Haha, I'm An Idiot.

What Is It With These People?

I know that this is becoming less of a book of my shower thoughts and more "Chronicles of my Art Teacher", but he's done it again, guys. Let me explain.

The other day, while in art, something occurred to me.

My art teacher has a weird taste in music.

He, who I shall henceforth refer to as Mr. C, has demonstrated this on many occasions. For example, the first class we had with him was when he announced he would play music. Naturally, pretty much everybody went insane with requests. Mr. C TOTALLY brushed them off by saying that he WOULD NOT take requests for songs. Seeing a loophole, someone requested our local station, The Moose. He stated that there was "Too much advertising."
Then he played nothing but The Beatles for the rest of class.

A few days later, I noticed a drastic change in music. What had, until that point, been pretty much just The Beatles and a few other songs of a similar time period thrown in suddenly became rap. Just straight-up rap. I have no idea why he played it, (maybe he thought it was popular?) but he just did. No hesitation. This was pretty hardcore rap for a really nice Newfie guy too. It sort of scared me.

A day later, it was soft classical music. Really quiet. Then, last class, he played various oldies again. The ones I could pick out were "Faith", "Fernando", and frickin' "Karma Chameleon". At this point, I was fully aware of what was happening and it was sort of breaking me. I remember saying something along the lines of "No. Please. This is breaking me. I don't want Boy George to be what finally breaks me."

And these musical escapades lead into a story from last year with my religion teacher Mr. V. Mr. V was always a cool guy. He told stories, talked with us, gave us candy on Fridays, and generally acted more human than most teachers. Now, this memory is a little vague, but I'll try to make it accurate as possible.

It was a Friday afternoon, early summer. If we were out of school, it would have been one of those lazy summer afternoons where you don't have any agenda beyond watching the seagulls squabble and just sort of existing. We were right near school's end, only a few weeks until everyone forgot what math was and did not English good. It was apparent at this point that even the teachers didn't care anymore and were just giving us work to do because we had to show up.

Anyway, it was bright outside. No lights were on in class, just sunlight. Mr. V had given us work to do, an activity. He put it all on the board and let us copy it down. He, like everyone else on the last period of a summer Friday, was ready to quit. He gave us a simple activity and sat in his desk, typing something into his computer. He then looks up and addresses the class. He said he wanted us to hear a song that was stuck in his head. He then put on "A Horse With No Name" and a hush fell on the class.

It wasn't a shocked hush. It was a hush that was focused. Kids were working, and all the while "A Horse With No Name" played in the background. I am 100% sure that I was the only kid in class who knew what that song was, and it was killing me inside. When class ended, Mr. V simply acted like nothing happened. He went through routine and sent us off, never addressing the fact that he just played this random old song because it was stuck in his head. He hasn't addressed it since.

I wonder what he was thinking that day.