MEMORIES:

In order to avoid going months between posts, more in an occasional series on Irvington Elementary

By late October of 5th grade, the art of beat boxing had fully infiltrated Irvington Elementary. While, the occasional beat box had been heard as early as 1984, the so-called “fifth element” had not caught on with full and vigorous force until late 1985. This rise in popularity coincided with the release of the Fat Boys second album entitled, The Fat Boys Are Back. When this album began to reach the ears of the 5th grade class, a firestorm of beat boxing was unleashed.

The teachers and administrators were flabbergasted. What sort of new-fangled weirdness had afflicted the children, they all asked? Was this some sort of fad? Would it fade out like the MASH trend, or require swift action to eradicate like the protracted yo-yo struggles of '82? Nobody wanted a repeat of that little fiasco. All it had taken then was one teacher who tolerated yo-yos in class, and by the end of the week, 80% of the students in the 3rd grade were whizzing yo-yos past each other’s heads and trying to walk the dog right in the middle of social studies.

In every corner and every hallway, in the lunch line and at recess, everywhere 2 people had gathered, you could be almost certain that at least one of them was beat boxing. It was as if somehow Tourette’s syndrome had become contagious and was now spreading like cholera. There were beat box contests in the boys’ bathrooms. People were fighting about who could make the best scratchin’ noise during recess. Even the girls were participating, for chrissake. Clearly, quick and cruel punishment was required before this insane beat boxing craze drove the Irvington Elementary train straight off the rails.

And so this is where I enter the picture, destined to serve as an example to all.

The school administration immediately decided to place the jackboot of oppression on the neck of the Irvington student body by banning any and all beat boxing. This decree was announced just after lunch on a Wednesday afternoon to the great chagrin of all. I was particularly disappointed because I had finally gotten to the point where I felt like I could hold my own beat box-wise. They were pulling the rug out from under me, just as I was finally getting the hang of it. Unfortunately, by this time I had been practicing for over a month, and it had become a well-ingrained habit. I could no more simply stop beat boxing, than I could stop breathing.

I lasted about an hour.

It was in the middle of sliding desks into our work groups that I burst into full and glorious beat box.

“Aaron. Outside. Now.”

I had been sent to the hall for beat boxing. Little did I know, the humiliation was only beginning.

My teacher joined me in the hall a few minutes later. She looked at me sternly, and said “you know that we can’t allow anymore beat boxing in class.”

“Yes, I’m sorry. I forgot.”

“Well, we’ll see if you forget after today. You’ve got 30 minutes of detention.”

“Awwwww…man! 30 minutes!”

“You heard me.”

Now, being forced to stay after school was nothing new, and it never really bothered me all that much. However, detention was usually doled out in 15-minute increments. Half and hour of detention time meant I was really in trouble. I gritted my teeth and steeled myself for an extra 30 minutes of being stuck in class.

When the bell rang, my classmates rushed out the door towards freedom, leaving me behind to half an hour of boredom. No doubt I’d be forced to write out sentences, or help my teacher clean up. Instead, she instructed me to sit quietly, and then left the room. She returned about 10 minutes later accompanied by several other teachers. They had cups of coffee and were talking and laughing with each other. They were acting almost like they were real people, which made me extremely uncomfortable.

They entered the classroom and positioned themselves in desks close to the front of the room.

“Now” said my teacher, “please stand up and give us a demonstration of why you’re being held after school today, Aaron.”

“What?”

“You owe me another 20 minutes of after school time, and I want you to spend it beat boxing. Maybe then you’ll learn not to forget.”

And so it came to pass that I stood up in front of a crowd of teachers and was forced to beat box. I tried everything in my repertoire, but all they did was snicker and try not to laugh. Eventually they started making snide comments like, “I bet he’s getting thirsty with all that spitting.” It was as crushing a feeling of embarrassment as I have ever experienced, and yet I couldn’t keep myself from laughing.

After about 10 minutes, my teacher said, “ok that’s enough. No more from now on, ok?”

She didn’t have to worry - I was cured. By the time the Fat Boy’s 1987 album Crushin’ had gone platinum, I had moved on to Beaumont Middle School, and left the allure of the beat box far behind me.

- posted by Aaron @ 1:49 PM

 
MERCHANDISING:

In an effort to finally put together a respectable legal defense fund, I have begun the process of creating a series of luxurious commemorative items, suitable for display in even the swankiest of homes.

For a limited time only, you can own your very own American Masters, Limited Edition Commemorative Plate. Each plate is hand drawn and hand-signed by me, and is available for the low price of three easy installments of $29.95 each.

Currently Available:

Burt Reynolds: "The Bandit"


Clint Eastwood: "Pale Rider"


Kit: "Kit"


Buy now while supplies last!
- posted by Aaron @ 7:40 PM

 
RESOLUTIONS:

1) Learn to Box:

It's about friggin' time, considering how often I get socked in the eye for no reason.

2) Win the Derby:

This year we were the fastest 2-man team on the hill. Next year's Shark will be a killing machine.

3) Immigrants love me! Keep that up:

I am beloved by all the peoples of the world, which is nice. Just to clarify, these are refugee kids I was working with for my Master's Thesis Workshop last spring - not Neverland Ranch. Speaking of the Master's program, I'm officially done, which leads me to my next resolution...

4) Find a freakin' Job:

Although it holds a certain rakish charm, and I've discovered that I'm pretty good at it, being a deadbeat is no way to live.
- posted by Aaron @ 1:28 PM