By Nous

                      October 30, 2002

Everyday, I enter the classroom thinking, "Well, here I am; let the day
begin."  There's an implied sigh and a slow feeling of defeat that I've
come to accept of this existence.  But aside from the personal truisms,
I am, throughout my day, not only bombarded by the repetitive stream of
thoughts and ideas that is school, but by the ceaseless stupidity of my
fellow classmates.
And thus, I arrive at my photography class.
And wouldn't you know it - my sanity is tested.
The students in photography class have a habit of imitating that oh-so-
funny show, Jackass.  A digital camera, the debut of the new movie, and
well-coordinated stupidity fuel these ridiculous antics that (while the
show itself isn't even that good - terrible, really) are not as good as
as the one's thought up by the apes of clumsy wrath - the Jackass cast.
At least Mr. Knoxville and his chums have the common courtesy of taking
masochism to the highest level that they can.  These simple photography
students (boys mainly, though there is a girl that contributes ideas to
this little group that cleverly calls themselves "Rayburn's Jackasses")
badly imitate Jackass by punching themselves in the face and falling on
tables and down stairs and such.  And what's more, they tape it. It has
become a series, in a way.  Footage straight from the rejection bin of
America's Funniest Home Videos.
The clips are captured with our photography teacher's digital camera,
but don't worry, she doesn't seem to mind.  
She has only shown a mild concern for the well-being of these kids, but
mostly for her camera.  Having asked one of the "Jackasses" why it was
that they performed these "stunts", the student replied with what seems
to be an accepted creed in this little cult:  Why waste your time being
mature when you can be immature?
I heard it like this:  Why waste your time being mature when you can
(waste it) be[ing] immature?  Alas, they heard it not, and they seem to
show no interest in ceasing their hilarity.
What's disturbing is that they seem to think that they are onto some-
thing.  In their minds, they can't imagine why no one has ever thought 
of it before.  Video of people getting hurt!  We'll be millionaires!
Luckily, the period is cut short for homeroom - a time I rather enjoy.
Camera in hand, I enter my homeroom and sit down, knowing full well the
power I have.  People try to sound genuinely afraid of the camera, but
it's quite evident that they love it, relish it, and will do anything
to stare into the lens and smile.  And so it is with most of the people
in my homeroom.  Vanessa, especially.
Vanessa is short and has the voice of a ten year old boy.  When she 
wears her hair down, it looks like a continuous stream with no individ-
ual parts.  An anime character's hair.
She acts afraid of the camera when earlier she had practically begged 
me to take a picture of her with a stuffed dog that she had with her.
Eventually, my camera falls into the hands of a student and my film is
ruined. 
I think about this as I walk to my next class.  My homeroom and sixth
period class are diametrically built so I always have to walk around the 
entire school when I go to sixth period from homeroom, and so I do so
today.
Conversations are flung and hesitantly begun.  Any chance for socializing
is taken graciously.
"What the fuck took you so long?"
"Don't you see all these fucking people?"
"Why don't you tell them to get the fuck out of the way?"
What hits me more about this conversation is not that both of these 
students incorporate the word "fuck" into each of their shouts, but that 
they seem to be talking in only questions.
I continue to walk, squinting quite comfortably in the sunlight, but my
comfort is disrupted by someone who is apparently calling me.
"Hey!  Hey, you!"
I look up the side of the school and see a girl leaning out of a window.
She stares at me;  I stare at her.
I ask, eloquently, "What?"
She doesn't seem to be paying too much attention to what is going on and
merely replies with a bored, but hopeful shrug and, "I thought you were
someone else."