Big Honor is Watching You

The UltraViolet December 2008

First comes love (pin ceremony), then engagement (ring ceremony), then marriage (graduation). Looks like Marlborough has turned school creepiness up a notch with surveillance cameras: the new “Honor Eyes” that adorn this year’s honor bracelets.

The humble yarn honor bracelets just didn’t cut it this year. At the annual honor assembly, council distributed to the student body the familiar purple cords, this time, adorned with some very unfamiliar beads. The tried and true honor bracelets were now strung with evil eyes. Council told us that the beads represent the “Honor Eye,” which is meant to constantly remind every student to carry out good behavior. It doesn’t stop there. There are posters, too.

Upon seeing these 8×11 posters placed around campus, emblazoned with the vacant blue eye and bold text reading “HONOR EYE,” I thought, “What is this? 1984, Marlborough edition?” George Orwell’s classic novel 1984 illustrates a world whose inhabitants are constantly under surveillance by Big Brother, an all-powerful leader depicted in a frightening propaganda message: “Big Brother is Watching You.” Now, it’s not my intention to deem Marlborough a totalitarian society, but the Honor Eye is undeniably comparable to 1984’s mysterious dictator. Like Big Brother, the Honor Eye is always watching. Yes, even in the shower.

The honor eye actually diminishes personal responsibility, and the representation of a hawk-eyed figure hinders our growth. How are we expected to learn from our mistakes if we’re constantly under forceful guidance? Every Marlborough brochure is laden with quotes like, “It’s great that teachers trust students and feel comfortable leaving the room during tests.” Doesn’t the honor eye contradict this feature on which Marlborough so zealously prides itself? Council’s decision to invent a silly symbol of authority that is meant to scrutinize my every move makes me feel as if I cannot be trusted on my own.
Don’t get me wrong; the bracelets aren’t hurting anyone. Other than the fact that they look like they were purchased at some pseudo spiritual clearance sale, they’re pretty harmless. My main issue? The Honor Eye symbolizes what I always thought the Marlborough community rejected: controlling figures that enforce good behavior and eliminate the once-healthy notion that it’s okay to make mistakes.
Honor, integrity, and trustworthiness should not be imposed onto students by a representation of authority. With a quick snip of some scissors, Marlborough’s own Big Brother was off my wrist and into the trashcan. I’ll find honor within myself, thank you very much.

-Taylor ‘09

Lost organelle in 2009 amoeba

The UltraViolet October 2008

In seventh grade, I envisioned my senior self as a unit in a wondrous twelfth grade conglomerate, but in the amoeba that is the class of 2009, I’ve managed to feel like a lost organelle.

Unfortunately, the notion of class unity now seems a foreign concept. Have the people I used to relatively enjoy spending time with changed before my eyes? Have I been infected with leprosy and no one has told me? Have I become the doomed, hopeless loser I used to so enthusiastically mock?

Maybe it’s because as a senior, I’ve begun to completely reject the idea of “the acquaintance.” Hallway “hellos” become meaningless – Have we ever even talked about anything more than the upcoming history test or so-and-so’s party antics? I’ve realized how much more value one real friend holds than a hundred insignificant contemporaries. Mentally stimulating conversation has become a precious gem among layers of idle chatter.

The senior living room is the vortex of idle chatter, the eye of the senior hurricane. Throughout high school, I greatly anticipated the day I would inhabit the senior class’s own Mount Olympus from whence my classmates and I would reign over Marlborough with iron fists. Our Mount Olympus isn’t so epic after all, unless your definition of “epic” includes the stench of a freshly soiled diaper filled with marinara sauce. It resembles a landfill, and upon opening its door, an unpleasant symphony of squawking voices and Disney music blasts. I truly want to love it, even with all its flaws, but I’m consistently disappointed.

The fact that I am even writing a column about seniorhood is a mystery. I am Marlborough’s worst senior ever! I don’t care about which cartoon character best represents my grade. I haven’t started meticulously planning prom night months in advance. I’m uninterested in the dress I’ll wear on graduation day. Instead, I dream of burning said dress and achieving ultimate freedom from these violet shackles.

Graduates often urge me to “enjoy this year – it’s the best one of your life,” but I just can’t wait to get out. The fact that my high school career ends in just shy of a year elates me, because so far, twelfth grade hasn’t been all it’s cracked up to be. After May, I’ll never see most of these faces ever again, and yet, I find myself emotionally unaffected. I absolutely believed that I would grow closer to my classmates, but instead, I’ve drifted apart from them. I’ve chosen to be an outcast and haven’t savored the time I spend with my fellow seniors.

My excessively cynical outlook prevents me from reaping all the benefits of seniorhood. I hope to look back on this year fondly, but I cannot do so if I continue to alienate myself. I must embrace the class-wide gossip and eruptions of hysterical laughter in the living room, rather than try to shut them out. Within this first month of school, I’ve realized how optimism and acceptance are crucial to appreciate one’s high school years. I definitely need an attitude adjustment.

- Taylor ‘09

The New View - Jonesing for Gossip

The UltraViolet June 2008

By Taylor ‘09

Greetings, Marlborough! Now that the year is coming to an end (thank God, Allah, Buddha, etc.), I have been enlisted as the new View From the Top columnist. Again, thank God, Allah, Buddha, etc. because in every newspaper that comes out next year, you get to look at my gorgeous headshot and read my poignant words. Now, let me give you an account of one of my favorite hobbies: bad-mouthing others! (Poignant, right?)
As a middle schooler, I truly believed that I would one day grow out of gossiping. I thought seniors were virtuous deities who concentrated on bigger and better things, like academics and sports and community service and whatnot. I was oblivious. Girls NEVER grow out of gossip. As a soon-to-be senior, I can sincerely say that I am still a rumor-spreading connoisseur.
It’s vicious. I’m vicious, for that matter. I need that daily dish like Mary-Kate Olsen needs to put something in her mouth besides a cigarette. At 12, my contemporaries and I zealously discussed what girl wasn’t invited to our parent-supervised, single-sex birthday parties. It was scandalous at the time, sure, but it was a mere filet compared to the juicy double-porterhouse of high school trash-talk.
Walk into the living room, if you dare. You could hear your own name echoed through that room of gossip-hungry teens. Decline to participate in these chats, and you could be labeled sanctimonious buzzkill. Instead of trying to reform myself, I’ve learned to accept my hard-hearted nature and drink up the sweet milk of Marlborough’s delicious rumors. In fact, I find pleasure in introducing new ones.
Some may classify it as “wrong,” but I’ve given up trying to stop talking about subjects that I either a) don’t know much about or b) shouldn’t know about. Upon entering high school, it becomes a great deal more difficult to stop gossiping. Hormones kick in and people want to be independent, giving rise to a whole new crop of mistakes to be made by the previously saintly Marlborough girl. It’s way more fun to discuss these mistakes than, say, make a positive contribution to our school.
Perhaps my reluctance to stop talking trash stems from the abundance of gossip in today’s media. I’d say that PerezHilton.com, Gossip Girl, and even Sex and the City have hindered my ability to just not say anything. Instead of condemning rumor spreading, the media celebrates it, even though said rumors hurt people.
But hey, I’ve come to think of gossip like getting shots at the doctor. Sure, it hurts, but what kind of idiot doesn’t actually do it?

Time for the "Big Three"

The UltraViolet May 2008

Looking out into the living room, into the sea of sweatshirts with different acronyms and colors, I have come to realize that school is basically over. First we were all counting down to spring break, and now that spring break is over, the only countdowns left are: Coachella, prom, and Hawaii/graduation. I refer to them as “the big three,” the three last rites of passage that I have been waiting for since seventh grade – actually, since I first started watching episodes of Beverly Hills 90210, believing that high school had valet parking and cute guys with sideburns.

In light of my last column, I have decided to collect information – tidbits and words of wisdom from the girls at the head of the pack who are now leaving for bigger futures: try to keep your head on straight; take hard semester classes first semester, so come second you don’t have to show up until one in the afternoon; chemistry is good in ninth grade because you can finish science by junior year; take what classes you want to take; go out for drama if you’ve never participated in an art before and make sure to support your classmates at the sports tournaments; talk to your teachers outside of class – they’re interesting people; and last but not least, laugh a lot.

I know these words of advice might seem trivial, but they will make everything seem a lot better. And another word of advice to the seventh graders: don’t bother buying another skirt. See, the Marlborough skirt is sort of like a trophy – it can weather through thick and thin, through six years, ripped hems, staplers and however many spilled lunches. And lastly, work hard. This seems pretty obvious, right? But, do me a favor - enjoy every single minute, because Marlborough is unlike any place you will ever find in the entire world (even if we are missing a library).

– Evan ’08

Tradition, unofficial and official

The UltraViolet Febuary 2008

Ever wonder what it’s like to have to walk down the halls with your back plastered against a wall, constantly checking over your shoulder, unable to trust anyone? In the game Assassin, nobody is your friend. Your friends are not even your friends. Little red stickers become the enemy, and I was more on time to classes in one day than I have been this entire semester. I secretly think that Assassin is a ploy that Ms. Moser is using to get us to classes on time, and to make sure that we actually stay on campus. Well, good job Ms. Moser because although I was sadly killed five minutes into lunch on Monday (standing RIGHT OUTSIDE the living room, our “safe zone”), I was on time to all-school meeting, and actually excited to attend class.

The unofficial traditions of being a senior are the types of things that have made my last year of high school special. Any grade can get together and play a game of Assassin, but the fact that it has become a “thing” second semester seniors do is what makes it exciting for us to participate in.

At Marlborough, everything seems to be a rite of passage – and not just the big ones either, like ring ceremony or pin ceremony – but smaller ones too. Especially your senior year, when it seems like everything transforms itself into some sort of tradition – the senior mother/daughter tea, lunch with Ms. Wagner, the “un”offical prom ditch day – even something as silly as heading down to Palm Springs in April with all of your friends to Coachella for three days. Everything is done now with a sense of “okay, this is it, now or never, we don’t get another shot next year.” It’s sad, but at the same time it’s also exciting.

Question: what sort of white is the appropriate white for our graduation shoes? These are the types of things that I think about now while I watch my little sister worry about her history test and English paper. Cream? Ivory? Off-white? This is really deep stuff you guys, I promise, especially when I couple it with my list of dresses that I want to buy for prom (hey, every girl needs to have options!) and figure out just how I can avoid getting sunburned while still enjoying the sun in Hawaii.

– Evan ’08

Senioritis kicks in

the UltraViolet December 2007

I’m going to make a confession right here for everybody to read – it’s getting more and more difficult to open my books every night and focus on schoolwork. YouTube music videos, magazines that are six months old, making ‘what I want to bring to college’ lists and even shiny objects are becoming increasingly distracting.

And I know that there is no cure for Senioritis. There should be though; some little white pill that we could take whenever we feel ourselves straying off into the land of “Gossip Girl” and reading old text messages we have saved onto our cell phones from boys we once had crushes on. I’m not quite sure how to handle the fact that in less than three weeks I will officially be a second semester senior. It’s so anti-climactic when you sit down and think about it – six years for one semester, and now that it’s around the corner I stare dumbfounded at the John Mayer poster on my wall wondering just what I’m supposed to do. I remember seeing seniors when I was in seventh grade strut down the halls wearing flip flops and regular V-neck t-shirts, and thinking that they were more badass than James Dean in “Rebel Without a Cause” – but now I can’t help but wonder if they were thinking the same thing I am now: “So, I’m a second semester senior… now what?” It would be nice if there were a handbook on how to navigate the last few months of school, which is fewer than 100 days, according to someone’s planner I saw yesterday. Prom, graduation, grad night, the trip to Hawaii, and finally large and small white envelopes that have already begun to arrive in our mailboxes. Oh and what about that amazing Mascot presentation, hmm? How surreal it was to listen to our moms sing to us about growing up and moving out, and knowing that these are the last couple of months that we all will be sleeping in our own beds and arguing constantly with our siblings on a nightly basis. As the New Year slowly creeps up upon us, and the final deadline for all applications are due, it’s a real shock to realize that for every single one of us, this happens to be the beginning of the end.

– Evan ’08

So boys go to college, too...

The UltraViolet November 2007

Two weekends ago, I went to visit the University of Oregon campus. I was lucky enough to be able to stay with my friend Sara in her dorm room (or rather, her shoebox) on her co-ed floor. Yes, co-ed floor. As in there were boys right next door. And down the hall. And boys who randomly walked into her room and sat down on her bed to watch “Hitch” with us. Yes, boys who watched romantic comedy films. The first time this happened that night, I sat there on the opposite bed staring blankly at him until I realized that I looked like an idiot and diverted my attention to the gorgeous Will Smith. The second time that happened I stared blankly. The third time? The third time Sara nudged me the moment the boy walked out of the room and asked me what the hell was going on.

Boys in rooms and boys in hallways and boys in classrooms. To be honest, the last of those three freaked me out the most. Like, boys go to school? Real school? Sitting in an intro to psychology classroom the following week with my friend Rena at the University of Colorado at Boulder, I couldn’t help but be more focused on the fact that there were boys in the classroom than on the actual lecture. Having spent the past six years of my educational career in classrooms with no testosterone, it’s weird realizing that it is possible to have a co-educational experience.

On that note, it’s even harder to comprehend that the most difficult (and possibly most important) quarter of my academic career is over. By the time you read this, early applications will be sent in and hopefully we’ll all be a little bit nicer to each other. Not that it’s really going to get any easier – I can feel senioritis creeping up over my shoulder, the type that tells me that we’re all so close but still just out of reach. So, it isn’t getting any easier, but at least we all know that this is as hard as it is going to get for us, right?

Alright, maybe that’s not as reassuring as I hoped it would be, but our days here are numbered; it’s our turn to chant “one more year, you’re still here,” and in January, “oh my God, we’ll be SECOND SEMESTER SENIORS” (by which point our brains will have officially shut off).

And if none of that gets you through it, just think, next year? Flip flops, noon wakeups, and BOYS.

– Evan ’08

Wake me up - I'm a senior?

The UltraViolet September 2007

Ever have one of those dreams that is so real and vivid, you are sure it has to be real? And it’s such a good dream too, that even when your alarm clock says 7:00 a.m. and you know that you have to be at school in 50 minutes, all you want to do is stay in bed and dream that same dream all day? Okay, now ever have one of those dreams where even though it’s really real and vivid, you just know that it can’t be real?

My entire first day of school was exactly like the second dream.

For the record, six years ago on my very first day at Marlborough, I honestly thought the seniors were at least 23 years old. Not only that, but there was nothing more frightening than the very first day at an all-girls school seeing boys dressed in skirts, patrolling the halls like they belonged here. This year when I had my best friend change into my skirt in the middle of the seventh grade locker hall, I couldn’t even begin to imagine what the seventh graders were thinking. Or if we’re really as scary as I thought the seniors were when I was a seventh grader – because, oh my God, I was terrified. Not only were they tall, but they all had cars and came to school with Starbucks. And not only was I in shock, but I was also in complete awe.

When I was in seventh grade, after that lovely trip to Catalina and those even lovelier wet-suits, I couldn’t imagine ever becoming a senior. Even this year I couldn’t imagine it until the first day I stepped onto campus. And the fact is, sitting in the car the other day talking to my friend Katie about graduation dresses and how neither of us has any pictures for our senior page, it still hasn’t dawned on me that this is it. We both want to just take Marlborough with us to college – except with members of the opposite sex, classes that start at 2:00 p.m. and the ability to wear flip-flops whenever we want.

However, this year has only just begun. And between filling out college applications that reach into the double digits, studying (once again, yippee!) for the SAT, pulling in excellent grades for the first semester and then good grades for the second one, finding pictures for my senior page and designing graduation dresses, I think it’s really important that we all just take a breath; if not, the year is going to get the better of us. So take a breath and memorize all of the steps to the Soulja Boy dance, of course.

– Evan ’08