today in Government which I got a 94% on (oddly because I’ve now used that number three times), although our essay portions have yet to be graded, so the grade could go up. I was very disappointed with an answer that I had missed (it was so easy, too! Supreme Court jurisdiction: multiple states, states v. federal government, and federal employee v. foreign nation) that should have been a simple question (it was, I just sort of forgot the answer), and so I asked how far up the essay portions could bring our grade. My teacher then made an obvious observation by saying, “You’ll still have an A.” That did make my question a little silly, however I’d rather have a high A than only a 94% or 95% (well, perhaps 95%, but of course I want to go as high as I can) so I still think that it was a legitimate question. Today was just generally hilarious (although not first mod). In first mod we partially toured the school. Second mod Algebra (right now like my best academic class at 97% I believe—whoa) was very funny. My friend Wild Squirrel has started referring to herself as Wild Squirrel. I always give Wild Squirrel and Redheaded Soprano (whom my friend Stalker Boy periodically stalks) nouns and verbs and onomatopoeia (I love spelling that word, and by the way “Moo!”) for gifts. I wrote her a card with an onomatopoeia in it, and she said she’ll cherish it forever. Wild Squirrel and Redheaded Soprano both tried out for cheerleading and are both very nervous. I told Redheaded Soprano that if she doesn’t make it that all the other cheerleaders are constipated and ugly (although I was just kidding, as my friend, Part-Russian Girl, is a cheerleader and is very pretty, and, as far as I know, not constipated). Redheaded Soprano laughed and we joked around for most of the class (while still doing our work, of course) and I told Wild Squirrel that I’d look up “Wild Squirrel” in Russian. Wild Squirrel laughed and said, “Yeah, and then I could go, ‘My name is—’” and then she proceeded to do a very funny impersonation of Russian Slavic language. I drew a portrait ofthe Wild Squirrel on a white board (these little boards that our Algebra teacher allows us to use to work out equations) and showed it to Wild Squirrel and Redheaded Soprano. They both found it humorous. Class was over before we knew it. It was third mod that was truly hysterically funny. Not, oh, well yes, the first half as well. We watched some of the modern version of “Romeo and Juliet” (with Leonardo DiCaprio, which obviously got some recognition from the girls). That was very funny. It is set in a modern city (named Verona but meant to be modern) where the Montagues and Capulets use guns rather than swords. The first part, during which they get into a gun fight at a gas station, is just stupid, and the lines are screamed at an incredibly fake and untalented level. The party scenes are incredible, though, in that we were all practically paralyzed with laughter. Juliet’s mother looks like a Las Vegas showgirl (she dresses up as Cleopatra for the costume party, an act that does an incredible disrespect to the magnanimous and magnificent Egyptian Queen Cleopatra Philopator VII) and Mercutio, Romeo’s best friend, had dressed up like a drag queen. Some music started playing and Mercutio began dancing on the stairs and waving his dress about. The class became hysterical.

November 25, 2002
So far, our Thanksgiving vacation has been pleasant but a little boring. On Saturday (which, by the way, was First and Second Twin's thirteenth birthday party), First Twin, Second Twin, Powell, several other people, and I all got into a cattail fight. Here’s how it all started: Powell and I had been inside all day because of the cold. Dad got home and we had to help him carry in sheetrock because he’s trying to finish our basement. Anyway, we saw all of them playing from our backyard and I wanted to go over but Powell said we couldn’t interrupt their birthday. Anyway, I asked First Twin quickly if he knew where Lacrosse Boy was. Second Twin yelled over, “BB, go away, leave us alone, don’t bother us!” So First Twin turned around and yelled, “Second Twin, shut the fuck up!” Well, I really didn’t want to interrupt their birthday either (after all, we hadn’t been invited to the sleepover the previous night) so I went inside shortly after First Twin told me that Lacrosse Boy was in Southern State. Later, I happened to gaze out of my bedroom window and saw that First Twin and only one other boy were out there, so I figured that all of the commotion was over and so I went downstairs and walked over. It was First Twin and a boy with very long hair, Powell’s friend Long Brown Hair Boy (well, not long with the bangs but pretty much everywhere else). I asked why Second Twin had yelled, and Long Brown Hair Boy said, “Because he’s gay.” I noticed that all of the others weren’t gone, they had just gone into a valley, onto a hill, which, in Imperial days, we called “Soldier’s March Island.” It is in the former Atricia, in between New York and San Francisco. Anyway, they were all playing with the cattails in the valley. If you open them up, all of this fluffy stuff, like pillow feathers, comes out and if you throw it after you’ve opened it, it’ll explode when it hits something, and the fluffy stuff will go everywhere. Why, before I went outside it was flying through the air, and Powell actually thought it was snow. He showed me it falling outside of the window and said, “BB, look, it’s snowing.” I looked and said, “No, it’s not.” He said, “What else could it be, then?” I told him that I didn’t know. Then we went outside and we all decided to have a cattail fight, and we all had a wonderful time. Yesterday was boring, as we stayed inside for most of the day. Also, last night, the CSF (Child Soviet Federation) collapsed. Powell really didn’t want to admit it, because he’s the President, well, he was the President. For the first time in nearly a year, this neighborhood is recognized by all of us to be just another part of the United States. It’s weird. Anyway, at the height of the Imperial/Arian Empire, we claimed 900,000 square miles of land, held 48,800 square miles, and inhabited fifty square miles (roughly). It may take a little getting used to. I think that Annoyingly Perfect Cousin and Innocent Cousin have accepted it. Innocent even told me that their sovereignty didn’t really matter. They just had no support. Anyway, I’m expecting a letter from Grand Ma Weird Family today. As far as I know, it’s nearly four o’clock and the mail still hasn’t come. It’s really very frustrating. Especially because we leave tomorrow for Hick State and then I’ll have to wait a whole other day to get the letter. Why can’t the stupid postman just arrive on time? It’s really been freakishly warm today, so I think I’ll go outside and play, although I’ve had a hard time finding anyone. They’re probably all back by now. They went to the Middle Class Neighborhood. I’ll have to go see if they’re here.

November 26, 2002
We’ve crossed back into Southern State. I find Three-State-Point absolutely fascinating, because you first cross the border into Southern State, and then moments later you cross the border into Hicking State. We’ve done that and now we’ve crossed back into Southern State. Soon we’ll cross back into Hick State and then that’ll be it for state border crossings for the trip going there. We’ll have crossed state borders eight times when we get home tomorrow. It’s snowing now. Mom says that we’ll have to get permission from Grand Pa to ride the green four-wheeler. This is because Mom sold the green four-wheeler to Grand Pa. Why? Because Hick State Cousin, without our permission, allowed one of her friends to drive the four-wheeler. Anyway, the child wrecked it, and rather than make their family pay for it, my mother said that they were too poor (not Hick State Cousin, but her friend’s family) to pay for it so rather than mess around fixing it we sold it to Grand Pa. Mom told me not to mention it. It might be embarrassing to Hick State Cousin and it would be incredibly rude. Well, we’re here.

November 28, 2002
Well, our stay in Hick State was as rustic and filled with conflict as most of our other visits are. We arrived and Mom didn’t want us to be outside in the snow, so we quarreled about that. Then we went outside anyway (or rather, Powell and Thomas went outside anyway while I sat in the pavilion) and Mom was furious. She yelled at them, demanding that they either go inside or go to the pavilion. They came into the pavilion for a little bit but then they went back outside. I went with them. Mom decided to let us stay outside. Powell, Idiot Cousin, Bratty Cousin, and Younger Hick State Cousin (to some extent, oh, no, no she didn’t) and I had a snowball fight. We went back into the woods where the tee-pee that Grand Pa constructed for us once stood. I’m still not sure exactly what happened to it, but I think that I might recall Grand Pa saying something about a fierce storm. Anyway, there is now a small tree fort back there, which Idiot Cousin and Powell decided to use for their base. I used the forest directly next to it as my base, and we used a road that was already there for part of the border. I drew the rest in the ground by kicking aside leaves. Anyway, later we all went in and played cards, and then we ate and then Mom made Powell, Thomas and I all go with her to the trailer (we used Grand Pa’s this time, because it has a television) around nine o’clock. Idiot Cousin tried to come in and watch a movie with us, but Mom made her leave. I’m glad, too, because we all really enjoyed the movie, called “Fifteen Minutes.” It was an excellent movie. One drawback of that night was that I had to sleep in a very uncomfortable top bunk which was very close to the ceiling. I could barely roll over. As a matter of fact, it was so uncomfortable that I was shifting around constantly, and I really had to concentrate on it to be sure that I didn’t fall from the bed and injure myself. I just checked in one of my old diaries (I use the word “diary” rather than “journal” because in the old days all records, all chronological records of that type, were referred to as “diaries,” a word that has been feminized only through modern-day American culture) and found the entry for November 28, 2001. A year ago today it wasn’t Thanksgiving, and so I was attending school, going to Dirty Town Middle School. I actually remember that day, because on our way to school Mom had to turn around because she left some Native City Football Team tickets at Mom's Old Best Friend’s house, where we were living at the time. How I hate those days. And not just because we were living with Mom's Old Best Friend (although that was a very serious contribution) but also because I was socially outcast in school and my parents had reached the height of their monstrous Stalinist oppression. It finally got to the point where I once took a fifteen-minute shower and was grounded for an entire night. When once their family had a party, we weren’t permitted to leave our room. Things have improved considerably since then. Oddly enough, today, Thanksgiving, is the one-year anniversary of the date that I drafted the very first version of the Constitution of Rights, which has brought together many regulations and gained us many rights. For example, incredibly ludicrous punishments have, for the most part, been eliminated from our family; just the other day I took a thirty-minute shower and received nothing more than a reminder that I am only supposed to take five-minute showers (this number has since been raised to seven minutes). My hair, which before wasn’t ever allowed to grow seriously long, hasn’t been cut short since last May. My social standing, well, that has definitely improved, and more than considerably. More than I could have ever dreamed. Before I made the move to WBeautiful Town, I was terrified of becoming a dork here, because I knew that if I did that I would’ve blown my last chance. When I first arrived here, I was made fun of, and I was horrified. I actually went through a short period of depression that hadn’t hit me since elementary school. I am reminded now of a time in the seventh grade when a boy named Cruel Boy made fun of me so terribly that I became depressed outside of school. I became so depressed that my father mistook me for being physically ill and allowed me to stay home. I gladly accepted any opportunity to miss school and to miss an encounter with Cruel Boy. My weekends and days off were spent thinking about what he would do and say to me when I returned. I doubt that he ever realized the emotional devastation that he caused. He was a favorite of Mrs. C, who, even two years later, is still my favorite teacher. I once casually mentioned that Cruel Boy wasn’t nice to me. Mrs. C asked, “He doesn’t make fun of you, does he?” I carefully thought about what I would say, and, not wanting to reveal the truth, because I felt that it would somehow make things inevitably worse, I said, “No, nothing serious.” I got lucky, though, and the boy moved away, ending for me a lot of suffering. I was delighted when he left, and my then-friends thought that I was being stupid. “BB, no one’s happy about this,” a boy named Ghetto Boy had once said to me. Well, they may not have been happy, but I was overjoyed. Anyway, back to Beautiful Town Middle School. By June, 2002, I was no longer a social outcast. I placed number one in the Student Choice Awards. I still have the card that I received for it, and my last journal before this was one of the gifts I received for the award. Oh, I mean diary. From now on I’ll use either “journal” or “diary,” whichever one happens to come to me. I won that award for a story I wrote about September 11th, entitled “Natasha and Marie.” Now, at Beautiful Town High School, I’ve achieved what I consider to be a relatively stable social status. Popularity is something that you appreciate much more after years of degradation. Now I have a 4.25 GPA and I might go to Russia next year. Life is sweet.

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