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[22 Aug 2008|03:19am] |
How doth the little crocodile improve his shining tail. And pour the waters of the Nile, on every golden scale. How cheerfully he seems to grin, how neatly spreads his claws. And welcomes little fishes in, with gently smiling jaws.
The name’s Sebastian Fillmore, but that whole Sebastian thing makes me sound like some old dude who wears a monocle and top hat. I don’t know what my dad was thinking. Anyway, I go by Seb. It’s short, only one syllable and easy to remember.
You may or may not know me as the little bro of the ever so charming but total pansy of Nathaniel (okay, it’s only Nathan) Fillmore. Totally spineless, but that’s another story. Anyway, he graduated last year, so if I look “familiar” that’s probably why. Then there’s my dad. He’s this total old timer who only cares about his money, the success of his hotel business, and making sure that we kids don’t end up in the paper for any nip slips or some shit like that. I suppose that’s why he sent me to boarding school. So here I am at some uptight school where I have to wear a tie but where I’m not allowed to wear jeans to class. It’s all pretty bogus.
Some people say wearing a uniform cuts out the “distraction” of concentrating more on your appearance than the Boston Tea Party, and it helps to not have cliques. I don’t know, I mean maybe these people would have a point if we were somewhere more urban or something, but don’t practically all of us have a decent amount of money if we can even come here in the first place? Plus the whole clique thing is a whole crock of bull. Maybe if the school would just stop trying to control us, we’d worry more about that test in Math we’ve got coming up instead of making sure that our pants aren’t sagging too low or the girls’ skirts aren’t too tight. I mean, I wouldn’t be so late to class if I didn’t have to shave every day or make sure that my socks match my ironed pants. It’s just another way that the Man’s trying to get us to conform.
This school is just in such a rush to make us grow up into cookie cutter men and women that we can’t even enjoy ourselves. The clubs here are even bogus. One word for you: Fencing. Fencing. Seriously? The counselors are bad, too. “What’s your four year plan for Walter Academy?” Uh, to graduate, I think? “And where do you see yourself in ten years?” I mean, can anyone really answer that? I don’t even know what I’ll be doing next week. I’m just surprised they don’t have us take those inkblot tests. What’s wrong with taking one day at a time, man? That’s my ten year plan; to keep taking things one day at a time and see where I’ll end up. I mean, even in ten years I’ll only be twenty six, so I can’t fuck up too royally.
I guess I should introduce myself more, not that you care, I’m sure, but I hear it’s the polite thing to do. Well, I already mentioned my dad, who looks like the Monopoly guy. Okay, not really. He looks more like George Clooney than anything. Anyway, he’s into the whole hotel business if that wasn’t completely obvious by the last name. As much as he’s not a family man, and it sucked learning how to play basketball on my own, I think having parties in the penthouse suites made up for it. As cool as it would be running the good ol family business, I think it’d be a little too much responsibility for me, so I’m not offended that I’m not my dad’s first choice to man the fort. Besides, this way I get to reap the benefits without even lifting a finger.
My mom’s kind of weird. She recently started getting botox injections and fuck, man, I was a little high the last time I saw her so I thought my mind was playing tricks on me at first. I mean, she said she was happy to see me, but her face didn’t exactly show it. Guess that wasn’t entirely her fault. She’s a real shitty cook, too. Usually she’ll order delivery and she’ll take it out of the Styrofoam boxes (totally not cool for the environment, by the way) and will place it right on our nice dishes to make us think she cooked. Really, she’s not fooling anyone. Sometimes if she’s feeling extra clever, she’ll put a (clean) pot in the sink to make it look even more convincing. Now if you’ve got half a brain, you know that one pan isn’t going to be enough room to cook appetizers, soup and the entrée in. I mean, I love my mom, but damn, she worries me sometimes.
We already covered my brother enough, I think, so onto me. I already told you my name and what I think about school, so let’s get down to the good stuff. One thing that I think is pretty cool about me is that I’m a vegetarian. I haven’t eaten meat for almost a year now, so there you go. It’s one of the few things that I’ve been able to stick to. I’ve thought about going vegan, but that’s as far as I’ve gotten. I like eggs way too much, but damn is chocolate soy milk good. I also dabble a little bit in music. I’d got a drum set back home that I like to play, but unfortunately I don’t get to play drums so much. Luckily I’ve picked up playing the guitar, so that definitely isn’t bad. Right now it’s really just for jamming and playing songs that I like. I know how to play a few Rage Against the Machine songs, some Sublime, and I’m working on some stuff from the Red Hot Chili Peppers right now. Although playing for the school jazz band probably isn’t the coolest thing, it’s most likely the closest I’ll get to playing in an actual band. I also picked up this weird fascination with coffee table books recently. I’ll pick them up in random places, Borders, a used book store… even Urban Outfitters has some good ones. One I picked up not too long ago is called How to Roll a Joint and what’s inside is exactly what you’d guess. Then there’s the Superhero’s Guidebook which tells you how to perform superhero tasks like how to pull yourself up from the edge of a cliff, how to take a bullet, and save a fine lady from an oncoming car. My collection’s adding up pretty quickly, and they’re a good read when you’re bored.
So that’s me, Seb Fillmore, one of the many Walterians on campus. I’d say don’t be afraid to say hello when you see me on campus, but chances are, I probably won’t say hi back. No offense.
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