J.H.S. 1964 / C.H.S. 1999 (04/24/99)
In the aftermath of the tragic events at Columbine High School, I'm having flashbacks to my own graduation from Jal High School --back to a simpler time, a more innocent time. Some of the images are clear, some are fuzzy; all have been softened and warmed just a bit by a diffusion filter of thrity-five years.
I can see us all together in one room, getting ready--girls touching up their hair and makeup, guys struggling with their ultra-thin, spaghetti neckties. I don't recall exactly how the girls got their graduation caps on their 1964 mountainous hairdos, but I suppose they managed somehow. The thrity-six faces are clear; the background is blurred. Where exactly are we? Is it the library? An upstairs classroom? More likely it's a downstairs classroom, perhaps one of the science labs.
It's time. Someone comes in and escorts us out of the building, so that we can make our entrance into the auditorium. We enter the lobby of the auditorium as quietly as possible, given the excitement of the circumstances. The townspeople, our parents, teachers, and friends are already inside, waiting for us to make our entrance with all the 'pomp and circumstance' befitting the occasion. The auditorium is state-of-the-art and only about fourteen years old. For a town the size of Jal, it's an impressive structure, unquestionably the most impressive meeting place in the community. All the important and trivial community and school events are held here.In the past twelve years, I've attended countless concerts, plays, talent shows, beauty pagents, magic shows, and school assemblies in this small-town civic center.
Waiting in the lobby, we're surrounded by sparkling images of school
pride and accomplishment, the trophy cases. Behind the shiny glass fronts
are countless souveniers stretching back in time. Souveniers of physical
accomplishment, stamina, musical talent, hard work, teamwork, academic
achievement, perseverance---
an assemblage of silver and gold acknowledgments for excellence, which
is the heritage of Jal High School. We're reminded that we belong to a
long line of graduating classes. We're unique, but we're also part of a
larger family, a family with an impressive past, and a family with a promising
future.
Suddenly, the very walls vibrate from the pedal tones of the organ,
as Mrs. Recer begins the processional. The rite of passage has begun. The
double doors swing open and we begin the long, slow march down the two
aisles, a sort of stereo senior class, half of us on either side. The audience
is standing, heads turned, taking in our every step as we proceed slowly
down the sloped floor. With approximately only eighteen of us on each aisle,
well spaced, and walking slowly, it couldn't have taken very long for us
to reach our seats in front of the stage...nonetheless, it was an eternity.
Once there, the music ended and there was a brief invocation before the
entire room was instructed to be seated.
From here the memories are fuzzy again, bits and pieces forming a montage somewhere on a small projection screen in my mind. There were the usual commencment segments--opening remarks, introductions, brief entertainment, main speaker, more entertainment, and acknowledgments--before the actual presentation of diplomas and that long, triumphant walk across the stage for each of us. The title of the processional, "Pomp and Circumstance", descirbes the evening perfectly. An air of excitement permeates the cavernous vault of the auditorium and the ostentatious proceedings of the ceremony. Thirty-five years later, I don't remember the speaker's words, I don't even remember the speaker. Nor do I remember the specifics of the entertainment, and I only have a vague, misty recollection of actually traversing the stage area and receiving my diploma. But I remember the 'feel' of the moment. I can close my eyes and feel the butterflies in my stomach as I remember how I and my thirty-five classmates were the center of attention, how the entire community focused on us that particular night.
I remember desparately struggling to hold back the tears as I realized
that I would never again perform with the high school band on that stage,
something which I had been doing since the seventh grade. An era in my
life was coming to a close. True, a new era was beginning, but it was just
that--new and unknown. It was going to be very difficult to let go of the
old, familiar life in which I was so comfortable and secure. We're standing
together now. We have just been pronounced 'graduates of Jal High School."
We reach up and transfer the tassels of our caps to the opposite side,
signifying the transition, the change which has just occurred in our lives.
The walls shake again from the resonating organ as Mrs. Recer begins the
recessional,
"The War March of the Priests, from Aida."
As we march (rather quickly now) up the aisles, the gamut of emotions
descends upon us--joy, sadness, excitement, anxiousness, enthusiasm for
the life which awaits us outside the walls of Jal High School, regret for
the fact that we are leaving those walls--those safe, secure walls. We
will, however, always have our precious memories of these priceless school
years, this pretentious ceremony, our cherished friends,
the love of our families, our teachers, our community. We are the seniors
of Jal High School and we are off to change the world.
Thirty-five years later, things haven't exactly turned out as we might have planned, have they? The world has changed, it's true--in many ways for the better, but for the worse in other ways.
What will be the memories which the 1999 seniors of Columbine High School
carry with them through their lives? I shudder to think. Memories of safe,
secure walls?
I think not. No "War March of the Priests" for them...instead,
war. Shaking of the school walls...not from the vibrations of organ music,
but from bombs and gunfire.
I feel a tremendous sense of guilt for the wonderful memories I posess,
for having had an easier, more sheltered youth, for passing down to today's
youth a changed world...one full of violence and hatred.
Hatred. Where does it come from? Why is it allowed to flourish in our
society? What can be done about it? These are not easy questions; there
are no easy answers.
But we must begin to try.
Here's an anagram for you: Hatred......athred......thread.
Hatred is a thread in the fabric of our society...a ravelin', if you will.
It's time we reach out to the edge of society's garment and pluck it off,
before everything unravels.
------Jerry Phillips 04/24/99
03/13/99 From: Jerry Phillips
Tips on Forwarding Jokes:
Or---How to insure a smile, not a grimace, on your recipient's face.
Don't get me wrong, I enjoy a good joke as much as the
next fellow, although at times I am bombarded by so many that it becomes
a little difficult to laugh after clicking through dozens and dozens of
emails and finding multiple copies of the same joke, merely because it's
the popular joke that week. But this is simply a by product of being in
touch with so many people. There are to date 380 Jalites connected to our
website.
A lot of them (you) send me jokes, and that's great; but I have a suggestion
to help keep the recipient of your forwarded joke in a jovial mood........don't
forward it !
By that, I don't mean that you shouldn't send it......just don't do it by clicking on that awful little FWD button.
I'm sure everyone has experienced receiving a forwarded joke from a friend, who got it from their friend, who got it from their friend, and so on. What can happen is that by the time the joke gets to you, there are three full pages of forwarded email addresses in front of the little one-liner joke at the bottom of the page. Heaven forbid you should want to PRINT a copy of the joke for yourself......you get a printout of all those pages of email addresses first! Not fun !
What to do about it? Simply this......
When you receive a joke which has lots of email addresses in front of it, and you would like to forward it to a friend, DO NOT CLICK ON THE FWD BUTTON !
Instead, highlight the joke (and just the joke) by dragging your cursor over it while holding down the left mouse button. Then click on the EDIT button (somewhere near the top of your screen, depending on which style browser you have). When the drop-down menu appears, click on COPY. This places the joke (and only the joke) into your "clipboard" where it remains, ready to be "pasted" somewhere else.
Okay, now open a brand new mail composition window (To: Mail, or something like that, again depending on your browser). Move your cursor down into the message area of the new mail window and click once. You should have a little flashing cursor line in the message area.
Now, go back to the top of your screen and click the EDIT button again. This time, when the drop-down menu appears, click on PASTE. Ta Daaaaaaaaa !
The joke which was stored on your electronic "clipboard" has
just been transferred to the message area of the new mail window. That's
all there is to it......except for addressing it and filling in the subject
line, of course. Now, when the joke arrives at it's destination, the only
email address at the top of the page will be your own. Heck, your friend
might even be led to believe that you thought this one up all by yourself,
and encourage you to become a television comedy writer.
He'll think you're extremely clever.
And you know what? You are!
Book Review: by Jerry Phillips 12/01/98
Dave Barry Turns 50
Dave Barry Turns 50 is a 'must read' for all you baby boomers out there. If you're plus or minus a few years on either side of 50, this book is for you. For you? It's ABOUT you !
Barry's observations will definitely 'hit home' as he takes you on a trip down memory lane, beginning with the year 1947. Here's a sampling......
1947--This is the historic year when the first Boomers were born. The reason there were so many of us was that our parents' generation, having endured the misery of the Depression and the horror of the war years, evidently spent much of 1946 in the sack.
1958 was the Year of the Hugely Popular Truly Dumb Novelty Record. Among the big hits were "The Purple People Eater" and "The Witch Doctor.'' (Everybody join in: "Oo, ee, oo ah ah, ting, tang, walla walla bing bang." Okay! Now everybody try to get that out of your head!)
Psycho (the 1960 movie) was notable because it resulted in a nationwide epidemic of B.O., caused by people not taking showers.
On the 1965 musical front, the Beatles had a hit with "Yesterday," which was a troubling song for us young people because our parents actually liked it, which should have meant that we hated it, but we liked it, too. Fortunately for us this did not happen with many songs.
1959 was the year that Mattel introduced the Barbie doll, which for generations to come would symbolize the ideal of American feminine beauty: an absurdly skinny woman with big gazombas.
But the main distinguishing characteristic
of 1971 is that it was the Year of Alarming Trends. One of the worst--we
have still not recovered from it--was the "smile" button. This
was a little yellow button that looked like this: 
The
idea was that you pinned it on your lapel, thus conveying the heartfelt
message:
"I have no nose."
Well, by now I'm sure you get the idea. It's typically Dave Barry humor...funny, though kinda silly at times; but along with the laughs, it will bring you a flood of memories, and even a bit of philosophy......
We have a bond, us Boomers. We've been through all kinds of stuff together, and it's all still with us, defining us---the Bomb, the Hula Hoop, the godless Communists, Elvis, The Kennedy Assassination, the Beatles, Vietnam, protests, drugs, moon walks, Woodstock, Watergate---all still in our brains, swirling around and around...
Dave Barry Turns 50 (Crown Publishers, Inc., New York)
Millennial Madness 07/28/98
Occasionally I'm asked about the "Happy Chinese New Year 4696",
near the top of the Table of Contents page on this website. Since you asked....
According to the Chinese calendar (a purely arbitrary system for measuring time passage) it is now the year 4696. I'm using this bit of information on the website as a constant reminder that our modern calendar is also a purely arbitrary system for measuring time passage. Both are simply man's impositions upon the natural world for the sake of convenience. The natural world, the universe, neither knows nor cares whether it is the year 4696 or the year 1998. Neither does it care that two years from now, it will be the year 2000. From the other perspective, two years from now will simply be the year 4698---nothing special.
So why all this "millennial madness?" Why, indeed!
Amid the glut of books which are only 'cashing in' on the millennium,
there is one small, worthwhile book which I highly recommend. Stephen Jay
Gould's Questioning the Millennium "holds the mirror
up to our millennial passions to reveal our foibles, absurdities, and uniqueness--in
short, our humanity."
The book's subtitle says it all--(A Rationalist's Guide to a Precisely
Arbitrary Countdown).
Does the Millennium begin on January 1st, 2000 or on January 1st, 2001?
The source of this un-resolvable conflict can be traced back to a sixth
century monk,
Dionysius Exiguus (literally, Dennis the Short). In preparing a chronology
for Pope
St. John I, Dennis began counting with a 1 instead of a zero, "thus
discombobulating
all our usual notions of counting." Logic dictates in favor of 2001;
common sensibility
dictates in favor of 2000. What's it gonna be this time?
Gould, one of my favorite authors, is Professor of evolutionary biology
at Harvard.
This very enjoyable 179 pages is published by Harmony Books, a division
of Crown Publishers, Inc.
I know this doesn't sound like the kind of book that you would finish
reading with
tears in your eyes, but you just might be surprised.
Questioning the Millennium, by Stephen Jay Gould...
Check it out ! ---Jerry
CHATROOM NETIQUETTE 04/28/98
Several of you have confided in me that you feel "uncomfortable"
and "ignored"
in the chatrooms. You post your "Hello" or some other message,
but you never get a response. You begin to feel that no one wants to talk
to you.
PLEASE.....try not to feel this way. This is simply one of the characteristics
of chatrooms. Believe me, we all get ignored at some time; or to put it
more
accurately, we all get "overlooked" sometimes. But it isn't intentional.
Even when there are only a handful of people in the room, it's difficult
to keep up with the messages. They don't always arrive in the proper order,
so it's hard to know sometimes just who said what to whom. Also, several
message may arrive at virtually the same time, causing the topmost one
to jump clear off the screen. And all the messages are constantly moving
off the screen, soon to be lost in cyberspace forever.
The problem is compounded if there are 15 or 20 people in the room, as
there usually are on Sunday nights.
MESSAGES ARE VERY EASILY OVERLOOKED!
If you say something and no one responds; after allowing sufficient
time, say it again.
We've all been overlooked. I have. Just the other evening I asked a question
three times.....finally I shouted.....WILL SOMEONE PLEASE ANSWER ME!
It worked, I was answered......I was also reprimanded for shouting! Ha.
I know, it's a silly rule, but it's universal......typing in all capital
letters in a chatroom is considered shouting and is looked upon as very
rude! Oh well, I got my response.
My point is.....don't be shy.....and try not to get your feelings hurt.....please.
It's simply part of the chatroom expierence.
It might help if EVERYONE would keep an eye out for messages which seem to be overlooked. The other night I said, "Hey, so and so.......So and So just asked you a question and you didn't respond....guess you didn't see it." By that time the question was completely off the screen and so and so would never have seen it without scrolling back up. After I called it to his attention, so and so answered So and So, and everything was fine. (Did you follow all those so and so's? I didn't.)
If everyone could pay closer attention to [who's in the room] and [who
hasn't spoken in a while] it will help. Some people just like to watch,
and are comfortable doing so.....that's fine. Just say, "I'm watching.......don't
bother me." Ha.
If we can all be more "in tune" we can make it a pleasant experience
for everybody,
and maybe no one will end up feeling ignored. Okay?
Thanks, Jerry
p.s. I know what you're going to do, after this LECTURE. You're going to
all get together next week in the chatroom and ignore me......right?
THANKS, EVERYONE 04/05/98