Issue Nine May 1998
The Intro
So this is the final intro I get to write... I can’t
decide whether that’s a good or bad thing. I
mean, the fact that I get to start a new phase of my life in college is appealing, but I have had a lot of good experiences with this paper. I think the thing that bothers me most is that I’m worried about next year. I would hate to see this paper die. So I’m going to beg now: Please, please help out next year.
It is our hope that the spirit of this paper doesn’t get lost on anyone. Please remember that we are not out to constantly degrade everything in life. We are simply a forum for discussion with minimum possible restrictions. Don’t be afraid to speak your mind — that’s what we’re here for. Take advantage of this opportunity, we have worked hard to keep it alive, but it can only stay that way with your help.
I’d like to apologize for a major mistake in last issue. You know that poem, Big Guy? Well, it turns out that it was really only part of a poem. That’s not even the correct title. I was too stupid to type it properly. So, my apologies. Make sure you check out
titled, the actual poem.
As we prepare to pass this project along to it’s new editors, the members of “The Last” have many people they would like to thank. Special thanks to the ACLU of Wisconsin, and especially to Meesh, for all your help and support. Thanks to Bondgrrl, our exceptionally cool resident columnist, and to the members of the Yellow Press, Here Title Place, Ricochet, Pandora’s Box, The Netly News, and most of all to Oblivion, for hosting our webpage. Our highest praise goes to all of you who have submitted material to us; your articles, poems, and pictures have been the lifeblood of this paper for over a year. Without your support, we could not have lasted this long, let alone have a chance of continuing next year. Anyone we’ve neglected to mention, please know that your help has been equally valued, and we are immensely grateful to you all.
I'd also like to address the students at Greenfield High School where we've been distributing a fair number of copies for the past few issues. It'd be great if some of you could get directly involved with the paper nexy tear. Give us a mail.
Enjoy the Issue!
Cemeteries aren't Morbid
I was watching Ricki Lake this morning (yes, it's a sick addiction) and they
had these "teenage witches" on. They showed a tape of this girl sitting in a
cemetery. When an audience member
asked her why she spent so much time in cemeterys, she answered that they are
very peaceful. This comment started almost a riot of sorts, with people
shouting that it is evil and morbid to spend time in cemeteries. At that point
my greatest wish was to be in that audience to try to explain something to
those people. Cemeteries ARE peaceful. Most weekends I get on my bike and ride
5 minutes down the road to one of them. Sometimes I even go at night. This
particular cemetery is located on a river which makes a very good place to sit
and think. Now don't get me wrong, I don't go there to call spirits or dance
naked with the dead. Its simply something to do. Its always very nice because
no one is ever there, everyone seems to be afraid of graves. My point is simply this: don't knock it until you try it. You'll be glad you did.
War
The sign shouts
"I want you."
So you go.
No one ever wanted you before,
but they only seem to want you
When there's a war.
The billboard screams
"Join the fight!"
So you do.
They always told you to kill
When there's a war.
The ad yells
"Give us money."
So you do.
People want your money, same as before
but they want your money more
when there's a war.
The Old Barn Rope
One time when i was seven-years-old, I remeber visiting my granny's farm up in
tomahawk,WI while we were up ther,my father,his brothers and his friend,danny
decided that they wanted to go into the barn to swing on the big rope.So my
sister and I went along.The way they entered the barn was peculiar.They
climbed up the hay elevator.It went up in through the window.This was an
adventure for my sister and me,for we lived in the city.
we rarely got to do things like that! we all carefully crawled up the
magnisifant,rusty metal elevator into the wide barn window.
I stepped into the barn onto the rectangular scratchy bales of hay. I looked up
at the cathedral ceiling,which seemed to extend forever over my head.I smelled
the sweet hay and the filthy cows.I saw the two square openings where people
could climb up the ladder to come up to the second floor of the barn.Each hole
was a dark abyss. my imagination began to run wild if i were to fall down one
of the holes i would land in another world a hell,where horific demonds and
monsters lurked.They were starving and yearningly desired to taste young flesh
of a seven-year-old like me.with this thought i cringed and shrugged the
thought away.In the center of the ceiling,i saw a long dusty
rope,which was tied to a beam on the ceiling.The atmosphere was playful as my father and his brothers grabbed at the rope.We stood on the piled up bales of
hay that were on both sides of the barn.We put our foot into the loop and
jumped off,letting our selves fly frantically.oh what a joy it was swaying back
and forth across the long dark barn.The rush didnt last for long but it was
enough to make you longing for more.so we would relently hand the rope to
another and wait for our next turn.Then it was danny's turn.He spontanously
climbed up atop the hayloft.He loomed above our heads.He took hold of the rope
and jumped off! bewilderment seized my seven-year-old body! He
plunged throught
the air!suddenly,something unbearable happened the rope had snapped
and danny crashed to the dingy floor,rolling to the corner of the room.All was
sielent....until he lifted up the upper part of his body,then there was a roar
of great laughter.I then heard my grannys wail from out side the barn"Dinner
time you boys better get the hell down here before it gets cold...what are you
guys up to anyway?ay you better be watching those kids"Danny seemed to be ok
and we exited the barn. To this day they still havent tied up another rope in
the barn
Concert Etiquette
We thought we would take the time to discuss appropriate concert behavior,considering most people are just asses when at concerts we thought we would shed some light on the subject.
1. If you want to be put up for body surfing, ask. DO NOT JUST JUMP ON PEOPLE!
2. Watch where your walking, especially when carrying beer. People don't like alcohol showers!
3. If you push, hit or annoy someone, expect them to get even.
4. Don't abuse your right to bum cigarettes.
5. If someone falls while in he mosh pit, help them up.
6. If you can't handle the pit, get out.
7. Girlies, save those 5 inch retro clogs for the runway.
8. Do not wear brand new clothes to concerts unless you expect them to get ruined.
Now if you all would just do what we and all of society asks, the world would be a better place.
With love,
Crash & Burn
Tears
As I look through these pages
Into the "light",
I am puzzled and confuzzed
For you say
We were living in night.
The bright light blures out
The real world and your fears
Shrouded in fantasy
To relieve all your tears.
Titled
In the eyes of a child
a toy comes to life
Is blind of the man
who carries the knife
The pegasus flies
and the elephant speaks
And Sleeping Beauty
Awakes from her sleep
And the porcelain dolls
drink invisible tea
And the cowboys & Indians
play in fields of green
The mother never cried
The children never died
It's the way children see
It's the way it should be
The sun was always green
It never turned black
Then you betrayed me
You turned your back
I didn't do this
Don't blame it on me
You created this world
for what it is to be
I gave you a home
A place to smile
It was your decision
To be vile
I tried to give you love
Don't blame it on me
It was your decision
To reject me
-To the big guy
Confused
I am confused for which this life I live,
inside I burn with frustration and fear
were'sthe angel yet to watch over me?
were's my wapon with which I may fight this apathy?
somewere inside me I feel full of remorse
I still must find that place,I cannot show any emotion
for that which is often called"my life"
for were is the sanctuary that I testify of my attainment?
Until that time I must sit in the dark and not speak
about any of this.One cannot sit for long though......
Crying
I laid there crying helpless
and I was trying to forget
But the pain that plagued me then
tore at my heart further yet
He held my hand and kissed me
Saying we would still be friends
Those words killed me so
As his feelings have been bent
Please don't kiss me 'cause it hurts
Why can't you see my sorrow
Then he turned around & left
Had no hope for a tomorrow
They say that time will heal the heart
The broken pieces will be found
Hold your head up to the sky
Plant your feet into the ground
There is a hope for your future
And you'll see it my sweet girl
The sky will not fall down
It's not the end of your whole world
His arms were warm around me
I was trying to forget
But the pain that plagued me then
Made me start to feel regret
I calmly looked in his eyes
And saw that his were dying
Trying hard to remember
If we're together I'd still be crying
He screamed How could you be so cruel?
You're all I ever dream!
Those words cut me like a knife
Didn't mean to be so mean
They say that time will heal the heart
The broken pieces will be found
Hold your head up to the sky
Plant your feet into the ground
There is a hope for your future
And you'll see it my sweet girl
The sky will not fall down
It's not the end of your whole world
Didn't know how to console
But as a tear ran down my face
I told him of a fable
Of a girl hid in disgrace
She distanced herself from the outside
And to herself she lied
She thought God was against her
So she spent her days to cry
She learned she had to go on
Like the sun does everyday
The pain would slowly erase
But memories would always stay
I said that time will heal the heart
The broken pieces will be found
Hold your head up to the sky
Plant your feet into the ground
There is a hope for your future
And you'll see it my dear friend
The sky will not fall down
Your whole world will not end
-To Al
Felony
Take you by the face
Slam you in a wall
Watch blood pour down your face
In a deep sleep you fall
There’s no prince in this story
No one to wake you up
Just a fuckin’ killer
To rape you, eat you up
If you’re waiting to be saved
you should wait no more
Your killer poorly behaved
treated you like a whore
Hall Cows and a bounty of Pain
Since my first article on Hall cows I hoped things would change and people would get the hell out of the way. But things haven’t changed, in fact it is getting worse. The Cows are still standing in the middle of the hallway talking and doing jackshit. The war is still on and I would like to remind people that these horrendous acts of Hall Cows should be stopped. I want people to try their hardest to get them out of the way. Push, shove, scream, and holler. But don’t hurt them that much. Remind the cows to get the hell out of the way. Some people actually have places to go and things to do. Please help in the fight and remember not to become a Hall Cow.
ZeroCom -DOWN WITH HALL COWS!!-
REVENGE
feeling of revenge
is over comming,you prepare
thinking and plotting
then its all worked out
now out in the darkness ready to strike
The Bottle
I've been trying for months just to tell you
all these thoughts I've been meaning to say
but I've plugged them all up in a bottle
Not just your thoughts are in that container
I've put others in there to decay
But a few times the bottle tipped over
and a few of them fluttered away.
And a few of them landed on doorsteps
and a few of them--put on display
and a few fell right back in the bottle
and the bottle just gets in the way
And yes, the bottle's transparent
(with my luck that figures, you know)
but the glass, in the sun, it just glitters
and the thoughts make the messenger glow
And if you look just right you can see them
the glass makes the writing a blaze
but you don't seem to want to read them...
If you did, you'd be pretty amazed.
For the ink's from a river of silver
and the writing's on leaflets of gold
if I gave you the honor to read them
you'd find that my story is told.
And that story would sing to the rafters,
breeze through the windless, set fire to the cold
But it will never come out of that bottle
And it is the bottle that makes me so old.
It's my age that makes me so helpless
It's my memories that make me so wise
While I try to forget that I've seen them,
they've never been shown to your eyes.
And you think that you know all ther is in the world,
that by "knowing me better" you'll see what I see
and you'd shatter the glass and bury the shards
and the second you do that
you'll have buried me.
Stoners
I was talking to a buddy of mine yesterday when the conversation turned to stoners. We’d both had experiences with this very interesting breed of homo sapien. The very same experiences. If you’ve ever kept company with a stoner, you’re probably laughing right now, because you’ve had the same experiences also. Stoners are the same everywhere you go.
For those of you not fortunate enough to be graced by the presence of a stoner (does such a person exist?), let me give you a general profile. The stoner is someone who has basically dedicated his life to obtaining and subsequently smoking pot. The stoner either has no job or works sporadically, and usually lives with his or her parents. He or she likely eats more junk food than anything else, since cooking is just too damn difficult (unless it’s pot brownies). Stoners usually smoke weed in small groups, passing the weed in a clockwise circle. Although the proximity of these stoners suggests a friendship, they usually only share common experiences, such as getting busted, mutual former sex partners (if applicable), and “that really good shit Jim’s cousin got from Mexico.” A fellow stoner’s absence often goes unnoticed, and is usually explained by a short period of employment.
Stoners have many talents that may not be obvious to a casual observer. Stoners have a talent for obtaining weed, even if he or she has no money. He or she can also have weed, and be out a few minutes later when someone asks for some. Stoners are especially talented in constructing smoking paraphernalia from almost any object, living or nonliving. Stoners also tend to name their smoking paraphernalia and become very attached to it.
When making acquaintances with a stoner, there are few things to remember. Stoners are usually under the influence during waking hours, so try to visit him or her at home to eliminate the danger of a stoner behind the wheel. Stoners usually do not steal from people to obtain weed, but will be very persistent about short-term loans. If you concede, do not expect loan to be repaid. Stoners will sometimes become so interested in weed that showering, housecleaning and other basic rituals are ignored. Do not attempt to clean up after a stoner, as you will only enable their shiftless behavior. It is also not recommended to make plans with a stoner more than sixty seconds in advance. Stoners are extremely unreliable and will either forget about or disregard plans in favor of sleeping, smoking or obtaining weed.
If you are able to convince a stoner to partake in an activity not directly related to pot smoking, expect the stoner to modify the activity so that it is. A stoner will turn an ordinary card game into one that involves taking a hit after a successful turn. A road trip will be considered enjoyable by a stoner if he or she is successful in smoking weed in an unusual setting or in public. A shopping trip will interest a stoner if it includes a trip to a head shop.
The future for stoners varies. Some stoners grow tired of smoking, or the habit becomes too expensive, which leads to a drastic decrease in weed intake or cessation altogether. Some stoners, however, will continue for the rest of their lives, sometimes actually meeting a member of the opposite sex with whom he or she will conceive children. Said children will likely become pot smokers themselves and will enjoy many years of stealing from Dad’s sack, while Dad steals from his. These children will also be the envy of their friends, who tell them that they wish their parents were so cool.
Well, my friends, I wish you luck in your acquaintances with stoners. And if you’re a stoner yourself, I’m sure you’re glad to know that you’re on the right track!
My Future
Leftover Pizza and reruns of “Petticoat Junction” are highly underrated. People keep telling me that I’ll have to start doing something with my life, be something “when I grow up”, make a useful contribution. Apparently I’m supposed to get a fine education, in order to get a well paying job, meet a nice man, shoot out lil’uns, all while balancing a career, being PTA mommy of the year, keeping my husband sexually satisfied and never losing sight of the fact that I am a woman in my own right, and I have needs. (Oh yeah. Hear me roar.)
I graduate from that grand, and oft mocked institution known as high school in just 23 days. I know I should be thrilled, I know should be wet with anticipation - but I’m not. I’m bored, apathetic, and I’m making slightly apprehensive about the fact that I’m the only in my class who doesn’t know what color her dorm roommate’s bedspread is next year. So hopefully the answer to all my problems can be found in the old episodes of “Green Acres” on TV Land, because me and Mr. Haney are getting to be real good friends.
Graduation
Graduation. It's got every senior restless for one reason or another. Some are anticipating good-byes to their friends, others are just looking forward to college life, and yet some, like me, just can't wait to get out of here. Now, don't get me wrong, I too, am going to miss my friends dearly, and I am very much pleased with the prospect of life in college, and my first real independence, however, I have been so sickened by many events that have happened in the past year, that all I want to do is get out with my sanity.
According to new policies, the administration cares only for the students, and are always willing to listen to student problems with an open mind. Yes, they are truly keeping the interest of the students at heart. They care so much for us, that they would see our civil rights violated, just as Justin's were when they kicked him out. They would force us to submit resumes to them, or else we appear on the dreaded "obligation" list. When I heard about the resume thing, only one question was dominant in my mind: WHY!!? You would think that an administration with the best interest of its students at heart would spend a little more time preparing those students for college instead of insisting that they provide resumes for approval. Why, the guidance office does a wonderful job. Yes, they do a job so wonderful that trying to get one single process done takes a week, if you're lucky. And also, they have wast--oops--spent so much time and money on the creation of the career center. Now to me, this just seems like an extension of the guidance office, and it only makes it harder for students to get things done. An intelligent person would keep guidance unified, so students can go to one place for answers to their problems. Not only does the local administration care for us, but the school board seems to have our best interests at heart as well. They only proceeded to vote down new grading policies that were supported by many of the teachers, only to create further chaos for next year. Did I mention that all hell is going to break loose next year when block scheduling shows up? Allow me to elaborate. The school is not intelligent enough to handle such a system. If you thought there were scheduling problems in the last few years, wait and see what happens next year. My guess is it will be quite humorous, I just feel sorry for all the poor underclassmen who will have to undergo such a horrible process. Not only does the school board care so much about the students, but they've demonstrated how much they love the teachers by making Greenfield one of the lowest paid districts in the state. I mean come on, I wouldn't want the teachers' job, to have to put up with evil people like me all day, and then be forced to take a pitiful paycheck to show for it? The local administration continues to show its care for us by employing the main office secretaries and the librarians. Well, contact with those people sure brightens my day. I mean, anyone would be happy when they are ignored, barked at, and generally treated like the gum I found stuck in my locker the other day. Such a positive learning environment we live in. They continue to demonstrate their care by subjecting everyone to brainwashing as well. About a month ago, there was a hawk talk in the morning. (Oh yeah, another useless practice I forgot to mention.) The seniors were ordered to report to an assembly, being led to believe that they were to learn something about graduation. Unfortunately we were subjected to an hour of propaganda, instituted by our wonderful business partners at ITT. We got to hear how ITT is a great school, and everyone should consider it, even though they misquoted Emerson and used the phrase "things of that nature" over 30 times. Now aside from the fact that I hate being brainwashed, I just don't understand why they would choose to present this lecture to the SENIOR class, people who have, for the most part, already made their college choices. Would it not make much more sense to impress this lecture upon the juniors and the sophomores? Really, they are younger, and definitely much easier to brainwash than us seniors. Maybe ITT would not be such an intelligent choice. Well, I'm almost out of breath, so I'll concentrate on my final topic of the day -- The Graduation Ceremony. I found the letter we got from our esteemed president to be most humorous. We can't wear tennis shoes...I guess I won't be graduating then, because being an individual who despises formal events like myself, I do not posses a pair of dress shoes that fit me, and I don't particularly have the money to go purchase some, so if you wish to kick me out for not having the proper shoes, be sure to wear something red at the ceremony, as it will surely be indicative of your political views of the situation.
In addition, I find it most evil that every graduate only gets 4 tickets. Does the administration think that we are all inbred and our families live right here in town? I for one need many more than 4 tickets, and the method of obtaining more does not seem promising. I will also return to the restriction of civil rights, as it has come to my attention that our valedictorian has had her speech censored for being "too negative". All she was trying to do was tell the truth about our school, and it must not have presented the picture perfect speech that we have to have. Heaven forbid any free speech comes into play. People ask me all the time why I must be so negative about our school. We go to school in a place that cares so much for us, where they would subject us to brainwashing to make a little money, where the students and teachers are treated like annoying insects to be brushed aside, and a place where the valedictorian can't even make her own speech on graduation day, and you ask me why I must be so negative? Only eleven more days...
Honors?
When I first heard (through obscure means, considering the students are never informed of anything that will significantly affect them) that the honors program at GHS was being reformed, I was extraordinarily pleased. With so many competent and respected people on the committee which was to advise the school board, I thought that only good things could come of it. However, I neglected to consider the possibility of the school board being so pig-headed and stupid that they would totally disregard the committee’s advice. I also couldn’t even imagine that this idiocy would go so far up in district office as to threaten the jobs of respected (apparently not by the administration) district employees.
The committee, led by Mrs. Krissman, the head of the Greenfield gifted and talented program, came up with a list of criteria that they believed a course should be required to meet to be considered an honors course. These included having higher objectives than a normal class of the same type, using extended vocabulary, assuming students know the prerequisite material, having two to three times the expected out-of-class work, and dealing with the subject matter on a generally higher level. Despite the committee’s extensive expertise in and contact with the honor’s program, the school board and district office essentially ignored their suggestions. They had their own ideas on what should be done with the honors classes. You see, there is a movement in the administration to eliminate tracking. “Tracking” is the practice of placing students into classes with their intellectual peers; fast learners end up in more accelerated classes and slow learners are given an opportunity to learn at their own pace. It is quite obvious to most people that de-tracking is not in the students best interest. The only plausible method of teaching a class containing both advanced students and slower students is to attempt to find a middle road. However, students tend to part down the middle, leaving the inevitability of advanced students becoming bored and slower students becoming frustrated. Many a study has shown that de-tracking does not even improve test scores, in fact, it has been shown to significantly lower them. Now you’re probably asking why anyone would support de-tracking, especially the administration who has set the improvement of standardized test scores as one of its major goals. The simple answer is that there is only one thing that the administration cares about more than statistics: money. Nobody talks about it, but the fact is that de-tracking is just plain cheaper. A lack of honors classes means getting away with larger class sizes and less qualified teachers.
This campaign against tracking has been stealthily brewing at GHS for a while. Last year, Honors Seminar, an English class in which students read provoking materials and discussed them in class, was not run, despite the fact that various students wished to take it. The social studies department has lost many of its honors classes (excluding AP) for next year. World Literature is another class which has been affected. Only one section of it will be run even though there are over thirty students signed up. Any sane person could tell you that over 30 students in an advanced literature course is excessively too many (under 20 would be ideal).
It’s not just the students who are getting screwed by this ordeal, however. It has been dually tragic. Mrs. Krissman, the head of the gifted and talented program for the district, who is well respected for her excellence in her position (she even has various articles published), is now being “moved” back into a classroom teaching position. Why?, you ask. Well, I don’t know the official answer to that. She did have the audacity to head that honors committee. I mean, why would the gifted and talented director get involved with the honors program? Right? Well, at least the administration’s paradoxical decisions are consistent, Mrs. Krissman is supposed to be replaced by Dot Lidwin, the current head of the cognitively disabled program. All I can really say about this whole situation is this: my condolences to everybody (students and employees) who have to come back to this place next year.
Bondgrrl's Bra
I spent the early part of the 1980s playing with Barbies on my living room floor. They were so much fun; I could make up names for them, give them different careers, foreign accents and envy-inducing outfits. Every day Barbie (or whatever I would decide to name her) and her friends would embark on a new journey, one that would require one fabulous outfit after another. Barbie was so beautiful, and I looked forward to looking just like her someday. After all, I already had the blonde hair, blue eyes and long legs. Someday my perky breasts and I would decide what journey to embark on, just like Barbie.
"Wait a second! Did she just say perky breasts??" Yes, I did. Have you seen a Barbie doll lately?
I, like many other American women, have used Barbie as my physical role model. Sure, I could've looked to my mom instead, but she wouldn't let me hold her by the legs while putting a ball gown on her. Barbie was much more accessible. But don't think this is Barbie scapegoating; it's not. It's actually the beginning of a life-long obsession with my boobs, or lack thereof.
I had a few years between Barbie mania and puberty when my chest was the least of my concerns. And to be honest with you, I'd shell out the three thousand bucks to have those years back. I've wanted breast implants since I was twelve. No kidding. It started after getting hell from the immature little boys in seventh grade with their BBs-on-a-breadboard analogies. My mom told me that I got my dad's body- he's really thin, so I wouldn't get many curves. Just what every girl wants- a man's body. Ugh.
Years went by, and still no sign of fair lady estrogen in my upper body. I could barely sympathize with my female friends' complaints of being too fat. At least they had boobs. Swimsuit shopping was hell, but not as hellish as the two weeks of gym class when me and my poor excuse for a bosom made their first high school appearance. Swimsuits leave nothing to the imagination. I couldn't stuff it, and the teacher said no to wearing a t-shirt in the pool. You'd think bra shopping would be slightly better- just pick out the smallest one and leave the store as quickly as possible. Nope, because if you're an A cup, you're lucky if you can find a decent bra in your size. After rifling through dozens of 34Bs, 36Cs, and 44DDs, there may be a single A cup. And it may not look like a training bra.
Over the years, I've developed a close relationship with push-up pads and underwire. I still remember the day when I picked up my first underwired, lined bra from the JCPenney catalog counter. It was a floral print with navy trim, a far cry from the flimsy white thing I thought I'd be stuck with for the rest of eternity. I wanted to hunt down the inventor of the underwire and give him or her a bear hug. It was great; the wire arranged everything in one spot, instead of flattening it. But this was only the beginning. A couple years later, Wonderbra came onto the scene and it was suddenly socially acceptable to pad your bra. My sternum was upstaged by a modest valley of cleavage. Denial served me well most of the time.
For some people, a couple of foam, wedge-shaped pads will remedy their lack of voluptuousness, but I never forgot that it was all fake. It felt deceptive. And then halter tops came back in style. With tank tops, I could wear a bra that matched the top and it didn't look too bad, but halter tops forbade any notion of a bra. Even the trusty strapless is no match for most skin-baring halters. And even the trusty tank top is no match for some hot July afternoons.
And who can forget their first journey through the pages of a Frederick's of Hollywood catalog? I was elated, but it quickly gave way to frustration and bona fide anger when I realized that almost every piece of lingerie was made for a B cup or larger. Houston, we have a problem.
Over the years, I've challenged my decision to get breast implants. A part of me said to give society the finger for implying that womanhood and attractiveness was dependent on one's ability to hold up a strapless dress. Some people have even suggested that I wanted to get implants to please men. Don't worry, that has never been a concern. The idea of surgery was, at one time, enough to dissuade me. My mother was kind enough to relay stories from her coworkers, women in their sixties whose mothers are able to toss their sagging breasts over their shoulders if they get in the way. "You should be happy that will never happen to you!" My mom said. Even I rationalized the situation by reminding myself that even a slight increase in cup size may be extremely noticable on my small frame. Who wants to be known as "the girl with the boobs"?
Well, now I've decided to stop listening to everyone else, those who seem to be in favor of it and those who are opposed. I want those little bags of saline, and I couldn't care less what anyone thinks of them. I am fed up with the lack of lingerie choices, and cursing the companies who apparently assume that A cup women don't have a need for a strapless bra or kinky lingerie. I am fed up with being unable to buy something with a halter, spaghetti straps or no straps at all because I need a bra to accentuate my miniscule bustline. And most of all, I'm fed up with feeling like an adult in a pre-adolescent's body. I'm getting breast implants for myself, and no one else.
That's all
Well, what can I say? I'm a senior, and luckily graduating also. This is most likely my last submission to the Last. I've been along for the ride from the beginning, and it has been worth it. Even considering some of the treatment we had received. Now, I can turn this into some sort of mushy, sentimental rememberance, or an embittered editorial to put-down everyone. But I'm going to take another approach, a more appropriate approach, one of honesty truthfulness,and frankness.
To the class of 1998. You're graduating, be thankful, well hopefully that is.
To the class of 1999. Next year you will be Juniors, enjoy it. Remember, since you will be a senior, and rules will no longer apply to you.
To the class of 2000. I hate to make generalizations, but i don't like you. The only reason your class si important is because you're graduating in a big even number that was set arbitrarily. Otherwise, you are irrelevant.
To the class of 2001. Just write articles for the Last.
And to all in general, give the administration hell. They don't get paid for nothing.
Reality
Reality is enough drug for me.
It distorts views with visions,
Converts minds with meanings.
Overdose on truths -
No time to find meaning.
Around the Block Again
Remember back to high school, that girl. You know who. She was the brunt of many jokes you and your friends told at lunch. You might've even had your own tryst with her. Who am I talking about? The town slut. The easy lay. The whore. Remember her? Now let's turn the tables. Remember a male counterpart? Sure, there are guys who sleep around plenty, but did you have any names for them? I thought so.
Yet guys wonder why they're the ones who want sex more than women, or so they think. Could it be that the town whore wanted sex, so in turn a female's desire for sex is equated with promiscuity? I personally resent the double standard that exists. It makes me want to be a guy. I'll bet that many people who read this will be nodding their heads in agreement, that such stereotyping is unfair and shouldn't exist in postmodern culture. But ask yourself if you would really date someone who's "been around." Would it bother you? Would it make you more likely to use a condom? Would you marry her? Would you buy her flowers for her birthday? Would you introduce her to your friends without a smirk on your face? Really, would you? Many people would not. It's the way we've been conditioned. When I was growing up, my mom often reminded me that the girls who slept around weren't respected by guys. They would be used for sex, then dumped. The nice guys would never marry them. That stuck with me. I even saw it happen. I was very careful. I wanted a nice guy.
There are merits to the "date many, sleep with few" theory. It decreases your chances of getting STDs. It decreases your chances of getting kids. Some people grow attached to their sex partners, if it didn't already exist before. Limiting your sex partners is a good way to avoid all of that. I think that if women started throwing caution- and reputation- to the wind and slept with as many guys as they felt like, you'd see a lot more happy women walking around. Who needs the stress of worrying about the sexual image you're presenting? It makes me wonder if maybe the reason that homosexual relationships allegedly become sexual quicker and more often than heterosexual ones is because both partners are the same sex, thus gender roles are less prevalent. Or maybe it's because gay relationships are shunned so much already, that the "curse" of sexual promiscuity is insignificant compared to what they already have to deal with. But what can we expect? Our culture is obsessed with labels. I'm not necessarily saying hat categorizing people is bad; it depends on how you use that category. But I also think that in some cases, namely the label "slut," is damaging, not to mention insulting and disrespectful. More people need to remind themselves that what other people do is not their business unless it affects them personally. So to all you guys and gals out there who have sex with many different people: Use condoms, and have a good time. I don't care.
Alive
i am not responsibe for your actions
you are not responsible for mine
sometimes i want to die
and others i want to be born
so far this life has no meaning
if i am still asleep
eternal sleep is the state i'm at
cuz everything i know and want
is no longer at my side
to show me the way
so many chances fly by
leaving mothing but a cloud of dust
i am awaiting to wake up
to realize i'm alive.
traci
Band Name
Is anyone else at all disturbed by the fact that there are very
few good band names left in the world today?
How long have bands been around, and already we're running out of good names.
There are certain titles that invoke instant memories and conjure up great
feelings of nostalgia about when music was more than being a "Riot grrrrl" or
an apathetic Gen X boy with a drug problem and a drummer.
So in order to help alleviate this grave problem plaguing American bands (of
course its not the only problem) I have come up with some band names :
Bubba and the Interns
Freudian Pink Slips
Holier Than Mao
Highwire Aardvarks
Colonel Sanders and the Spicy Fried Thighs
Sheep on Drugs
Little Bo Peep and the Crack Addicts
All strung out and Nowhere to go
Cancer causes ciggarettes
Barbra Walter's Spray On Hair
Absolute Pasta
Okay so some of them may not be that great - but hey neither is a whole lot of
that stuff on the radio that the DJ keeps reassuring me is music.
If you're starting a band, and need a name feel free to take one of these , but promise me one thing - no matter how many lighters are waved in the air resist the urge to play "Freebird"
Freak
Made useless, made useless
A sign of the times
So much left broken,
Scattered,
Thrown down.
Concrete and computer chips
Waste the day away.
Shorter; Smaller
Bigger; Faster
Build it; Break it
Bend it; Return it
Form it; Shape it
Twist it; Conform it
The motto of the time.
Cleanning the world
of Nature's last foothold
Creating a god
Then calling it "Freak"
Search
WORDLIST: LAST FIRST CHICKEN CURVEY SMALL MINOR POLE YOURMA SELL CUP
A L L P H A I L
L A S T O T H E
T S R I F L M I
C S M A L L E S
U G I H T Y C G
R O N O M H B A
U F O O I R S A
E H R C E I M S
Y M K I G R H T
Y E I N U H E R
N G O O O M B A
N E Y S S C U P
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _!!!!
The Black Box
He stumbled into the room. The people put him there. The door he came from was dark and cynical, and what was past it was worse. There was another door in the room, but it was locked. It had a window. On the other side was a bright field filled with flowers & fruit. A beautiful house was in the distance, and inside was an extraordinarily beautiful girl. She seemed lonely. The boy peered through the glass wishing he was on the other side. He wept and mourned because he couldn't destroy the door that blocked him from the girl.
In the room with him was a large, black box. The boy trembled on the other side of the room terrified of it, thinking it was filled with demons.
One day, he fell extremely ill. Laying there on the cold, hard floor of the room, he dreampt of the girl. In his mind's eye, he married her and she loved him. They had children and a wonderful life.
His thoughts drifted back into reality. A single tear streamed down his face, and he took his last breath. He died in sorrow of lost hopes and dreams.
All along in that black box was a key to the door with the window. Don't let chances slip through your fingers.
-Kassandra Gruszkowski
Nightly Visitations
when you wake up
in the middle of the night
and become paralyzed with fright
you know the children of the sun will dominate
SKIN
With the planets in their place
and the stars at their brightest
Burning holes in space - and in my mind
I see the light in the end.
Reaching out my hand, I grope
But this tunnel is too restricting
The sufficating skin.
From four-leafed clovers to marijuana leaves E! takes you behind the scenes while the tragedy unfolds. We'll uncover the secrets beind Grumpy, Sleepy, and that one bear that "munched" a lot.
PLUS! A E! EXCLUSIVE!
For the first time ever the Carebears show us what's really tattooed on their stomachs. Plus candid shots of their everyday crack snorting, heroin shooting, pot smoking, acidtripping family lives.
To Live
We hear silent screams
and feel the thinning air.
Yet we sit
and stare
and do as we're told.
and feel as we're told.
even fear as we're told,
Sinking,
Conforming into oblivion.
With the piercing round of
Life
Kept alie by its
Denial
Let us peer
Then slam the door.
I'll defy you
To be free
To live
My Friends Habit
He sits alone in his room,
Letting the smoke ingulf him,
He thinks nothing of his mind,
Or why his friends don't call him,
He takes another hit,
Letting it pierce his lungs,
His eyes roll back,
His mouth grows dry,
Slowly depleting his fun,
His minds grows numb,
His sight gets blurred,
He parties alone, so no one can tell him,
When his speech gets slurred,
He tries to walk,
But can't find his feet,
He gets nauseous, and dizzy
To the extent that he can not sleep,
He takes another hit,
And another after that,
He feels his heart slow down,
And thinks nothing of that,
It's a shame he didn't,
For I'm the one now partying alone,
Hitting it once for him,
But stopping when I'm near death.
Free Speech
The question about limitations on rights seems to always arise...therefore it is no surprise that I bring up a rather old question and come up with some new answers. Free speech has always been a right that Americans were proud of, something that
all humans should have, being the right to say anything without the
fear of persecution. Unfortunately even in the U.S. there are
limitations or restrictions that blatantly conflict with freedom of speech.
In the U.S. Bill of Rights it clearly states that "Congress
shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or
prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom
of speech." In another document it says that no person can
publicly or privately threaten the President of the United
States. Is it just me or is there a slight conflict between the
two statements above? It isn't that I believe that anyone
should go and threaten the President, but I have always believed
that the highest power of law in America was not the judicial
system, but in fact the U.S. Bill of Rights and the U.S.
Constitution. Wouldn't the act of taking away the right to speak
badly of the President abridge the freedom of speech? I think so
and I know others do also. If I threatened the common person I
couldn't be arrested unless there was probable cause yet I could be
arrested for threatening the President even if I was joking about
it and there was no probable cause. The first amendment basically
says that the freedom of speech can not be changed in any way
therefore this law should be removed.
Other laws such as the law that states it is illegal to offend
an officer of the law should also be addressed. If I went up to
a cop and called him a piece of shit I can legitimately be
arrested. Isn't that an obvious form of freedom of speech? As
an American that supposedly has all of those wonderful rights
written up in the U.S. Constitution I should be able to go up to
a cop and voice my opinion about him.
On June 21, 1989 the Supreme Court ruled that burning an
American Flag is a form of free speech, and although some people
may not approve of it they can't do shit about it because of the
first ammendment in the U.S. Bill of Rights. If burning a U.S.
flag can be considered perfectly legal then why are making a
threat to the president or offending an officer illegal?
How the hell do these laws get passed if they infringe on the
rights guarantied on the rights guarentied by the U.S.
Constitution? Thank Congress for passing these laws. Congress
has the power to make and pass laws, but the President has to
approve them. Even if the President does veto the law congress
can still pass it with a 2/3 majority vote. The question is why
would 2/3 of Congress vote for an unconstitutional law, well the
answer is money. Congress has been corrupt for a long time and
with corruption comes greed. So if someone wants a law passed
it can usually get passed if they have enough support and money.
The government has gone too far. In 1776 or incredible document
was created that guarentied any U.S. citizen a proper government
that allowed many freedoms. Now the government works hard to
try to change the past and so far I think they have succeeded.
Since the mid 1900s Congress has slowly made new laws that take
away some of the rights that all Americans are entitled to
according to the Constitution. These new laws put limitations
and restrictions on our rights. Are we going to stand for this
shit? I hope not because if we are as passive as we've been in
the past we are going to end up with no rights or freedoms. The
government will transform into a communist system. You have the
power to change the future so be prepared to fight for your
rights.
álue áalls
Farwell to the Mighty GOOMBA
