Somewhere in 1999, the lazily-lit halls of Northwestern High School we’re to be destroyed. Summer would mark the end of the original construct that had educated my kind-hearted Aunt Donna and Jim “Sesame Street” Henson.
It would be my final year at NHS, and in turn, my graduating class would be the swan song for the old school. Her destruction would give way to a millennium monster --- from mid-20th century crumblings to a sleeker, less penitentiary-like, glass Gojira.
1999 also marked the year that I began to stumble into my own. I discovered the power of the written word, or more specifically how much fun it would be to punch it in the face. JOURNALISM 101, the apex of adolescent misfit knighthood, had summoned me.
In high school TV shows, movies, and/or books, we’re told that the only thing more socially unacceptable than being a mathlete is being in journalism class. Yet, Northwestern was a strange animal --- the normal hierarchy didn’t exist. Our sports teams were lackluster, our popular students already had kids, our student body was a melting pot, and our gangs were unmotivated. Such is life in Hyattsville, Maryland.
The teachers, Mrs. Moyer and Mrs. Festin, had assembled their Journalism class like Yul Brynner. Every race, every background, every angle was covered in their daily attendance sheet. They inspired us to be a winning team (the only one at NHS) for a simple school paper. It was the first, and to my primitive understanding, the last of it’s kind there (Though recently, at the Small Press Expo, I bumped into members of the journalism class of ’08…it was an embarrassingly warm feeling that struck me when I saw the diversity and promise in those young whipper-snappers).
Admittedly, I dislike thinking about High School in such a nostalgic way. Not only does it make me feel old and unaccomplished, but it also seems cliché and silly to over-emphasize such an awkward period in my life (Ironically, that’s when I realized that both “Bamn” and another upcoming comic project of mine generates so heavily around that notion). But recently I’ve been double-taked by Northwestern. First, I made the horrible mistake of joining Facebook. Then, all the people I know who escaped the pregnancy disease that was plaguing NHS are NOW having babies. I’ve had several impromptu reunion moments on the subway; I meet a handful of kids from Northwestern’s school newspaper at SPX, and now…now I’m sliding my movie reviews under the door for OfNote Magazine.
OfNote is an online magazine dedicated to the arts and people of color. Their goal is to, either, bring the arts to it’s intended audience or the intended audience to the arts. It's founder, Grace Ali, happens to be one of the many memorable people from my Journalism 101 days. One look at her bio and you can see that:
A) She’s made a complete and total mess of her life.
B) She’s the perfect person to jump start a website like this.
But don’t start thinking that this alumni assembly means I’m going to be attending my reunion next year. No, sir…I get enough of that at the liquor store.
Happy New Year! Now, go check out Of Note and my reviews!:
It would be my final year at NHS, and in turn, my graduating class would be the swan song for the old school. Her destruction would give way to a millennium monster --- from mid-20th century crumblings to a sleeker, less penitentiary-like, glass Gojira.
1999 also marked the year that I began to stumble into my own. I discovered the power of the written word, or more specifically how much fun it would be to punch it in the face. JOURNALISM 101, the apex of adolescent misfit knighthood, had summoned me.
In high school TV shows, movies, and/or books, we’re told that the only thing more socially unacceptable than being a mathlete is being in journalism class. Yet, Northwestern was a strange animal --- the normal hierarchy didn’t exist. Our sports teams were lackluster, our popular students already had kids, our student body was a melting pot, and our gangs were unmotivated. Such is life in Hyattsville, Maryland.
The teachers, Mrs. Moyer and Mrs. Festin, had assembled their Journalism class like Yul Brynner. Every race, every background, every angle was covered in their daily attendance sheet. They inspired us to be a winning team (the only one at NHS) for a simple school paper. It was the first, and to my primitive understanding, the last of it’s kind there (Though recently, at the Small Press Expo, I bumped into members of the journalism class of ’08…it was an embarrassingly warm feeling that struck me when I saw the diversity and promise in those young whipper-snappers).
Admittedly, I dislike thinking about High School in such a nostalgic way. Not only does it make me feel old and unaccomplished, but it also seems cliché and silly to over-emphasize such an awkward period in my life (Ironically, that’s when I realized that both “Bamn” and another upcoming comic project of mine generates so heavily around that notion). But recently I’ve been double-taked by Northwestern. First, I made the horrible mistake of joining Facebook. Then, all the people I know who escaped the pregnancy disease that was plaguing NHS are NOW having babies. I’ve had several impromptu reunion moments on the subway; I meet a handful of kids from Northwestern’s school newspaper at SPX, and now…now I’m sliding my movie reviews under the door for OfNote Magazine.
OfNote is an online magazine dedicated to the arts and people of color. Their goal is to, either, bring the arts to it’s intended audience or the intended audience to the arts. It's founder, Grace Ali, happens to be one of the many memorable people from my Journalism 101 days. One look at her bio and you can see that:
A) She’s made a complete and total mess of her life.
B) She’s the perfect person to jump start a website like this.
But don’t start thinking that this alumni assembly means I’m going to be attending my reunion next year. No, sir…I get enough of that at the liquor store.
Happy New Year! Now, go check out Of Note and my reviews!:
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