Andrew and I saw American Pie when it came out here in Albemarle. Although the teenage male in me liked it, the supposedly sophisticated brain said, "Heh-ehn." Or "no" for those of those of you who are sane.
The Finch character reminded me of, well, me.
Frankenstein is kicking my butt. Not literally, but that would be much more interesting to write about.
My dad turns 44 today. I can't yet imagine being that old.
Although, being a senior now makes me feel closer. I didn't write anything over the summer but I'll give a quick overview.
Near the end of the school year, the first of the new Star Wars movies came out — Episode I - The Phantom Menace. I liked it a lot . It doesn't have the magic of the original movies, however. Maybe as a life-long Star Wars fan I forced myself to like it. Anyway, I saw it several times (OK, six) with Jason, Carlyn, and/or dad, etc. Complaints: Jar Jar was a tad annoying, and I wish well-known actors hadn't been used. I also dislike the child actor who played Anakin.
There was Bible School. It was fun. I spent a lot of the summer playing video games. "Star Wars Speed Racer" was pretty fun. Jason came over a few times. Andrew and I went to see a couple movies including Big Daddy . James, Jeremy, Justin, Josh, and I went to see both Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me and Deep Blue Sea .
During the summer I began having a crush on a girl who graduated last year. I wrote a poem about her and it sort of woke something up inside of me. I began writing a lot of poetry. I might put some on this thing eventually.
I had to read several books for AP English, also. Frankenstein, Beowulf, Pride and Prejudice, etc. I read Beowulf the first weekend. Procrastinated after that. Andrew and I waited to read Pride and Prejudice at the end, but neither of us wanted to. As time began to run out we decided to rent the movie. It was two tapes and the running time was listed as 2½ hours. We didn't realize that was the length of each tape until about half way through the first. For two seventeen-year-old guys facing the end of their last high school summer, it was a curse. No offense, Jane Austen; you're a swell kid.
I rekindled my love for The Beach Boys this summer. Let me tell you.
One of my first and most influential exposures to music was in fourth grade. I discovered how to use my dad's old 8-track player. He had a couple dozen cartridges, The Eagles, Bread, and The Allman Brothers Band among the most illustrious members of the collection. But what I liked most were The Beach Boys tapes. I grew up with annual beach trips, and it seemed that combined with an inexplicable innate connection to sand and surf to form an unquestionable passion for the beach. When I heard "Surfin' USA" and "Catch a Wave," I was hooked. I'd never surfed in my life. Sure I lived beside a lake, but, heck, I couldn't even swim. I can't explain it, but some years, I think I looked forward with more anticipation and excitement to our beach trip than Christmas. That says a lot.
I began using my allowance to buy their tapes at K-Mart. I soon had a nice selection of mellow beach hymns and soothing love declarations. Every year when we loaded the car with chairs and suitcases I made sure to bring my growing collection of Beach Boys cassettes. I took pains to save the best for last. Hearing "I Get Around" or "Surfin' Safari" as we first caught glimpse of the glimmering ocean brought me near explosion with excitement.
I also owe The Beach Boys for helping to guide me into adolescence/puberty by introducing me to thoughts of love and girls, girls and love. "Don't Worry Baby" taught me about love; "Help me Rhonda" showed me the possible ugly side of relationships; and "California Girls" proved the most effective theory on the whole love concept.
Thank you, you marvelous, harmonious beach bums. Your voices will always spring great memories to my mind, and bring the warmth of the sun.
I've lived in a small town all of my life. I have rarely spent much time in big cities. Living in such a rural place, I've grown to accept the world through a lens filtered by a conditioned mentality. Let me get to the point: I'm afraid of never accomplishing anything. Growing up in a small town, it seemed as though it might be possible to stand out, to make a difference, to really help, or create something unique and great. As I've gotten older and realized how big the world is, I've found that there are millions of people striving for the same thing. They want to be noticed. They want to do stellar and monolithic things. They, too, want to paint a famous picture, write the next great novel, sing the next famous song, and be the generation's spokesman through poetry. What are my chances? Even if I'm good, there will be someone greater. The Internet has helped to prove this to me. Before the Internet, I thought I did a pretty good job with my poems, my stories, my pictures, and so on. But now I see that I'm a mediocre act in the world arena. It will be hard to stand out.
I realize that the goal should be to accept myself and be happy with what I do for that sake only. But that's not the way things are. I want to be noticed and I want to "make a difference," like they always say. Don't we all want to be remembered? Everyone has heard of Van Gogh, Bob Dylan, Robert Frost, and Kurt Vonnegut. Who were all the other thousands or millions of people trying to do similar things at those times? What were their products? Did they really mean anything? Will what I do really mean anything to anyone?
