In the days before technology, people amused themselves with writing. They read books, wrote letters, played games and took walks—all of which now sound completely alien to me as I vegetate in front of my computer screen, waiting for my next show to download online.
“Saratoga is dead; it doesn’t have any spirit,” my rather pessimistic sister Brittany said when I asked what rallies and Homecoming were like when she went to Saratoga High. Before I entered high school, older friends shared with me their stories of how school spirit makes high school memorable.
As we conclude another successful, action-packed school year, we all have little wish lists for the summer or for the upcoming school year (or may be it’s just me). Having lived at Saratoga High for 16 unusual years, my mother has been living—I mean working here —since the end of the Ford administration. I have come to think of it as something of my own private mansion.
It is 4 a.m. on a Wednesday morning. I am in bed and under the covers in my fish-decorated pajamas, but for some reason, I am not asleep. Instead, I lie in the serene darkness with every desire to be asleep, but unfortunately, this attempt appears to be useless, as usual. Most juniors would have fallen asleep from exhaustion by now, but this is a typical night for me because I have always had a sleeping problem.
"The best way to execute French cooking is to get good and loaded and whack the hell out of a chicken. Bon appétit."
We have been cited as the most litigious society this planet has ever seen and now we can add one more title. Chief Complainers. Americans complain about everything from the weather to taxes to our food.
Everyday, I see long lines snaking into the cafeteria. Some days, I join the crowd and wait. Other days, however, I stroll over to the “Salads” aisle, pick up a tray, and two minutes and $3.50 later, I have my lunch.