14 October 1999

(Sketchbook Excerpt 3 - "I'm Such A Prick")

I feel awful for saying this, but I am in a class taught by a Muppet: an honest-to-God woman made of construction paper and felt with plastic eyes. She is real old and looks like she can keel over at any moment, as if her puppeteer is becoming bored. I can’t be the only one in the class who thinks it’s some cheesy bullshit, come on! In fact, I’m sure that I am not, because I have seen changing expressions on classmates’ faces when she tries to sound deep with us. See, it’s not necessarily what we’re doing, it’s just her; she makes it painful.

It’s like a cult. She is slowly brainwashing us into becoming wide-eyed cornballs holding hands at the end of class, discussing the deep spiritual revelations we had. Give me a break! I can’t believe my parents are paying for this God-awful class; really, I can’t believe I haven’t brought myself to drop it. Maybe I keep hoping it’ll get better, though it’s a little late for that now. The semester is halfway over – that’s a crazy fact within itself! – and here I am, listening to the Muppet go on and on, and trying to prevent my guilty smirk from becoming guffawing laughter.

We passed around energy tonight. We stood in a circle, and each person invented some kind of shape to play with, then squished it and passed it on to the next person who would imagine something entirely different. Yeah, neat idea, but she kept saying crap like “explore!” and it made the whole thing so damn silly! Some kids are really into it. There’s this dorky motherfucker from Canada who tries to invite everyone out with him after class. Every week, while people are putting on their jackets and getting their belongings together to make a quick getaway, he lamely offers a “so, who wants to get together for some coffee or dinner?” He wants to talk about the wonderful class he had and make new friends, and I can understand but… Why am I so mean? Am I mean, or is this a normal reaction?

It’s probably the former but, either way, the class fucking blows and I’m tired of these cheeseball people, especially that Canadian schmuck.