dead fuh-reakin half-day.

minh-tu says she's going to miss my thick hair. i'm going to miss her hands running through it.

in biology, john cohoe steps up to the front of the class, following justin thornton's surprisingly special singing performance, to read his carbon poem. he speaks like a beat poet/non-chalant comedian, and it ends with "they brew alcohol in his basement." and this is about fucking carbon, yo!

35 minute periods would seem like it would be ROCKfuckingON-worthy, but it isn't, not if you're planning anything special for after school.

xc practice is starting to bug me. we get a lecture from winmill, and then we run two laps around the field, 6 strides, and then me, gabriel, and mitchell run towards the bench. mitch turns around earlier than us, so it is just gabe and me who make it to the bench and back. i'm rather proud of myself, for not stopping as much as my mind wanted me to. yay!

gabriel wants me to eulogize for him at his funeral.

after practice, i take off my shirt, and twirl it above my head, like seth. winmill sees me, and tells me to not quit my day job. and then i say, "what, stripping?" and then a thought bubble pops out of winmill's head, that said, 'no, i'm just kidding, be as gay as you want, i think it's awesome!'

tomorrow's race will fucking murder me. i run slower than conner mccoy, one of the biggest fags at our school. he is worse than james mcveigh. james mcveigh is fucking cool, in comparison to connor mccoy. well, i wouldn't go that far. but yes, conner is gay. and for this instance, being "gay" is something bad.

i will never become a "blog of note," with all of this gay-bashing i do.

after xc practice, i see tyree, rj, larry greene (sp?), erik peterson, minh-tu, amy, and some other people working on homecoming decorations, and eating. i tell amy that i don't even know how we're getting to the homecoming dance, and she offers to drive. i say, "but that's sort of funny," like some chauvanistic asshole. this is a new day and age, after all. amy's dress will be turquoise!

i borrow $0.50 from a.j. (now i'm in her fucking debt... aaaaaaa!), to take the 106 home. tyree, rj, and i, walk to the bus stop. we get ambushed by mustafa, and then the 106 comes. i ride the bus, and i see a gay asian dude with a denim vest and sunglasses. mustafa says, "that's you in 10 years, joe!" i forgive him though, because mustafa comes from the motherland, africa. but amongst all of the black people (american slave roots), i wonder, "why hasn't the vernacular of black culture evolved yet? why do they sound so fucking stupid?"

i will never become a "blog of note," with all of the racist comments i make.

i reach home, and then i write this fourth chapter of my daily memoirs.