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The Creative Treehouse held the 24 Hour Creative Marathon over the past two days. From Friday to Saturday night, with a 24 hour time limit, artists gathered to create pieces based on a theme (this time’s was “lost and found”). The event culminated in a public gallery showing (during which time the finished works were available for sale), with food, drinks, and live music.

I was out of town during the bulk of the weekend and was expecting to miss everything, but thanks to Twitter (what’s happening?), owning an iPhone (how do I get there?), and some wonderful people, I made it for the last two hours of the final show. The art was impressive, the bands enjoyable, and the room warm. I was beat after arriving at the venue immediately after a couple hours of driving, but the visit was worth the detour, if even only for the company.

(Hey, it was nice to see you all.)

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Photos from the AFSP benefit walk to build awareness for suicide prevention. Complete set here.

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Once in a while, I creep on over to my high school alma mater’s Facebook group to check changes and catch gossip through the eyes of the students. My findings are usually pretty insignificant:

Plaster falling from ceilings: Check.
Classroom Shortages: Check.
Constant matball: Yes!

On my last visit, about a month ago, I noticed a wall post by a peeved student about lunch prices. I remembered the costs during my senior year. $1.75 got you a slice of pizza and twelve handfuls of french fries. Reading further, I found out that the price was increased to $2.00. Not too bad of a raise after four years, right?

I was wrong. Today, the $2.00 gets you the slice of pizza and…the Styrofoam tray. Fries? Extra .75 on top of the $2.00. I hate to think of how the “healthy choice” food prices have evolved. For what it cost for a “good” meal back then, you’re better off leaving for Friday’s.

My general response was, “wow, that sucks.” I forgot about it soon after, as the replies to the original post began to build up behind me.

Driving home tonight, I got a call from Molly (8th grade), asking me to watch the news at 11. She was too tired and wanted to know what they said about the school. I asked her why, what happened, as my mind drifted to senior pranks, unnecessary cafeteria violence, and endless building construction.

“No one bought lunch at school today. Everyone’s boycotting the prices.” I went on to find out that the junior high also joined in on the idea, and the flabbergasted lunch ladies began charging for the use of napkins and spoons as they filled their own faces with the hundreds of unsold pizzas.

I’ll clarify that we live in a rather large school district. My graduating class had over 630.

I was instantly thrilled. I thought it was brilliant that a comment on Facebook brought thousands of stereotypically inactive high schoolers into action. Apparently, it was enough for the local news to take notice.

I’m having trouble finding the story online just yet, so I’m unsure of the school’s response, but I’m hoping the district makes changes, for the sake of the students. Either way, I’m excited for the use of a social networking site as a common ground for younger students who would otherwise find it difficult to collaborate and rise up.

Update from KDKA news:

The district isn’t planning any changes to the current prices. “We don’t make money on these lunches anyway.”

Students: “They’re hardly giving us any food. We’re not going to just keep paying their prices no matter how high they get. The boycott will continue for the next week, or the rest of the year if necessary.”

Parents: “Our children aren’t sitting around, complaining. They’re actually doing something about it. We’re so proud of them.”

Awww.

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I like creepy things. I usually catch the new slasher movies within a week after they’re released. I’ve spent several Octobers volunteering in a few of the better, eerier haunted house attractions. I celebrate Halloween with the rapture of a thousand Christmases.

My earliest memories of reading, when I lived with my grandparents, included my grandfather searching the library shelves for selections of ghost stories I hadn’t read yet (I still have my collection of Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark). When we didn’t have cable, we preferred to rent classics — Rosemary’s Baby and The Omen.

Hell, the guy I live with is a special effects artist specializing in the horror genre.

But sometimes, something gets to be too much.

Our new place, which we moved into earlier this year, is in the same neighborhood Derrick grew up in. Therefore, he’s oddly attached to some things, especially this one thing in particular, which to be honest, scares the hell out of me.

You’d think with my background, I would be OK with this. I’m not.

Scarecrows should look like this, not this, which is conveniently located in the vicinity of my bedroom window:

And I’m telling all of you this because, if I ever disappear? Or begin a manic, crow-murdering spree? Or end up in a padded room, twitching with paranoia? This is why.

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A couple weeks ago, I did a small interview with TechBurgh, and about halfway through I was asked what my favorite gadget was. I replied that I would say my iPhone, but as I didn’t have one, I went with my camera.

To ease your concern, I do have an iPhone. I went to buy one Wednesday, on the morning of the price cuts, and at the news, met the salesman with a dropped jaw and a merry jig. I had no idea. Appalled, he shot me a look of skepticism. “Well then,” he responded, “you can afford to buy the AppleCare Protection Plan. I’ll ring you up!”

Well played, genius.

So far, I’m not disappointed. The internet is a bit sketchy. And no video mode on the camera? But it is pretty, and smart, and that’s the kind of relationship I’m looking for right now. I can’t be too picky.

I’m waiting anxiously for the release of the iTunes update which makes it possible to download straight from the phone in hotspots, and also the Starbucks program, which I’ll probably never use except when I happen to be in Starbucks with someone technologically apathetic, and then I will show them eagerly. And they won’t understand.

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In preparation for school this morning, I would have…

Switched on the overhead light.
It’s still dark outside and my bus comes at 7:17. No, not 7:15. The postcard on the fridge says 7:17.

Slipped a mixed CD into my mother’s old stereo.
Tracks include: Boys of Summer – The Ataris, Gossip Folks – Missy Elliot, Never Leave You – Lumidee, Crawling in the Dark – Hoobastank, Into You – Fabolous, Holidae Inn – Chingy, and When I’m Gone – 3 Doors Down.

Alternatively, turned to MTV’s early-morning block of music videos.
Just in time to catch Sk8er Boi. God, Avril, I can so relate to you.

Dressed in something with multicolored stripes and a faux collar.
The shirt is too short to completely cover the belly button. The jeans are too low to completely cover the belly button. Briefly consider donning velour tracksuit. Decide to save it for Friday.

Attempted makeup. (Failed.)
Drag an almost-moldy makeup sponge across a $4.00 compact of CoverGirl foundation. Plaster. Line eyelids with florescent pink, line bottom lash lines with black. Pause to dance along with Gap commercial.

Scrounged coffee tables for $1.75 worth of quarters.
Lunch: Pizza and french fries, chocolate milk. Not Wednesday? Chicken patty.

Daydreamed. Been interrupted.
“No, Mom, I’m not into the boy driving me to school.”
“The short one?”
“He’s not short, Mom!”

Scurried out front door with 1200-pound backpack casually and excruciatingly slung over one shoulder.
“No, Mom, I won’t be home after school. I’m going to a house.” Full of boys.

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