I was an art room freak. In high school, I took art classes every single semester, mostly on calligraphy and pastels. Our school's art room was connected to the yearbook office, to an outside courtyard, and also to a front room with heavily graffiti-ed cabinets and cubbies, and stained glass over the door to the main hallway. It was beautiful, and also meant no one could see what was going on in there. For all these reasons, it was primo hang out space for me and all my little druggie, nerdy, queer, artist, raver buddies before school in the morning, at lunch time, during any extended breaks from class during the day, and after school. After freshman year, I never ate lunch in the cafeteria again, not once. I never used my school-issued lockers again - all my things lived in the art room. Kids who didn't run with our freaky little crowd and who didn't take art classes thought there was something very unholy going on in that room. They'd tip toe in to get something from the art teacher, looking around in fear and fascination, as though they were expecting to find us in the midst of orgies, devil worship or drug abuse. In truth, it was (mostly) much more innocent than all that, and I am very proud of the little community we had in there....it was one of the only places you could be in the whole school and not feel like you were being judged. Not because everyone was just the same, far from it, just that the nerds and druggies and artists and queers all accepted each other and coexisted peacefully, even lovingly, in a way that the rest of the school didn't seem to be capable of doing. I think part of this magic actually came from the art teacher, Ms. D. She was wonderful, her space was chaotic and beautiful, celebratory of talent and dreams and high ideals and individuality - and also loving and warm and very very tolerant. Thank you, Ms. D. Some of the most brilliant and talented people I've ever known found refuge in your art room - it was a very special place.
I was a Jehovah's Witness for a few months in the 1st grade. My Mom was something of a seeker. We went to Jehovah's Witness church with her for a while. It was actually one of the only times in my young life that I can remember either of my parents socializing with African Americans.
Addendum: I was a founding member of the Pagan Youth Chat Group on AOL, circa 1995. We were both seekers.
I am named after a boy. His name was Billy Hines, named after his father (Uncle Billy Hines), and he was my Mom's favorite cousin. The only real story I remember about him is that he and my Mom would sit in their grandmother's apricot tree together (this was in CA) and stuff themselves silly. He passed away from Leukemia at the age of 13....I think he was very close in age to my mother, which would have made him 54ish now. I love my name, though I was very glad to survive 13.
I was born with extra fingers and toes. Four extras all together, one on each hand or foot, and all in the same place, next in line after the pinky finger or toe. They were removed when I was a little baby - at right, you see some of the last remaining evidence I ever had them at all. Count dem fingers, I dare ya! Most people actually already know this about me, but it's one of my favorite trivia items to share with people and freak them out, so why not? It's a genetic trait inherited from my Dad called polydactyly, (info here and here) though the extras I had didn't look anything like those pictures, or the ones I saw in the genetics chapter of my AP Bio textbook. I swear I am not Amish! Mine were shaped just like normal toes and fingers, but I don't think they had the support infrastructure in my hand or foot that a normal digit has- like those long bones in the palm of your hand that connect each of your fingers to your wrist? I don't think my extras had those, so they may not have ever been truly functional fingers and toes. Check out this cool list of famous people who also had or have extra digits! 1 in 500 - that may be less than are born with ambiguous genitalia, depending on which study you read! Huh!I committed fraud in college. Well, kind of fraud. Student groups on campus could earn money for their activities by working for a particular fundraising arm of the university. Each group could do up to a certain quota of work hours per quarter, and receive pay for those hours. My fraud scheme involved one co-conspirator - the two of us were officers in a real student group that was working the maximum number of hours, and still coming up short on money, and needing a way to get more. So we made up a new student group, got it officially recognized by the university, then signed up for work hours for that group, too. We didn't feel all that guilty about it at the time, because our real group members were really doing all the extra work to earn that extra money....it's not like we were stealing it! (As an indication of how guiltless we were, we even got a picture taken for that year's yearbook, HAH, I've still never seen the picture, but I hear it is a totally corny close up shot of just the two of us, as though the rest of our phantom student group mysteriously had not been able to make it out for the photo.) But I do feel a little guilty - I used my position of authority in the real student group to mislead other members into signing a form saying they were in the fake student group. They didn't even know that they were helping us commit fraud! Doing more work to get a couple more Gs out of your university is one thing, but lying to your friends is another, even if it is so they can have more money. Yikes!
Creative, though, wouldn't you say?
Dear readers Amy and Miranda, tag, you are it! Enjoy, loves.
