After browsing a few websites and seriously considering a parenting workshop and a birthing technique course, I stumbled upon the Seattle Central Community College website. At first I was discouraged by the list of classes, including “Intro to beekeeping” and “Do it yourself divorce”, but I continued to browse. It was somewhere between “In-home waxing” and “semaphore made easy” that I found what I was looking for. Perhaps I chose it because I found the subject interesting, or merely because it looked normal next to the others, but either way I signed over my next nine Fridays to an introductory acting class.

I was greeted at the door by a very wise looking man who was to teach the class, and clearly did not know what he was in for. The class included a massive Italian American man, an equally large Latino guy, a bunch of middle-aged white Microsoft workers, three or four German girls (two things which make me as Jewish kid nervous), an elderly African American couple, and a few other randos. The class began with a lecture about acting, and one of the class’ ancients took out their teeth and put their head down on the desk. It was at this point that I began to doubt my choice of Friday evening activities. I’ve never been more wrong (except for that one time I walked in on a disabled person in the woman’s restroom).

Soon after the lecture we played a game that somehow related to acting where you fight another person blindfolded with a rolled up piece of paper. If that wasn’t hard enough, only one of the two people fighting got the “weapon”, and they had to find it on the ground. The game began with the acting teacher yelling, “weapon down,” at which point the two warriors would roll about and sweep the ground with their hands like a pair of blind minesweepers.

It was at the start of one such game that one of the more sketchy looking junior actors in attendance dropped a real “weapon”, a colt 1911 handgun. He convinced the teacher that it was a “replica”, but come next class, he was removed by police.

The next game we played was a trust/icebreaker activity in which the entire class would lay on their stomachs and, one by one, role like a log over the others. The ice was in fact shattered when one of my peers called me a “bony little sh*t”, and the gigantic Italian American man whispered, “That’s not chap stick,” into my ear. I haven’t laughed so hard in years.

Though, depending on what you consider social faux pas, the class got off to a rocky start, it picked up. By the second or third week we were engaged in real acting and improvisation, which was taught to us with the utmost attention to detail. Not only did the class turn out to be fun, but also truly informative and interesting. So if you’re looking to learn some acting, beekeeping, or divorce, SSCC is a great place to start.

The rumor started by word of mouth two weeks ago, and soon spread through Facebook and other things you damn kids do these days. Facebook statuses and text messages read, “There’s a narc at the school,” and, “THE COP GOES BY SLIM BREEZY LOL.” But while you were loling, someone was left out of the hot box. Meet senior Zack Weiss, also know by the street name of Slim Breezy, Bleezy, and Blazey (for the record it’s Blazey). Weiss is transfer student from Los Angeles California, and suspected undercover narcotics officer by many at Garfield. But what were these claims based off of? Who is Slim? And what smells like bacon? I thought it was only fair to talk to the man himself. I decided to give him the old good cop bad cop routine. “ARE YOU A COP?!” I yelled at him. “No I’m not a cop,” replied Weiss, “I’m just a student.” I realized that this guy was hard, so I tried to crack his soul with the good cop side of the coin. “Alright so you’re not a cop Slim,” I said in my calmest most mother-like voice, “but why don’t you just tell me a bit about police academy, off the record.”

“I’m really not a cop, there was just a misunderstanding, you see this tattoo?” Said Weiss gesturing at his forearm, “It says ‘Don’t Give A F***’, would a cop get that tattooed on him?”

Zack then proceeded to show me his “criminal record” from his past school, which in fact proved that he indeed ‘Didn’t Give a F***’. The record included such offenses as “explosive profane outburst in front of the office, resulting in call for deputies,” and, “detained in office for sneaking up on teacher and touching her hair, mother was called.”
Zack had over two pages of offenses, showing that he certainly wasn’t traditional cop material.

I was starting to believe Weiss, I could see that his back story could lead people to be suspicious. What if this kid was really just a transfer student who had been misunderstood? “I’m not from around here, I’m from a ghetto town, I’ve had to sleep in the desert,” said Weiss, “people in LA don’t just start rumors behind your back.”

Zack was becoming more and more convincing, but then again a good back story isn’t hard to concoct (especially with all that “me time” in the desert). Weiss convinced me more about how the rumor started. “I was just trying to be friendly and because people didn’t recognize me, they thought I was a cop … then it just got blown up. I’m just not a cop; I’m just trying to finish up my senior year.”

What was really the final blow to the rumor was the fact that he agreed to talk to me, something an undercover cop would avoid like a crotch from thumbtacks. At the end of the day it’s up to you about Slim, whether his story is of the thrill of high school espionage, or the tragedy of a misunderstood teen, there’s one thing for sure: He has slept in the desert.

Unless you have cojones the size of the Goodyear blimp, parties populated by kids from another school can be as daunting as a SAT prep class on shrooms (guys … GUYS! question 28 just winked at me!). In response to this incredibly awkward social situation, many party hoppers have taken to creating alternate personas, lubricating an otherwise sticky situation. After hearing tales of these midnight warriors, I knew that I had to get a slice of the pie. Any half-staff fake persona builder can make a good back-story, but to create a real doozy you have to take into account some factors.

To learn more about fake identities I talked to Roosevelt Senior Kent Osshale*. Osshale has been attending parties under the fake identity of a British exchange student for the past year, and in this reporter’s opinion, Osshale is a loser. Despite this, I knew what must be done—I would have to make a fake identity. Concocting a good character is like making love to a polar bear, do it right and you’re stuck with it forever (on its iceberg palace), do it wrong and you will most likely get mauled.

Here are some things to take into account: Can you pull off a French accent? (hang out with a white flag for a day), what have you always wanted to be? (“in a relationship with Jen Wesselhoeft”), and are you willing to humiliate yourself?.

The scene: a Mercer Island manor; my name: Wilhelm Himmelstoss, an aspiring German exchange student filled with dreams of becoming an Olympic athlete.

Accompanying me was my “straight man,” a friend you bring along who acts completely normal to make your story more convincing, and who better to convince people than Jack Yates (wait, what?).

A large jock type opened the door, and seeing as we weren’t girls and we didn’t have any beer, the door was shut. No way was that montabank blue-balling us, so after a moment of planning (Jack wanted to go home and watch “This Is It”) we moved in. We scouted the inside of the complex through the feline portal and entered the fray through the side door.

“Heil candypaantz,” I yelled in a mocking Germanic accent to a Michael Proulx look-alike, “vat ist your name?”
“I’m Diesel,” he replied in a deep stoner voice, “who the dick are you?” I told him my back story and he was impressed. Diesel immediately raised his Pabst like Aragorn’s sword at the Black Gate, “this here is my friend—uh—William and he’s from Germany, let’s show him an American good time!” After the crowd of people was given an excuse to drink I was immediately surrounded by a group of girls.

“Ja, ja, I am from just outside of Berlin,” I exclaimed after being asked where I was from. Once or twice people asked me how to say things in German and I responded with various quotes from video games (achtung grenada!).

Everything was going great, I had taken a few “celeb shots” in pong claiming that my great uncle had been a top sniper in the German Whermacht, but suddenly things took a turn for the worse. Before I could say wiener schnitzel a pair of massive hairy arms grabbed me and pulled me into a back room. What looked like a full grown man was standing in front of me.

“Diesel, you know this kr**t?!” exclaimed the mammoth.
”No! I just met him tonight, what’s wrong?” stuttered Diesel. “I just don’t like Germans that’s all, who let him in anyway?”  At this point I knew it was time to give up. I told the massive Greek host that I wasn’t actually a German, and was in fact Jewish. We shook hands and I found out that his name was Lenny* “Oh you’re a son of Abraham,” Lenny said, “well in that case welcome!” Overall it was a successful night, before leaving I gave girls a German address I had looked up earlier. If all goes to plan the Chancellor of Germany should be receiving a few steamy letters.

Next time you hear word of a distant party, perhaps you could try playing some tricks on some inebriated teenagers, after all the worst that will happen is getting the humus beaten out of you by a Greek manchild.

*names changed

And so is the way of Chatroulette. com, an internet service which randomly connects you via video and text chat to someone else in the world. The website was started in November 2009 by a 17 year old Russian (he must have been bored of vodka, snow, and defeating the Germans). The web page displays a live image of yourself (using your webcam) as well as another random citizen of the earth, with a dialog box for text chatting below.

Though scarred, my hopes for Chatroulette were not entirely gone. Not all 500,000 users could be attracted to vegetables and 16 year old boys could they? Yes, yes they could. Never in my life, not even in the locker room during “Senior Swim Day” have I seen so many ancient wizard staffs. It was as if they worked in shifts, taking turns lounging on their beds, and.… “These clowns are yanking the monkey from the mango tree all day long,” said junior Jack Yates puts it on the subject of..err…talking to a zoo keeper. The amount of pornographic material on Chatroulette has not only lead to raised eyebrows (and other body parts) by lawyers, but also a new drinking game. I heard word of this drinking game from senior Haywood Jablome (name not changed).

“It’s awesome; every time you see… well you know, you drink,” said Jablome, “the best part’s the beer, but by the end of it I kind of enjoy the other parts too.”

Though many individuals have complained about the voyeuresque activities on Chatroulette, as of now no one has taken legal action against the website. The only thing between you and Free Willy is a small notice on the website advising against inappropriate behavior.

Although men are most commonly found in violation of the website’s notice, women are also guilty.

It was a Monday night at Max “Dozen Herder” David’s house, and after shuffling through a vast pile of bearded men, bros, and lonely/pierced men, I came upon two attractive young women. I slammed the words, “DON’T LEAVE,” and, “SHOW US…,” into the keyboard. After some convincing, the girls agreed to flash us if we showed them our goldmembers. This seemed out of the question, but part of me was constructing a way around the situation. I told the girls to wait, and sprinted over the bathroom where I obtained a small mirror. I told Max to look up “male anatomy” on Google Images and I reflected the search results using the mirror into the webcam. Convinced by our offering, the girls began to pull their shirts down, then hit next before they were fully removed. I yelled, “I THINK I SAW A NIPPLE,” right as Max’s mom walked into the room.

Though Chatroulette often shines where the sun doesn’t, I have had some truly wonderful experiences on the site. I have met a Persian Microsoft employee who built a model plane while I watched; I met three Swedish kids who told me about their passion for paintballing, and a guitar player from Minnesota. “I spent an hour playing apples to apples with a group of people from Michigan,” said Junior Kelly Hargus, “I was at the head of the table and they held cards up for me! It was crazy times!” Chatroulette exposes the framework of human nature and teaches us that we all aren’t so different after all.

“Some of the people you meet are pretty interesting,” said Junior Chris Wozniak, “One guy played the accordion, and another guy showed us his rooster!…I preferred the accordion.”

Chatroulette.com offers a window into the rest of the world and introduces you to people you may otherwise never meet. In fact, many people including some previous Garfield students claim to have seen celebrities such as the Jonas Brothers and Paris Hilton. As the year continues, more and more users enter the “wild west” of the internet and make a stand in front of their webcams. So the next time you want to lose yourself for a while, push away those horse tranquilizers and enter the fray that is Chatroulette.com.

Drown your sorrows in self pity
This is the classic and most trusted way to ride out Valentine’s Day. Bundle yourself up in blankets and consume copious amounts of ice cream and hard liquor (mix the two for a Bombay milkshake!). Watch “The Notebook” or another romantic comedy that will further engulf you in what you can’t have. If you don’t have blankets you can keep yourself warm with friction and the lonely glow of your computer monitor. This method is ideal for individuals with low will power and little to no hope. After a long night of drinking and tear jerkers (yes it’s possible to cry while you do it), call up an ex-girlfriend and cry deeply.

Boost your self esteem with freshmen
Freshmen crave the attention of upperclassmen, and Valentine’s Day is no exception. Find an attractive freshman (or 12) and flirt with them. They will be lured in by your social standing and seniority like Max David by the human growth hormone. Hit on them just long enough to spawn a small giggle or a blush, and then vanish into the crowd, leaving them with only a memory of your presence. If you find yourself in the even more unfortunate position of being single AND a freshman, scope out a fourth grade talent show: they’ll be talented and just your size!

Have a bro’s night (or babe’s)
The perfect way to forget about the opposite sex is to surround yourself with your own kind. Have some good old-fashioned same-sex fun (minus the stained britches) and call up a gaggle of your closest buds. Rent a stripper or two and kick back. Ideal movie options are “Superbad”, “The Hangover”, “Mean Girls”, and “Bring It On”. Stock up on pizza bagels and protein shakes.

Videogames
If you’re like me, you have always had a little crush on Zero-suit Samus, and have always dreamt of being half the man Soap McTavish is. Video games offer a portal out of the real world like nothing else (excluding playing video games after doing “jenkem”) Nothing takes my mind off of my female failblog like calling in an AC-130 in Modern Warfare 2. After hours of gaming, retire to your mom’s basement and make yourself a Hot Pocket.

Don’t hate the players, hate the game
This is the preferred tactic for the argumentative type. Complaining ardently about the holiday will detract from other’s good time (kind of like a spell of drain mana). Use every opportunity you get to poke fun at the holiday. Start out with a few slaps about the holiday’s history, then kick its teeth into the pavement with comments like, “it’s way too commercialized.” If you’re really into this method, buy large quantities of V-Day paraphernalia and host a singles-only bonfire.

Hit up E-Harmony
Choose a dating or social networking website and create several alternate personas. For me it’s Bruce Walker: established fighter pilot who enjoys speed cooking and championship hedge-clipping. Select physically attractive pictures and create a fake back story, then let the games begin. If you really want to forget about your troubles, become mentally attached to your creation. You are the Batman of the online dating world: by day lonely high schooler, by night Enrique, Latin dancer and Lion Tamer.

Above all, don’t despair. There are always options.

1910s
It takes two to Tango. This dance originated in Buenos Aires, Argentina, and was quickly popularized in Paris, where the French surrendered (no surprise there) to its evocative style. Soon after it took hold in France, the dance spread throughout Europe and eventually to the United States (one of the best French imports alongside French Kisses, French Fries and Lafayette). The Tango is a very intimate dance between two people with a huge array of complicated individual steps. This five-star-phad-thai spicy Latin dance of the early twentieth century is still a staple of the ballroom repertoire today.

1920s
The Charleston, named after Charleston, North Carolina (wait really?) developed in African American communities during the early twentieth century. The dance was popularized by the Broadway show “Runnin’ Wild” in which the song “The Charleston” made its debut. This dance is associated with anti-prohibitionists and speakeasies of the era. Like most good things in life, the Charleston can be done alone in your bedroom, as I demonstrated after completing an instructional video from the 1920’s.

1930s
The Jitterbug, named after the jittery effect of alcohol (not the cell phone for old people) is a dancing style that emerged in the 1930s and continued to be popular through the ’50s. There are many styles of Jitterbug dancing, but it is usually danced to fast paced swing or jazz music that rose in popularity during this time period. The Jitterbug revolutionized dancing and continued to evolve for the next several decades.

1940s
Though swing dancing was still very popular during this period, America put its left foot in for a new dance craze… the Hokey-Pokey. This dance was born in the turmoil of the Second World War by a British band leader on the suggestion of a Canadian officer. The song was perhaps invented to keep London civilians’ minds off of the Blitz, and on to which part of their body they should stick in the circle. Legend has it American soldiers brought the dance back from the war with them, and it soon caught fire as the new fad back in the States. (P.S. An instructional video of the adult version of the song and dance can be found on eBay).

1950s
The 1950s were a time of prosperity in the United States. Everyone was having babies; my former self had 366 (a failed attempt to have a baby for every day of the year…damn twins). But babies weren’t the only things being born. The 1950s gave rise to several major dance crazes of the 20th century. From the Bunny Hop (N0 B|_|NNY HOPZ N()()8), to the sexually enticing pelvic movements of Elvis Presley, there is no doubt that the ’50s were centered around reproduction. Elvis’ influence on dance is undeniable; the basic motion of his dance moves can still be seen today (a vertical expression of a horizontal desire).

1960s
The 1960s gave rise to a multitude of new dance moves, one of the most popular being the Twist. Though the song and dance were written and invented in the ’50s, they only became popular in 1960 when Chubby Checker performed his version of the song. Other dances in the ’60s included the Chicken, the Pony, the Mashed Potato, the Monkey, the Freddie, the Hully Gully, and the Watusi. Say that ten times fast, hotshot.

1970s
DISCO!!! The seventies brought with them disco and its wide array of dance moves. Characterized by its constant thumping beat and synthesized sounds, disco was…awesome. Many a time have I dreamt of waking up as Fez from “That 70s Show” and attending a disco with several female escorts. (If you are in the market for female escorts talk to Silas Aumell). The ’70s also provided us with such dance icons as the Hustle and the YMCA.

1980s
For demonstration of the following dances of the 1980s seek out Jack Yates. The Robot is classified by the dancer’s robot-like movements and posture. I myself am fairly good at this dance and often find myself doing it when in the presence of females. Another ’80s dance fad was the Thriller dance. It accompanies one of Michael Jackson’s biggest hits, “Thriller,” and is made up of a complex series of maneuvers. As the ’80s progressed, a new style of dancing evolved–breakdancing. As rap music became more prevalent in the U.S., break dancing began to rise in popularity, and soon had a solid foothold on the nation. Finally, we have the Running Man. The name says it all: the dancer runs in place with spastic embellishments.

1990s
The ’90s saw improvements on old dances as well as some fresh new hits. Grinding and breakdancing steadily increased in popularity while new hits such as the Macarena and the Hammer emerged.

2000s
Andddd here we are! Dance styles from the ’90s such as hip-hop, breakdancing, and grinding continued to evolve into their modern day form, while classics remain in today’s dance scope. The 2000s also harbored advances in techno and rave dancing, which are now popular throughout the United States.

August 27, 2004
A phoenix rises from the flames; Napoleon Dynamite is released in theaters and changes the world’s view of dance FOREVER. There is no telling where dance will go; perhaps canola oil/mud wrestling will evolve into some sort of spiritual bonding experience. But you don’t have to take my word for it.

Merriam-Webster’s dictionary defines procrastinate as, “to put off intentionally and habitually.” No one I have talked to has ever personally met this so called “Merriam-Webster” fellow, and many of my peers do not value or agree with his definition.

“You don’t really mean for it to happen,” said sophomore and cheese enthusiast Grant Smith, a long-time victim of procrastination. “It just happens, and before you know it a lot of time has passed.”

Instead of it being an “intentional” act, Grant believes that it is more of an accidental and unintentional slippery slope of instant messaging and late night Dolphin Olympics (I’ve gotten to Pluto).

Procrastination not only affects a student’s ability to learn but also deprives the victim of sleep, negatively affecting activities the following day.

“It frequently deprives me of my full amount of sleep,” said sophomore and BFF Andrew Nemeth. “I finally realize how stupid I have been and get off the internet.”

Andrew, like a good number of victims, feels that not all procrastination is intentional. This cycle of procrastination and unwanted time wastage is characteristic of an individual suffering from—let’s call it Type 2 Procrastination.

“It’s an overwhelming sensation, and I willingly succumb to it,” said senior Danny Schwartz, who suffers from a different type of the illness. “I simply lack the drive, dedication, and self-discipline to stave off procrastination.”

The only thing I have ever had to stave off are flocks of women and even that isn’t easy (oh and one time I got chased by a goose). What Danny is saying is that WE CAN OVERCOME…if you have the willpower of a battle-scarred porn star.

Overcoming procrastination is always hard. Even the scholarly junior Laura Muñoz admits she has encountered troubles with procrastination.

“I’m pretty much the biggest procrastinator ever,” said Muñoz.

Everyone is a victim of procrastination in some way or another, so for all of our sakes I visited an online psychological help site. Donning the username “derangedchild1337,” I ask the simple question, what is the best way to fight procrastination? My E-shrink had some valuable advice. He told me that procrastination is a short term solution to a problem and doing it will only create more trouble down the road. He told me that a good method for combating procrastination was to break my work into chunks to space out the load and having a plan to do them was always a good idea. I’m all for plans, but in general I’m more of a spontaneous guy (I also enjoy romantic walks on the beach). I ask for another solution. My man with all of the answers went on the give me a secondary solution.

“Procrastination is more of a marathon than a sprint,” he explained. “Pace yourself and when you feel you have earned it, give yourself a reward.”

I have found that taping Skittles to the bottom of my math assignments works nicely.

After a long discussion with my internet psychiatrist on the subject of procrastination, he asked me about my username and if he could do anything to help. I explained in detail to him that I have a fetish for amphibians, then logged off. Maybe we will meet again someday.

Though my discussion with the online psychiatrist was at times humorous, I walked away from it with some valuable advice. Motivation, creating positive habits, inspiration, and mixing it up with some new approaches to boring assignments (AP Euro reading while performing a headstand isn’t as good an approach as one might think) are all excellent ways of combating procrastination.

Procrastination is the bane of a student’s existence, and as we all know, the strategies I have mentioned are easier said than done. So next time you find yourself procrastinating, just remember D’s and E’s don’t get you the babes.

No ladies were searching for somebody that would take them out and do them right, let alone “make love in the club”, so I decided I would go to Tolo stag. After signing the dance contract as “cool dude” and paying 25 dollars through the use of my friend’s student ID with ASB, I returned home to prepare for a night of merriment. After taking a short nap, shower, and pretending I needed to shave (someday I’ll get real 5 o’clock shadow) I headed out to the EMP fashionably late. But was all of this worth it? Pissed-off senior Carl Majeau doesn’t seem to think so.

“I don’t know why they would think it’s okay to enforce these new rules when they have never needed them in the past,” says Majeau. He was one of the many helpless children dragged into “time out” where he sat out the remainder of the dance.

“I was horribly mistreated,” says Majeau. “They wouldn’t let us stand up or get our belongings that many of us had left upstairs, and we couldn’t talk to anyone outside of the little area.” On top of pulling many students off the dance floor, the administration told the students that they would be talked to about their punishment on Monday morning.

“So they are going to pull us off the dance floor and then out of class? That’s just preposterous,” says Majeau, who agrees with many other students that these punishments were never specified in the contract they had all signed.

Another survivor of the time-out zone, as well as a level 37 dark elf, senior Lucas Chapel sits down with me to talk about his dance experience. “All in all I thought the dance was pretty good; the light show was exceptional!” Lucas exclaims, palms still sweaty from his custom-built desktop computer, “I, too, was sent down into the jail. At least I had the ‘luxury’ of getting a warning, unlike many others in the jail who still had wrist bands.” Like the majority of the students who were shipped off to EMP’s Guantanamo Bay, Lucas felt the dance had good potential but was ruined by the school administrators. This is one jail Barack Obama can’t shut down. (P.S. Lucas is single and on the prowl, and hey, for that matter, so am I).

“I tried to be as fair as possible at the dance,” says Principal Theodore Howard. “Most students can police themselves.”

As the night progressed more and more, people simply vanished behind the iron curtain of the school administration, but this didn’t stop me from getting my groove on the Bass Hunter’s DoTA. In my opinion, a lot of the music was a refreshing break from the usual dance songs, but other tracks were plain weird. “It was so obvious they were trying to prevent us from freaking with the music,” says senior Neil Eddington, who, like me, noticed that as soon as he began getting his funk on with some bombshell (oh heyyy Stephanie Sundsten, we never did finish that dance) the song would immediately change to some mashup of techno and African tribal music. As I circled the mass of sweaty dancing bodies during a techno song, I saw an unusual number of people simply standing around. If we put the scared freshmen aside, what the ring of idle people boils down to is fear of the administration and poor music choice.

Most Garfield students feel that the school administration’s opinion on freak dancing is unfair. In some cases, this view of unfairness is derived from the fact that this is the way our generation dances. To get another view I interview senior Arthur Thomas, a man who knows how to dance in a more traditional manner. “I feel that both grinding and more traditional methods such as Tango are both ways of showing affection towards another person.” says Thomas. “Though traditional dancing may show more ‘class,’ this is the way our generation dances. I’m sure dances that our parents did as children were considered inappropriate at the time.” Arthur feels that freaking should not be frowned upon and is a perfectly acceptable way of dancing.

“When they played the Cha-Cha Slide, all I could think is ‘we’re not in middle school anymore,’” says sophomore Roxi Ko—I, on the other hand, thoroughly enjoyed the intimacy and sexual tension between me and my dance partner Zoe Brown to that very same song (let’s have babies please). Everyone has a different taste in music. The best thing you can do is try to enjoy yourself.

“The truth is, you have fun when you want to,” explains ASG President Zawdie Stephens-Terry. This is one of the most legitimate things I have ever heard. Admittedly it is rather hard to have fun with an administrator breathing down your neck.

“To be honest, if I had grown up in your generation I would be doing it,” says Howard on the topic of freak dancing. “It’s how you grew up.”

I asked Mr. Howard why the school had so suddenly changed its dance policy; the head honcho had this to say: “Garfield was the only school in the district that wasn’t in district compliance,” explains Mr. Howard. “After four years of negotiating with the district and trying to find other solutions to what it saw was a problem, we were forced to make serious changes to dance policy.”

“I’m in a difficult position here. The district has gotten over a thousand complaints from parents about the things that go on at dances. I had no other choice but to bring Garfield into compliance with district policy. On the other hand, many of my students are very upset about the new policy changes. I’m between a rock and a hard place,” says Mr. Howard, who is trying his best to be in favor of his students and the district.

The future of Garfield dancing is unclear. “We are hoping for significant policy changes before Purple and White,” says Stephens-Terry.

But whether we are controlled like a dystopian society or allowed to answer the call of our burning loins, let’s make the best of it, Garfield.

Enter Zach Wener-Fligner, five foot eight inches tall, and 150 pounds of pure man. It’s no wonder Zach goes for the younger women; his good looks and charm only add to his ability to seduce sophomore girls. So what is Zach’s “primary weapon?” In my opinion, it’s his oh so sexual seniority.

I attempt to interact with the beast in person, hoping to uncover the blockage that is causing so much hardship among 2011 boys. If I don’t return, someone pay back those nine bucks I owe Johannes. Zach, a veteran of the sophomore-junior dating world, agreed to a session of invasive questioning.

“Dating an ‘011 is more than just a fad, it’s a lifestyle,” says Zach. I like my answers fast and hard so I tell Zach to stop his tomfoolery and get to the point. He quickly obliges. “I was able to look at ‘011 not just as little kids to be bullied and whatnot, but as actual people,” he says. He follows with a pause, a small grin forming on his face, “And then I met Emma, and one thing led to another.” Cute, or DISGUSTING?!

I delve deeper into discussion with Zach and he later admits the high quality of the sophomore girls to be a key factor in inter-class relations. I myself am a big fan of ‘011 girls and can see why Zach would go for them, but I also see the same if not greater quality within the junior female population. This somewhat equal level of quality between the two classes must mean a secondary cause for this womanly dilemma.

My next victim for questioning is sophomore Claire Miller, who has been in a relationship with junior Andy Fulton since the couple became “Facebook official” on New Year’s Day.

“I generally enjoy older boys,” says Claire. “I guess it’s because they are more mature; I like a man who can take care of me.”

The maturity of older boys definitely plays a key role in ‘010-‘011 relationships. It’s no coincidence that I, as an immature 2011, do not have a girlfriend.

I confronted sophomore babes Olivia Carlson and Rachel Keyser (in relationships with juniors Wilson Platt and Jack Jajewski, respectively) on the topic of maturity. Both agreed that it did play some role in what was attractive about junior boys.

“I just felt more comfortable around him,” says Olivia. “He’s so sweet and understanding. I would say maturity is a big deal.”

Junior Fred Ness pointed out that maturity isn’t everything, however, when he bluntly told me, “I was once in an ‘010-‘011 relationship. It was soooo funny.”

You don’t have to look far to see an immature ‘010 guy. This brings me to the topic of status. Dating a junior guy must be kind of like using the gold desert eagle in Call Of Duty 4, or driving a tricked-out “whip:” you look filthy. Though some may find it strange to be dating an older guy, most see it as a status symbol, a way of flaunting your man-wooing ability.

Besides being a status symbol, having an ‘010 boyfriend is much like getting a free gift basket. Though many of the relationships may be based on love, others may be based on four wheels. There is no doubt that having an older boyfriend comes with its benefits, the ability to drive being the most advantageous of them all. Unfortunately for us ‘011 guys, most of us can’t yet legally drive our maidens to their destination. You can have whatever you liiiiike…except driving you anywhere.

After hearing from several other sophomore girls I decide to insert myself deeper into the bowels of the situation. I decide the most productive thing to do would be making faces at freshmen in a biology class on my way to talk to juniors Jack Jajewski and Wilson Platt. Both Wilson and Jack agree that after spending so much time with their own class, they want something to spice up their life. Sickening—while Jack and Wilson are getting fancy with their female spices, many sophomores like me are left out in the cold. After a long day of investigating I returned home via my brother’s 1989 Toyota Corolla (it’s a babe magnet), and defeated, turned on the TV.

As I sat on my couch watching Comedy Central, pondering/eating a Ritz snack pack, it came to me… quite literally. An ad for “all new episodes of South Park” appeared on screen and that’s when it hit me. Of course! The Night of the Living Homeless episode of South Park!

It was a pretty simple connection: ‘010 guys and possessed homeless men aren’t that different. The “homeless” move from town to town, expending the spare change at every town they come across, then moving on to the next. Perhaps this characteristic is not only found in animated homeless men, but junior guys as well. Like locusts, the ‘010 class will pillage the entire school, reaping the girly “spare change” of each class.

In the South Park episode, the homeless first start out in the town of Evergreen, our metaphorical junior girls. When the homeless exhaust Evergreen of its spare change (when there aren’t enough ‘010 girls to go around), they move on and begin to prey on South Park (‘011 girls). At the end of the episode the kids manage to lure the homeless away by telling them of the bountiful spare change that can be obtained in California: The class of 2012.

So perhaps a shortage of available ‘010 girls is a problem for Garfield’s own “homeless population.” but after cross-referencing my Facebook, I conclude that there are plenty of foxy single junior girls.

So what is the answer? Why is this happening? All of these factors are small ingredients to a recipe for interclass lovin’. Whatever the cause may be, it looks like this curse on sophomore guys is here to stay. Just remember, lads—there is always hope, and taking drivers’ ed helps too.