Delinquenisms.

I’ve decided to title all posts which detail acts of juvenile delinquency as “Delinquenisms”, since it seems wholly appropriate.

So, every now and then I experience something which reminds me that, underneath the fancy words and misconcieved notions of maturity, I am still just a teenager.
Today was the first day of our school holidays, and I spent it at a friend’s house. It was his sixteenth birthday, and he’d invited a random assortment of characters both from our school and neighbouring schools. They were all a cool group of people though, and all had a good sense of humour.
The first thing we did as a group was to walk down to the nearby park, where some of us played football and chased away the joggers on the track while others vandalised the bleachers. From there, we went to the children’s playground and crowded the top of the Rope Tower; as the name suggests, it’s a tower of rope we needed to climb. Of course, we were the only ones on the tower since parents steered clear of us, and the kids seemed frightenend. (For the record, I didn’t condone the scaring of children. Anyone who read my post from yesterday will know that I love kids. But I digress.)
After everyone was at the top of the tower, looking over the heads of the crowd, some of the girls decided that the guys in our group ought to play a game of Gay Chicken. (For those of you playing at home, that’s when two heterosexual males put themselves in increasingly awkward positions until one of the pair feels too uncomfortable and chickens out). It was entertaining, to say the least.
The day passed with most of the group going down to the skate park, running down to the creek, and being generally annoying in public places. Later, while the group went on a bike ride, my friend “C” and I separated ourselves from the group to go for a walk around the neighbourhood.

While we were alone, “C” revealed a few things to me about our mutual friend “L” that had me momentarily too stunned for words.

To cut a long story short: “L” is a wonderful girl, who I’ve considered a good friend for the last five years. She’s almost sixteen (in fact, I believe her sixteenth birthday is tomorrow). Since last September, I’ve been aware of her relationship with a boy who is, well, older than sixteen (by three years, if I’m not mistaken). While I couldn’t approve her choice, I’d known her well since grade school, and decided to shut my mouth and trust her judgement.

“C” informed me today that “L” and her boyfriend had been, to put it lightly, doing “more than just holding hands” over the last six months and, apparently, she recently found out that the boyfriend had been doing “more than just holding hands” with more than one girl. The resulting break-up happened about a week ago, and “B” has been in a bad state ever since. Before I had time to process this news, “C” proceeded to put the cherry on this espial sundae. Apparently, in a moment of depressed vulnerability, “L” had… uh… propositioned our friend “H”. (The term ‘proposition’ here meaning an improper suggestion, to say the least).

“H” refused on the grounds of being in a relationship with “C”.

In hindsight, the last few paragraphs look embarrassingly like a gossip column, and drained some of my hard earned self-respect. The point of it all was just that, today, for the umpteenth time this week, I thought about how very little I know my friends and how very little they probably know me. I find it curious, and truth be told, frightening.

Anyway, after all the gossip subsided and we rejoined the group, it had gotten dark and we played murder in the dark in the park, using the night vision goggles we had all chipped in to buy for the birthday boy. We listened to music, ate, drank, pummelled a spongebob-shaped pinata and around 7.00 I headed back home.

The party was fun, but it gave me a lot to think about.

I’m in a weird, reflective sort of mood at the moment, guys.
I’ll spare you the torture of reading through my muddled thoughts in the form of poorly constructed sentences by finishing my post here.

Goodnight, and happy holidays.

“Does anyone here watch Gossip Girl?”

I was startled back to conciousness in yesterday’s English class by this most unfamiliar inquiry. ‘Unfamiliar’ because we never discuss current television in English class, ‘back to conciousness’ because I was on the verge of dozing off and ’startling’ because the question was posed by my forty-something year old english teacher.

However, that initial shock was dwarfed upon hearing him declare the three words: “Blaire’s a BITCH!”
It was terrific.

I only bring it up because my 1&2 Literature class (Is it any surprise that I enjoy English-based subjects?) went on an excursion today to see a low-budget version of the play ‘Antigone’ performed by a cast of seven in a tiny school room. The play itself was impressive, yes, but it’s the gossip in which I was engaged during the bus ride back home I wanted to discuss.

The conversation started innocently enough. A group of us talked about movies, friends, the goings-on at school and other generic fifteen-year-old subject matter until ‘Penelope’, with a terribly perplexed expression, called out: “Hey, are ‘Bonny’ and ‘Clyde’ going out?”
(In this case, ‘Clyde’ being a friend I’ve spent a considerable amount of time with over the last six months and ‘Bonny’ being one of my best friends since fifth grade.)
The truth of the matter is that they celebrated their one month anniversary last week, but ‘Bonny’ was reluctant to announce the relationship to the whole schoolyard. Still, I was under the mistaken impression that the cat was already out of the bag, since this brand of information doesn’t generally take long for most high school students to uncover, but apparently it’s this month’s best kept secret.
So, I covered up for them brilliantly with a nonchalant shrug of the shoulders which fooled everyone into believing that Bonny and Clyde were just close friends. (Yes, it really was one hell of a shrug, but I suppose you had to be there.)

Once that was dealt with, we moved on to reminisce on failed relationships we’d witnessed over the years, from the week-long, hair-flipping hand-holding embarrassments from seventh grade to the more substantial year-long affinities we’ve grown accustomed to.

We talked about the “random hook-ups”, the two girls in our year who “got together” during last year’s formal purely for the shock value, the friends who got smashed (wasted, plastered, buzzed; so many options) at another friend’s sweet sixteenth last weekend and the general drug-culture that covertly exists deep beneath the surface of our year level (or in any case, deep enough to maintain our school’s spotless reputation and warrant half-truths during family conversations).

It got me thinking about how very little I really know about these people; this group of three-hundred-odd kids I’m spending my formative years with, the people whose birthday parties I’ve attended since grade school, the network that forms almost 90% of my Facebook friends list.

Strange as it sounds, I realised that I don’t actually recognise my peers as human beings, because I tend to categorise them according to their predominant interests. I don’t think of them as having complex levels. I don’t consider the possibility that they might be just as deep, if not deeper, than I am. I dismiss them as being just one label. (Except, of course, for my closer group of friends who I speak to on a daily basis. I know them well enough to dismiss them as eight or nine different labels.)

‘Terry’s the athlete. Let’s get him something sporty for his birthday.
‘Mary’s the girly-girl. Let’s get her make-up for her birthday.
‘Lilly’s the drugged-up boozehound who smokes in the bathroom. Let’s steer clear of her on her birthday.

It would never occur to me that while Terry’s athletic, he might not be as interested in sport as he appears to be. Maybe he’s just self-concious and keeping up appearances. Maybe his greatest interest is art. Maybe he’s secretly got a notebook full of intricate sketches and heartfelt poetry that no one will ever see.

It seems impossible to believe that while Mary’s the classic girly-girl, she might dream of joining the military and following her brother’s example. Maybe she spent years learning martial arts on weekends. Maybe the girly-girl personality is a front to cover up a side she’s afraid won’t be accepted.

Perhaps there’s more to Lilly than the inconsiderate rebel. Maybe she’s got problems at home. Maybe her self-destructive behaviour is a cry for help. Maybe she dreams of growing up to be a veterenarian.

I spent the remainder of my day following this realisation trying to imagine everyone – friends, acquaintances, strangers – as complete and whole human beings with lives of their own.
In short, my epiphany of the day was simply that while I’m the center of my own universe, I am not the center of THE universe.

Astonishing revelation, really.

And it appears that this entry has taken a completely unexpected turn. This is not what I set out to write about. Apparently I’ve again turned my blog into an incomprehensibly gratuitous soiree, full of self-obsessed digressions and again, I’m going to use my age as an excuse if you’ll forgive the predictability.

My next post will be about a more consequential topic.
Honest.

It’s possible to lead a cow upstairs…

…but not downstairs.

A fascinating fact divulged to me by the unquestionable wisdom of the internet.

Now, this isn’t something I’d normally say, but today I’m going to advice any readers to follow this divine, bovine example. I think we should all be more like cows. That’s not to say that I advice people to attempt sticking their tongues up their own noses, or to produce sixty-five pounds of feaces a day. I just think that cows send us a terrific message about not allowing anyone to lead us down the proverbial stairs.

Of course, the only reason cows can’t walk down stairs is because their knees can’t bend properly and any further analysis of my metaphor will prove its complete inefficiency, so we’ll move right along and ignore the fact that I know more about cows than any normal teenager should.

So it’s been a month and two days since I last updated this blog, and if I know my readers (and I think I do), I’d say that none of you are the least bit interested in what I’ve been up to over the last four and a half weeks. Luckily for you, I’m far too lazy to try and fill you in, so I’ll try to sum it up nice and quick.

1. I’ve been house-hunting with the family for a few weeks now, because we’re finally financially secure enough to move out of this relatively small house (clearly, the global economic crisis hasn’t really hit home).

2. I’ve been attempting to excersise more because, while I’m at a perfectly healthy weight, I can’t delude myself any longer. I’m unfit. The continuing trend of being puffed out before almost anyone else in P.E. class has finally forced me to create a more intimate relationship with Mr. Treadmill.

3. Urinetown rehearsals are going strong, and we’re opening the show in just a month. I’m enjoying it at this point, and have gotten to know/actually enjoy the company of my cast-mates. We’re performing a scene for the entire student body (2000 students and a few hundred teachers) this Tuesday.

4. Two friends were in quarantine for swine flu last week (they’re fine now), and friends who were planning to go to Adelaide on music camp had their hopes dashed when Adelaide refused to accept students from Victoria on account of the pig virus. A good friend who now lives in Singapore was planning to visit us after a long time away, but changed plans due to the ridiculous panic surrounding the flu. Terrific.

5. I had mid-year exams a fortnight ago, and was really disappointed by the results. I managed to scrape together 64% on my maths exam; below the class average. I also received 74% on a science test. The class average was 86%. This was shocking, considering I’m usually the resident science geek in class, and it’s not a title I was in any hurry to relinquish. My first ever VCE exam however, went okay.

6. I MET JOHN GREEN! You”ll have to excuse the capitalization, but it really was exciting. John flew down here for a few days, and I went with my brother and a handful of his friends (because none of my friends have the foggiest idea who John Green is) to see him speak at the state library. He autographed two of my books, and was overall fantastic.

7. I’ve just been talking to my best friend from 4th grade over MSN. I haven’t made contact with anyone from that school for about five years, but it was nice to know that she still remembers me. She seems like a cool girl, and it’s strange to think how close we used to be.

8. The Monday after next marks the start of my work experience week. I’m working at my old primary school (not the one mentioned above, but one I moved to in 5th grade) with one of my best friends. I’m excited. The children are adorable, and the teachers are mostly familiar faces. It makes me feel all nostalgic and mushy.

9. There’s been a lot of drama at school that I’m not prepared to explain. The gist of it is that the aforementioned friend (who I’m working with) got into a lot of trouble – the kind of trouble I considered calling the police about, but abstained – and refused to talk to any of us about it. She was being hurt (may still be being hurt) by someone who she shouldn’t have been involved with, but she’s doing a fantastic job of pretending to be okay. Anyway, I’m really worried about her.

10. I’d really like to finish the list on a nice, even number, so I’ll mention that I had the day off of school today and spent it watching old movies (Dead Poet’s Society, Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, Chocolat, A Weekend at Bernie’s, Thelma & Louise) and being useless in general. I loved every minute of it.

That’s about it, and I have to apologize. I suppose I didn’t sum it up “nice and quick” after all. In any case, thank you for putting up with all of that self-indulgent blather. I’m going to make an effort to blog more regularly again, and try not to get so wrapped up in school/friends/my own fifteen-ness.

Goodnight, potatoes.