Words of Wisdom: AVOID ONLINE CLASSES

Dear Diary,

I finished grades K-12, but I cannot finish K12!

This past week, most students  in my school were officially granted the 'High School Graduate'  title. Teachers finally realized we are smarter than them and they can no longer educates us and finals were completed swiftly without care since grades no longer impact our future. We do, however, have daily mandatory seminars the seniors must attend for about two hours to compensate for all those nagging parents who say "We payed for a year! Not for 3/4 of one!" Perhaps those nagging parents are just my dad and he is to blame for the extension of school; though, there is no exam and all that is required of us is our presence. Hellllooo subconscious let's go meet daydream over there. The senior class has only had one seminar so far, and it was actually pretty interesting. The school brought in five victims of addiction from a program called Daytop. Daytop deals with teenagers struggling with drug abuse addiction and they were speaking to us about their experiences and childhood that led to addiction. Oddly, at the end of their presentation I noticed a kid from my grade approach one of the speakers and exchange numbers with him...welcome to Daytop. KIDDIN.

So most students can now proceed senior year with smiles extending from one ear to the next, enjoying the stress free moments. Of course lucky Andrew is stuck with one class left: K12 AP Statistics. K12 is a company that provides an education online. One must enroll in a specific course, and there are specific guidelines one must complete to pass the course. When I first chose Statistics as my elective the year prior, I was under the assumption that there will be an actual teacher with an actual structure who is visibly in front of me with a blackboard. I thought this would be another class with my teacher standing by the the desk with all the girls stuffing their noses in their notebooks while the guys are preventing the teacher from teaching--except me mom, I'm an angel. Guess who was mistaken? The first day of school I was notified that because of a dearth of students who opted for statistics as an elective, the school will not be providing a teacher.. "but on the bright side, Andrew, you can take K12!" umm can you fix the lighting; I don't really see any bright side.When I along with the other four suckers were informed what K12 was and how it works we were all like "An online course? No teacher? Hell ya!" 

Our initial sentiments paralleled the difficulty of the course when we first began. We were exchanging answers left and right and with the extra credit K12 provides we were all averaging above a 100. We would taunt students in other classes who were assiduously working their asses off, barely getting that 90, while we were putting in minimal effort and receiving scores above 100.  Well all good things come to an end and, as expected, Andrew's good came to an end after just a few week and transitioned him into a virtual hell. So to revise the quote and put it into perspective 'All good things come to an end...and the end sucks shit'

When my online teacher, Mrs. McDougald, finally noticed that the probability of all four of us to consecutively have the same multiple choice answers is close to 0, we were subjected to an online plagiarism lesson...ya we don't think she actually knows statistics either..Well the plagiarism lesson was basically "NEVER PLAGIARIZE AGAIN" extended over a 45 minute period. In our defense, though, we were never told what assignments can be done together and we had no idea the assignments were suppose to be done independently. We each did the work individually then the following day we would collaborate and discuss our answers. 

My average significantly dropped when the extra credit Mrs. McDougald distributed was stripped from our grades. With the relatively easiness of the course + extra credit + (plagiarism) all our grades were rocket high.  My real school said "Hey, these averages are too high...let's get rid of the extra credit!" So my grade dropped from a 106 to a 92. Not a bad grade. Well my school made that jurisdiction when the course was very easy, so a 92 was an achievable grade purely from academics. Now my grade was only dependent on the rigor of the course, and let me tell you, the rigor did a flippin 180. All four of us saw a new trend in our averages: 106...92...88..84...83...HANG IN THERE BUDDY. 

The way the course works is that they provide a calender that outlines when an assignment is to be handed in and what lesson we should be learning for a respective day. Because I am Jewish and have a holiday every other week, my schedule obviously does not coherently match with the one the course provides, and the four of us have always been suffering behind. When we miss an assignment for a given date, we receive a temporal 0 that is changed once we submit the assignment. So when the four of returned from winter break and logged unto K12 our averages dropped from an 86 to a 32. Go us! Needless to say, I am leading the competition with a record low of 6. Go me! Because K12's schedule is independent from my school's, this course lasts another three weeks. I have yet to attain that aforementioned 'high school graduate' title, and truthfully I am not sure I will. K13 here I come! I'm kidding, but I might NEED some assistance through the way. Someone want to give me that Daytop kid's number?

So I hope by now ya'll can feel my sentiments toward this K12 absurdity. My teacher lives in frkn Tennessee, an average below 50 is possible, and there is absolutely no structure. This class is what is preventing me from smiling from one ear to the next, so if you make a joke and I'm only half smiling, don't be insulted--blame K12! Everything is K12's fault. Boohoo. Sympathy for those suffering from Senioritis please! In conclusion, I recommend you to avoid online classes...especially you, papa, there is a lot of clicking and mouse-work involved. intense. 

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Before you start yelling at me that I forgot to write last week, I have a legitimate excuse: K12! No it's really because I was vacationing in Miami for the holidays, and it was hard to find time to write between the tanning and the sleeping. I am going to try hard to post a blog next week too, but I have my AP exams throughout next week and AP exams take precedence over your enjoyment..sorry

sooo...Israel...I have to make a decision today. Literally today. What the ****************************** am I doing next year? urgh. Ciao!

Me + Summer Plans = Recipe for Disaster

Dear Diary, 

Although most people anticipate summer like a fat kid anticipates his chocolate cake, I glimpse at what Summer has to offer and then grudgingly  turn back to my parents and ask "umm can I stay home?". Summer and I never really 'clicked'. Sure the absence of stress and work were great, but the whole 'sleep away camp' thingy was never really for me. (P.S. this is the moment where my mom yells "HA I TOLD YOU, YOU'RE INTROVERTED!") I hated the pit in my stomach before delving into an environment of unfamiliar faces, where one's popularity is contingent on how good one is at sports. (P.S. this is the moment where my mom yells "ANDREW. WHY DIDN'T YOU INHERIT YOUR FATHER'S BASKETBALL SKILLS") I don't know mother. Maybe because I inherited more of YOUR genes.

My first experience with sleep away camp was with Camp Lavi at the age of Idonotremember; though the basketball superstar, a.k.a my father, brags that he first went to sleep away camp at age seven. Congratulations Dad, you were a very mature seven year old. My memory of this camp is very vague; however, there was one instance, which I can recall, that both guaranteed my departure from the camp and has been a reference of mockery to this day. For some reason, my mom thought it was alright to send her child off to camp with 'tighty whitys'. Imagine the situation: I am surrounded by people I had just barely met and when we were all getting ready for bed, this loser pulls down his pants, exposing his tighty whitys, and the bunk roars in laughter. Apparently, because of my underwear, my popularity was determined by the first night; though, I suspect when they saw me play basketball the following day they would think no differently. Well the whole buzz about my under garments gradually died down, and over the course of the summer I  had made a lot of friends. One night the bunk was pretty wild, doing all sorts of weird things guys do when girls are not around, and this kid walks out with a hockey stick  and hockey equipment and attached to the hockey stick was...yes...my tighy whitys. "All hail lord tighty whity" Cried the bunk--I buried my head in my pillow and feigned sleeping.

In hindsight, it was a harmless, humorous joke, and  I probably should not have left this camp after a single bad experience. Looking back, this was probably one of my 'better' summers. Anyway, I left Camp Lavi and for the next three years I regretfully ventured into my next sleep away camp, Sport Star. There is not much to say about this camp except that the name of the camp certainly did not fit its campers. Sure there were some athletic people her and there, but aside from those few sport savvy campers, the camp was a representation of the least athletic kids in their respective schools. Very deceiving camp name. 'Sport Suck' still maintains the alliteration but better depicts the kids it attracts. 

Well the Sport Star years are very uninteresting , so let's fast-forward to the Seneca days. Oh God. Seneca has a notorious reputation as the camp where popularity is contingent on clothes, hair, looks, cologne, and accessories. It has that materialistic, cliquey environment where either you're in or you're out, and if you are out, all you want to do is get the hell out of that place. The staff too is absorbed in that cliquey environment, making it a very unpleasant experience to a camper who lacks the aforementioned prerequisites. Whatever prompted me to spend my summer at this camp must have been a pretty shitty prompt. "To hell with the rumors!" I said. I packed my bag, said my goodbyes, and was off to Camp Seneca Lake

To my luck I was placed in the bunk with the people who epitomized the camp's reputation: The Five Town kids. Basically apply all the adjectives I used to describe Seneca to these Five Town kids. I am sure there are plenty of Five Town kids who do not fit the stereotype; however, many do--especially those who go to Seneca. Well I walk into a bunk with thirteen beds: six beds in two rows with one bunk bed. Can you guess who was subject to the bunk bed? The outcast! "err but I brought boxers!" I thought. A couple of days later, my bunk was sitting at our designated table, waiting for dinner to be served, and my counselor asked me "Wait so your name is Andrew Mayer, right?" ..."Three days into camp and MY COUNSELOR cannot remember my name" I thought "wow someone is getting a lowered tip" ..."Pretty sure" I responded. "Umm by any chance are you related to an Allie Mayer?" This is the moment where I turned into a nothing in the eyes of the Five Town kids to a flippin' God. As I said in the introductory blog, my sister is just known. People know her. She has a great, outgoing personality which is accompanied by a beautiful face. It kills me to fawn over anyone besides myself, so refer to my second blog for a vivid description of my sister. 

My counselors began talking to the counselor's of neighboring bunks, and I was soon dubbed as "Allie Mayer's brother". I was then considered cool in the eyes of the counselors, and that mentality shed to the campers--particularly the Five Town kids. From then on I had the best summer yet. The counselors loved me and the campers chimed in on the 'Andrew luvin'. Well when the summer ended I was actually upset. Despite the camp's negative reputation, I had a blast--I did not want to leave. Thanks Al.

Well, as expected, a year proved to long to sustain a connection, and I no longer communicated with my Seneca friends during the school year. Nonetheless, I desperately wanted to go to Seneca for my second year where I would hopefully reconnect with past friends. Unfortunately, I was completely, utterly, totally wrong. I was not placed in the same bunks as the friends I had made the previous year, and the separation did not help reestablishing connections. My counselors were different than the previous year, and I was not a fan of the new ones. Well to keep a long story short, I haaateedddd this summer. I asked my parents if I could leave after one month, but who cares about Andrew? So my parents forced me to endure two months as a victim to the kids cliquishness. Dammit Allie!

After Seneca, I went on a travel program called Kanfei Nesharim. This program entailed three weeks of skiing/touring in New Zealand and Australia followed by a  relaxing week in Hawaii. Similar to Sport Star, this camp was just one of those 'blahhh' camps. I was not too big a fan of the people that went on the trip, so the dearth of interesting people somewhat abates the seemingly extraordinary countries I visited. 

"It's time Andrew." *Gulpp* My dad no longer wanted to spend a fortune on camps that I either hated or labeled 'blahhh', so he told me that this summer I will be making money. As a high school junior who was looking for every opportunity to increase my resume, in lieu of a job I proposed an internship to my dad. My dad agreed, and that summer I interned at the New York Board of Rabbis: the leading organization for inter-faith dialogue. I had to take a bus into the city three days a week, where I worked from 8:00-3:00. Colleges think I was fostering the dialogue between religions, yet all I did was manage paperwork and get coffee for the superiors. Shows how much thattt worked. 

Well this Summer I am no longer interested in an internship; I wanna make moneeyyyy. So I got a job as a counselor at the local day camp, and fortunately most of my school friends will be working there too. This summer symbolizes out last hoorah together--truly the last leg of a twelve year journey. Quite a poignant way to end off this stage of my life in my opinion; though, knowing my previous Summer experience this will somehow end up a miserable disaster. 'Shittt is that my camper over there drowning??!!?'

Ciao

Oh Sammy

Dear Diary,

Upon the exposure of my Diary to the public, I received my first critic: Sammy. A nine year old kid who struggles on the homework section that requires him to incorporate four of his weekly vocabulary words into a story has become the first person to bash my blog; though I should mention that sometimes my mom needs help on that homework part too, so perhaps the homework is truly challenging...orrrrr perhapsssss myyy mommm issss...KIDDIN' MUM. However, along with the haters will always come the admiring fans who actively support me such as my sister, the fans who passively appreciate my work such as my dad , and the fans who go flippin nuts and tell of their friends such as my mom. Mothaa you da bomb.

Well being the generous, kind, and amazing person I raised myself to be, I asked each family member individually if I may continue writing about them. My sister and parents gave me the thumbs up; however, when I asked Sammy if I can continue writing about him, he told me that what I wrote about him was mean. "Mean?!?!" I exclaimed "I called you a cutie with every single mention!". "Ya, but I didn't like what you said about me and my spiderman chair" he said. I took a look back at that blog entry, and I could not find anything insulting. I go back to him and told him that I think he misread what I wrote since nothing I wrote could have possibly offended him. I should note that the likelihood of him misreading what I wrote is very high considering my mom lets him do his mandatory reading in front of the television with the television on.  While ironically sitting in his Spiderman throne, two inches from the television. he neglects everything I say. At the dinner table this past Friday night, I asked Sammy if I may blog about him again, since at that age kids make decisions erratically--contingent on whether mom and dad have bought them the latest game. He once again said no, and when I asked why, he said because I was mean. OKAY! "Sam!" I said "Did you even read the entire dam blog?" "Nope" He said "But I didn't like what you said about me and my spiderman chair." Clearly something is going on between Sammy and his Spiderman chair that goes beyond an ordinary sit-stand up relationship. Not gunna ask.

I gave my mom one of those 'Help me out' looks, and she responded with one of those annoyed, leave me alone 'do whatever you want looks.' My dad on the other hand was waving his pom-poms, cheering Sammy on; God forbid I should ever get any support in this household! For some reason I did not feel right writing without my brother's sanction, so dinner continued with me incessantly asking Sammy, and Sammy incessantly responding 'What will you give me?' GRR NO PROGRESS! I have noticed that 'favors' do not exist for kids at that age. Something must always be compensated for their hard, diligent work, and the worst part is that they are past the age where you can no longer convince them into giving you a ten dollar bill in exchange for three quarters. I told Sammy I would give him one dollar, and he, as expected, said no. I then increased my offer; however is response was the same. I jokingly asked "K. One Thousand Dollars". Anyone with a half of brain would surely take this offer; however, Sammy of course said "Nope". Mom, you should really consider turning that television off.

Well my dad was at his limit at this point and decided to completely digress and declare this conversation over. So much authority this man has. Well he and Sammy began practicing a song of prayer titled "Anim Z'Mirot" which we hope he will be prepared for to recite at our cousin's Bat Mitzvah (Celebration at age 12). My dad recites the first verse and tells Sammy to follow. Sammy begins and I assure you with 100% confidence that he did everything besides 'follow'. What came out of his mouth was definitely not in the Prayer book. As the older brother, I BURST out in laughter. I was in one of those moods where I could not stop laughing, and I was accompanied by my mother who, on the contrary, was trying to hold in her laughter. Sensitive Sammy got all upset and Protective daddy came to the rescue "ANDREW GET OUT!" I walked into the conjoining room with the uncontrollable laughter and listened to Sammy continue from a distance.

When Sammy finally learned the concept of 'following', my dad was exhausted. Everyone went upstairs and, as usual, did his/her own thing. My parents lie on total opposite sides of their bed--my dad reading the "History of Something" and my mom reading "5 steps on becoming anorexic". Sammy begins his weekly nuisance with my dad. When my dad had enough Sammy time--I know. Shocking right?--he bounces to my mom's side. Sometimes my mom will embrace him and they will have their inappropriate cuddle time; however, often my mom will disregard him and order him to give her a foot massage. 

Well what does poor Andrew do during this time? Mom and Dad tell him to go to his room. They lock him in his room and tell him not to come out till morning. So Andrew obediently listens. He sits in his room waiting for someone to rescue him--to show him love. *tear* . Nah kidding. All that is self imposed by me. I lock myself in my room and hide from my family. They probably wonder what the hell I do in here but hehe 4th Amendment!

This weekend was different. I went to my room as usual, but after a few minutes stand up and head to my parents room. I shockingly walked into a room where Sammy and my mom were having their inappropriate cuddle time. "Umm am I interrupting something?". My dad gave me a "what the heck are you doing out of your room" emoticon and I awkwardly said "whattuuppp". Well at this point my entire family was looking at me as if I were about to reveal something BIG. Chill out family. "Umm Sammy. Can I blog about you?" I asked. My parents were like ughh and they continued reading their books. "What will you give me?" Sammy asked. hmmm. "I'll tickle your feet!" All kids love a foot rub; though, I personally would have taken the one thousand dollars. He agreed and after ten minutes Sammy granted me the holy sanction that I have been anticipating. He did mention that he would have to review each blog about him before I post it, but I am going to disregard that part for two reasons: 1) He will likely reject everything as 'mean' 2) A text this size will probably take him months to read. 

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Life has been pretty stressful lately. Between the rush of final exams and the pressure of making an Israel decision, I feel like I am going to explode. Oh, did I just mention an Israel decision? Yep. Despite a previous blog entailing my decision to forgo the year, my dad recently had me reconsider other schools. Well I'll keep all 10 of you updated even though I talk to you on a daily basis anyway. Ciao