i have decided that no writing about my berkeley high experience could explain it better than just watching the music video for "frontier psychiatrist" by the avalanches. we listened to that song a lot in high school, and it captures the bhs vibe better than any prose could.

berkeley high had two advanced placement chemistry teachers. one of them, mr. brand, drew the adoration of his students by being an enthusiastic and capable educator. he'd put on goofy costumes to do dumb skits, take them to the park across the street to blow stuff up, and generally be a fun, lovable dork. his students absolutely loved him.

the other teacher was mr. glimme. he mocked students to our faces and spent most class time on his computer ignoring us. we loved him more than mr. brand.

did you know there's a foolproof method to get out of class? to get everyone out of class? whenever you want? you did, you just don't think about it that way. that's because you're not a berkeley high student.

kids learn that they fucked up by having adults tell them "you fucked up." part of growing up is learning to figure this out on your own; by the time you hit adulthood, you should be able to infer when you fucked up without help. adults show each other that we fucked up subtly. our shoulders shrug, we sigh, our faces get sad. we usually don't say "you fucked up," because that's how you talk to children, not other adults.

fucking up at berkeley high often got you talked to like an adult, not a child.

berkeley high had spirit week. it was traditional enough to end in a football game or dance or something, but my social cohort celebrated our school spirit in another way (irreverence) so the attention i paid it was only passing and incidental. i remember only two days of spirit week. one, the day on which we were all supposed to wear our school colors, was traditional and anodyne. the other was pimps and hoes day.