end of an era

today is the sy guy's last day. he is moving to another town. the sy guy once dressed up as a police officer, an easter bunny, and as santa claus. today, he is wearing a tux. he has a seven average in history. he thinks is better than everybody else. once, after i gave him a pat on the back, he said "don't touch me!" he can't read, but he won't let you read to him. he always says that the print is too small for him, but when you blow up the page for him, he still can't read it. he claims he needs the book on tape, and when you get it to him, he falls asleep. he claims he needs a computer, but when you give him one, he doesn't use it. he fails everytime, but his mom won't let him take the easier classes. she is in denial, claims that his problem is that "he is lazy." so, he soldiers on, the stupid snob, without support, alone, as, i suppose, we all are. today, we are having a party for him. there will be pizza, the people's choice for food. perhaps the sy guy will cry. maybe it will hit him that it is over, that life may not ever be as good again. failure in school is a gentle joke, but, in life, it can be death.

bye sy guy.

old jokes come back to me for some reason at this moment.

"your pants are like a cheap hotel...no ballroom!"
"what did the elephant say after being pulled out of the water by the balls? thank you, mr. and mrs. ball"

and old comments, statements, too.

my dad, after a bodacious beauty hurried by..."you don't mature, you just get older." a professor, talking about the reaction in his neighborhood to the rosenberg executions..."they were out on the streets, cheering. and, they weren't celebrating because they were communists." the same teacher, talking about racism..."i remember these old guys, sitting around the bar, saying "you know hitler had the right idea. but, he wasn't talking about the jews."

then, there was the old japanese guy talking about his experiences in an internment camp.

memories of lovely ladies and manly men, strutting from class to class at umass, thinking it meant something. in a way, it did, for never again would you sit around with others and discuss books, and not be seen as a weirdo for it.

sy guy's party coming to an end. i stuffed myself on pizza, cookies, chips, cupcakes, and other instruments of death. someone gave him a david ortiz book. well, he can look at the pictures anyway. p from copy center came by, a male ethel merman, without the pipes. other jerk offs were present too, but it beats working.

doesn't everything?

sy guy, you won't be replaced. none of us will.