Jenisfamous High School Week: Day Two
February 13, 2007
To recap: In a move towards a paperless office bedroom, I scanned about 50 pounds of paper and tossed out the originals.
In the process, I discovered a a big stack of paper left over from high school, which I am posting on the blog this week for your potential entertainment. The photo at right is my mid-nineties newspaper headshot.
In the pre-Photoshop era, I sometimes thought it was funny to cut bits of advertising out of magazines and glue them into advertising collages. And then, apparently, xerox them. So this is a scan of a xerox of a magazine advertising collage I apparently made in the mid-nineties. Go high school!
Okay, so that was a little weird, yes. But hey, I once won an election for class president based on the slogan “Jennifer Dziura owns a folding chair and an American Heritage Dictionary.”
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Although I confess that many has been the time that the siren song of lexicography has nearly enticed me to pull over to check the correct spelling of a word like “daiquiri”, I’ve always been afraid of suffering the same terrible fate as the lone motorist, meandering down a country road, in the dead of night, during a storm, that must portend doom, necessarily, because it has ever been so, when he picks up the mysterious hitchhiker and agrees to drive her up the road a piece. (Or maybe it’s a ways. I always forget whether he goes up the road a piece, or a ways, before making the mistake of actually speaking to the taciturn passenger. But you know the drill. She catches him sneaking a peak at her breasts or bare legs, and is actually willing to suffer his impertinence without offering rebuke, so long as he doesn’t speak to her. Finally, though–inevitably–he begins to stammer something, and you think, “Oh, shit! Here we go. . .” You want to shout at the screen, “Whatever you do, idiot, DON’T ask her to spell ‘inoculate’ or ’supersede’! If you do, she and her inbred family will have to hack you to pieces. Bitch got an axe!”). . .
But seriously, let me ask you: Did you sit outside along some highway in your folding chair, waiting for a contentious (though thankfully not inbred) family to drive by, roll down the window, and proffer a buck in return for your settling an internecine battle they were waging–while Dad was trying to drive, goddamnit!–such as, say, one over the correct pronunciation of “internecine”? Did you have a sandwich board that read, “Will provide etymology for food?”
Just wondering.