Anyone who has survived all of the horrors of a world that is obviously OUT TO GET YOU has been subjected to a variety of extra presentations by teachers about things we should avoid: sex, drugs, drinking, driving distracted, etc. I am all for sex education and for instilling in teens and children that drugs and drinking are not the pathway to a successful life. However, I must say that, as a student, I am tired of being told not to do things because maybe I will die.

The process of frightening children about the outside world begins even earlier than sex and drug education; remember stranger danger? We are taught from a very, very young age that we are supposed to be not just wary of, but downright scared of strangers. We are taught that everyone out there in the world is not just going about their duties like you and I, but they are searching for children and teens to kidnap, rape, torture, and murder. We learn about the stories of families who have lost a child to a predator and, even though we don’t know it yet, we begin to develop a mistrust of the world that may be responsible for much bigger problems than scared, sheltered suburban high schoolers.

Yesterday in my school-mandated Senior Seminar class, a woman came in to teach us about the importance of car and renter’s insurance. In theory, a good idea. We are about to be unleashed into that big, dangerous world and we need to know how to take care of ourselves out there. This woman was an expert in her profession and had very good information that no doubt helped myself and a few of my classmates understand the necessity and inner workings of insurance. At the end of her presentation, we were shown two video clips, each about 8 minutes long. The first was about a boy, football player, high school junior, college bound. His story was that he died in a car accident, in the backseat of the vehicle, safely buckled in. His death is one I would count as a true accident; the boy was doing everything right and he died anyway. No one in the car was drinking or doing drugs, the driver was sober and clear headed. After we saw this video, the insurance woman took more time to tell us that we need to be very careful about who we allow to drive us.

SERIOUSLY?

Everyone will, at some point, get in some kind of a car accident. Be it a huge, fatal, evening news worthy accident or a tiny fender bender, it will happen eventually. It is simply unavoidable. We cannot expect a human being to be able to operate something as complex and powerful as a car or truck perfectly all of the time. We cannot spend all of our time worrying about who is driving us; our parents even get in accidents.

The insurance lady also brought with her a lot of posters and props from a company, www.impactteendrivers.org. The posters read something like this: “Shotguns. Crack. Cobras. Lattes. What’s more dangerous to you?” Oddly enough, that poster is trying to say to me that I need to be MORE worried about driving while drinking a latte than about being confronted with hard drugs, like crack cocaine, or a cobra.

There are infinite ways to die. It is possible to drown in a glass of water; death is inevitable. We do our best to push it away and our modern medicine has done an excellent job in allowing people to postpone death. Keyword: postpone. We are all going to die, it is a fact of life. I just don’t think we should be living our longer, healthier lives worrying constantly about the many ways we could possibly die every day.

We need to be informed about the dangers of the world, that much is certain. We do not need to be indoctrinated with an absolute fear of the outside world. Some day, we will all leave the comfortable homes of our parents and strike out on our own. This is infinitely more difficult if you have never been allowed the freedom to at least sample a little bit of the real world.

We worry so much about things that really do not matter, we have created even more health problems that can contribute to an early death. The solutions to these new problems (anxiety, panic, depression, etc.) have created even more problems. We are now dealing with a prescription drug addiction epidemic that continues to grow and is showing no signs of letting up.

We should not be so worried and distrustful that we need to pay doctors to fix our brains with addictive chemicals. We need to live our lives; it’s what we are here for in the first place.

However, I am also a pop culture fanatic. Now, most of us have at the very least heard of the Comedy Central phenomenon South Park, created by Trey Parker and Matt Stone, which made it’s debut in 1997. Some of us are loyal, devoted watchers; some of us have seen maybe an episode here or there; some of us know nothing other than the nails-on-a-chalkboard voice of Eric Cartman as we quickly flip the channel away from the noise and vulgarity of the cartoon.

Until fairly recently, I belonged firmly in the last category. I knew of and about the show but had never viewed more than 45 seconds of it. This all changed, not because of the episode I wish to discuss, but one which really is very silly and doesn’t carry much deep meaning: “Towelie” Season 5, Episode 8. Upon first viewing, I became infatuated with the pot-smoking, wisecracking, walking, talking towel. But one can only watch the same half hour of television so many times. I began to crave more.

So, I went in search of South Park episodes on the On Demand on the TV. I came across an episode which actually made me think quite hard about all this time I spend reading and trying (mostly against my will, mandated by the IB English curriculum) to extract a “deep, insightful” meaning from it. This episode was “The Tale of Scrotie McBoogerballs” Season 14, Episode 2.

In my summary of the show, I will make an attempt to be concise. The boys are assigned to read “The Catcher in the Rye” for school, the famously banned book connected with the murder of icon John Lennon. When they are told the tardy history of the novel, the boys are more than excited to read it. However, upon finishing the novel, all of the boys feel gypped because they failed to find anything more vulgar or shocking than the word “shit.” Having not read “The Catcher in the Rye” myself I cannot speak to the truth of this, personally. However, that does seem to be the general consensus of people I’ve spoken with about the novel. The boys decide they could do a much better job than J.D. Salinger at writing a shocking, vulgar, nasty book and set out to do so. They quickly change their tune when Stan’s mom finds the book in his room and vomits repeatedly upon reading it.

I must halt my summary to comment on what the above says to me. I am aware that it is part of human nature to seek out abominable and heinous things to read, hear, or see. This is made clear to us by our once-upon-a-time obsessions with literal, traveling freak shows which have morphed into our reality television shows, celebrity gossip blogs (updated every half hour, of course), and, obviously, the atrocious results a simple Google search may turn up. It was no surprise to me when Stan’s mother took the [vomit-stained] manuscript to her husband and insisted that he read it as well. Even less surprisingly, despite losing his lunch by the end of the first page, Stan’s father reads the entire thing as well.

Moving on, Stan’s mother tells Stan what she has discovered in his room. They boys confer about the situation and decide to lay the blame on the unsuspecting (and hopelessly adorable) Butters, later in the episode identified by his full name: Leopold Butters Scotch. Butters is undeniably one of my favorite characters on South Park, an overly trusting little boy who gets played by the boys as often as Kenny gets killed or Cartman makes a Jewish joke. They convince Butters that he wrote the book in his sleep and he steps up and accepts full blame for the writing. At this point in time, the story has circulated around the entire South Park community and with much shock and sickness, the concerned parents and neighbors meet up with the boys to name the culprit.

The big surprise comes to the boys when the adults don’t want to punish Butters for the writing, but reward him. They absolutely rave about the book and, in short order, it becomes a national bestseller and Butters an instant celebrity. The boys, of course, are furious that Butters is being rewarded for work that they did. However, there’s a little South Park lesson in morals: if you can’t own up when you’re wrong, why should you own up when you’re right? I believe the boys lost their rights to the novel as soon as they convinced Butters it was his.

Note: Butters is also the only character that reacts when reading “The Catcher in the Rye,” going into a kind of trance-mission to kill John Lennon, until his father informs him that John Lennon is, indeed, already dead.

The boys try to get their revenge on Butters by petitioning to have “The Tale of Scrotie McBoogerballs” placed on the banned books list. The adults refuse, claiming that, while vulgar and repulsive, the work has a deeper meaning and contains many important commentaries on our world, referencing politics and healthcare. They boys, having written the book, know better and are in complete disbelief at what the adults are saying.

Now, I have just spent a good chunk of my day summarizing and “responding to” Flannery O’Connor’s collection of short stories, “Everything That Rises Must Converge.” I wrote 19 pages on it and, to be frank, detested every minute of my analysis. I felt as though I was either digging too deep for something that simply wasn’t there or being much too obvious about my statements. While I enjoyed many of the stories and even did background research on (Mary) Flannery O’Connor that was not assigned, my analyses, while sufficient in length and hopefully in content for my English grade, read out to be hopeless bullshit.

This episode of South Park brought me back to the many, many hours of forced analyzing I have done in concurrence with an (almost) full International Baccalaureate high school education. Since age 13, I have been directed to not just read a book and absorb the literature like the little learning sponge I am, but to extract every last ounce of theme, symbol, allusion, motif, and any other literary element I could get my grade-grubbing hands on. Sometimes I feel proud and confident in my analyses, sometimes I would fully admit, with shame mind you, that they are absolute fabrications mostly written to look nice using the “synonyms” option in MacWord.

This leads me to the big question: Why on earth have I spent so much time doing this?

To clarify, I am very much a fan of the English program at my school and the study of literature in general. I plan to major in English in college next year. But, ultimately in the grand scheme of life, when will I truly need to read a piece of literature and then dissect it within an inch of it’s life?

The great irony (see? I just can’t stop myself) in this entire discussion is that not only do I have no answer as to whom is right, my English teachers, myself, or South Park, but that I am writing an ANALYSIS about it.

Now, my English teachers have all been fully invested in the importance of being able to analyze literature and rightfully so! It’s what they do, it’s what they teach. They study it, learn it, practice it, and then pass it on to youngsters who NEED to know this very important skill. If I was an English teacher, and not a high school senior dreaming of summer and college, I would have no qualms about the need to know how to fabricate a theme or symbol, as we so often do when a satisfactory one is simply not present.

However, I AM a high school senior dreaming of summer and college and I could not care less about the symbolism of the Garden of Eden in the short story “Parker’s Back.” On the other hand, my English teacher will be glad to know he’s done his job well as, even though I don’t have any interest in finding allusions in a once-enjoyable story I can quickly find one or make one up that is sufficiently justifiable.

I am not saying that your English class is worthless, or that this episode of South Park is condemning reading completely (although at the end of the episode Kyle does tell Butters that situations like these are why we should avoid books and stick to TV) or even that it is a waste of time to be spending so many hours of my relatively young life learning this skill. I am simply not sure.

If anyone can tell me of a practical application of this skill, outside of English-centric jobs, of course, please do. I would love to know what the every-man does with this information. Does it come in handy? Have you ever used it in your real, tangible life? Or does it simply melt away when not maintained by constant, forced practice?

Clearly, I have been writing analyses for far too long as I can be sent into a thought frenzy by an episode of South Park. Is that a bad thing? Does it make me crazy? Does it make me a “real” adult? [Because being charged as an adult in court simply isn't enough]. Is my ability to turn a half hour cartoon with as many swears as “The Osbournes” [oops, did I just date myself???] and an amount of political incorrectness to rival Rush Limbaugh’s radio show into an almost 2,000 word long discussion about the value of a literary analysis amazing? Or is it a sad testament to the misused hours of my teenage years? You tell me.

I am so indoctrinated with the need to search out literary elements in everything around me that I spent literal hours agonizing over the John Lennon – Ronald Reagan – Kim Kardashian comparison in this episode. I wracked my brain to think of how this could be a valid comparison: Well, the man who killed John Lennon said “The Catcher in the Rye” made him want to kill the phonies and I would definitely not classify the Kardashians outside of the phony category. Most of my trouble here came from the presence of Ronald Reagan in this equation as I know only the basics about the man. My liberal, Jewish, left-side politics heavy upbringing did not teach me anything about any Republican presidents (save their supposed stances on “the issues”), aside from the one I witnessed myself. So do I attribute my failure to find the answer to a lack of knowledge about Pres. Reagan or to trying to crack an uncrackable code?

I really want to shut this party down before we hit 2,000 words and my migraine explodes, so here we’ll try. Ponder some questions, find answers or don’t; it’s a free country. Check back sometime; maybe there will be an equally long, confusing and circular discussion on religion or current events!

thank you.

From the bottom of my heart.

2. Just hearing you laugh makes others more cheerful

3. You are the best/hottest dancer ever

4. You are way more intelligent than people give you credit for

5. You know what I mean before I even say it

6. You love your dog even though it has snot

7. You always text me back

8. You alway hold my hair when I throw up

9. You don’t care that my car is a mess

10. You make a good time the best time

11. You don’t judge me

12. You keep my commentary going

13. You’re gorgeous

14. We can do that talking thing, and you know what that means

15. We often feel things together

16. You are and always have been there, even when everyone else simply disappeared

17. You have an amazing alcohol tolerance

18. You always want to help, sincerely

19. You can actually sing

20. You have the best shoes

21. You always go bathing suit shopping with me

22. You have the best legs

23. You’ll laugh when you realize this is number 23

24. You feel everything

25. You’re manly in all the good ways

26. You’re girly in all the good ways

27. Your eyebrows are awesome

28. You are aware of the proper procedure for applying cosmetics

29. You eat ice cream in the shower

30. You always understand, even if I don’t

31. You know what commitment is

32. You believe in me and I believe in you

33. I wouldn’t want to be in this world without you

34. We can tell each other literally everything, even gross things, and its okay

35. You can laugh at yourself

36. We smoked weed for the first time together

37. We got too shitty for the first time together

38. We woke up hungover for the first time together

39. We bought our first pack of cigarettes together

40. I am more comfortable with you than anyone, one exception

41. I have a 0% fear of you stealing my boyfriend, which is a big deal in high school

42. You are the only true friend I’ve ever had in my life

43. You have a trundle bed

44. You know how to listen, and when it’s important to do so

45. You give full effort always

46. We can just be watching TV together and still have the best time

47. Ditto for Randall’s garage

48. You understand that high heels makes everything better

49. We have a strict anti “what if” policy

50. It’s the only policy

51. We get into so much trouble together we will remember forever

52. We are both religious but no one would know it

53. We can talk about God and clothes in the same conversation and it’s normal

54. You go snowboarding with me even though you hate it

55. If I bought a boat like Forrest Gump, I’d name it Jenny too

56. You know me better than anyone on this planet

57. You can listen to me babble and not want to kill me

58. We keep each other safe when possible

59. When we’re bored, it’s always better to be bored together

60. You’re beautiful

61. You can make intelligent conversation

62. You can make unintelligent conversation

63. You jump around in the hallways

64. You appreciate good music and movies

65. And bad ones

66. We can be serious or silly together

67. You ask the funniest questions

68. You make Eric Green-worthy faces

69. You will appreciate that this ends at 69

I love you, here’s your epilogue

I just hope this isn’t permanent.

I just hope this fades.

I just hope.

I hope what I feel isn’t true, for once. Please, please let me be wrong.

I’m tired of being unsure and of waiting. I am in a constant state of waiting. I’m waiting for second semester, for college letters, for spring break, for graduation.

I don’t want to live just for these few days.

I want to enjoy each day. But everything around me renders that an impossibility. I am stuck in the endless cycle of school, work, wait. School, work, wait. SCHOOL. WORK. WAIT. With only few days of relief in between. One of those days comes in about three weeks. Another a few days after. And the next isn’t for a month.

I’m tired of waiting and I’m tired of feeling this way. I want my control back, if I ever even had it in the first place.

THANK YOU JENNY VALLECK FOR HOLDING MY HAIR LAST NIGHT WHILE I THREW UP PURPLE STUFF I LOVE YOU A LOT. YOU ARE THE BEST FRIEND I HAVE EVER HAD EVER IN THE HISTORY OF FOREVER AND NO ONE COULD ASK FOR BETTER.

Especially because my hair was so cute last night and needed to be free of purple vomit

That was definitely not a Nashville party.

IF I ACTUALLY HAVE TO SLEEP ON THE FLOOR WITH THE DOG ON CHRISTMAS NIGHT IT WILL WORK.

Fuck this.

That is all.

Ponder that the next time you spar on whose life is the worst. Mystery is a big part of attraction and interest. If you’re completely open, there is no mystery and there’s nothing to find out.

Also, aren’t there some things you’d just rather people didn’t know?