Hey Bruce I’ve got a funny story for ya; it’s five hours later now. I was cliniced on my song, “All of Me” by Seymore Simons and Gerald Marks a la Frank Sinatra in Vocal Jazz class - no one thought it was good. No. They. Thought. It. Was. CUTE. See, I’m the only freshman in the Denver School of the Arts Vocal Jazz Ensemble this year. I swear if I took a dump on Mr. Styron’s* face, they’s blush like they just saw a hamster eat a tiny pizza. Ever seen that? Look it up. Shit’s cute.

Afterwards, I wanted to get Shemsu and Anthony’s opinions on my book - well, its not quite a book yet, so let’s just call it a piece of work - but the entire cafeteria hallway was stock full of 8th-12th graders in line to get their grubby hands on a yearbook of their own, so I cut in line right next to my buddies Cilla and Stevie, got my yearbook, and spent the period looking at pictures of myself and my friends. Here’s the funny part: I forgot my piece of work at the table before I rushed to vocal class (not Jazz, they’re different). There were the very same critic people from UNC. You can’t just leave while they’re talking, you know. So I waited for an hour and a half until the bell rung and I sprinted to the cafeteria; no sign of my work. Lost and found, I near lost myself in there. It took a good twenty minutes until, in the ninth cafeteria trash can lay my trashed up work. Yes, if you’re reading the original copy of this, it was in a pubic high school cafeteria trash can. Deal with it. The nerve of some people. But I’m psyked that it wasn’t in one of those trash cans that someone dropped they’re pea soup in - the one next to it was. I probably would’ve stopped writing right then and there. Okay, let’s get something straight; this is NO fictional-ass Diary of a Wimpy Kid Catcher in the Rye shit. No, this is an autobiography by me, Danny James Najjar (I may have used some pen name or something but you get it). I’m just gonna call it as I see it, and maybe we’ll get a storyline rolling. But if you’re wondering, all of this really DID happen today. I DID start writing this morning. And, as hard as it is to believe, I even really DO have a teacher named Mr. Blitch. SO if you’re not attending an arts school, here’s an inside look of my life. If you are in an arts school, Bruce, then you can share my pain of going to a thousand something student school with. THREE. FUCKING. PRACTICE ROOMS. The middle school show, “Broadway Bound” is tonight, and I set quite the reputation for botched song introductions last year.