Mercer Island High School - ISLA Yearbook (Mercer Island, WA)

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SENICRS

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CUT THE HAIR It's your turn to cut the deck. You arrive at your appointment ten minutes late. Quaking in nervous anticipation, you tell the receptionist your name. She hands you a puce- colored poncho to put on. Wondering how sanitary it is, you follow her to the washbowl. Then CYN-thia begins the wash. The strange aromas of apple, peach, and strawberry waft through the air. Smelling thoroughly of overripe fruit salad, you march to the imminent death of your golden locks. The chick that's doing the cutting has four-layered, five-toned hair, and you could probably scrape off her makeup with a chisel. She cuts. You panic. You pay. And then you go home and salvage what's left of your hair. Jrirvlrkicicickukicic So why go through with it? Why bother with the agony of defeat, the feeling one receives from spending an entire month's allowance to look like a monk on his way to a Dead Kennedys show? Why? For the thrill of victory. For the rush of pleasure the new bob, flattop, ducktail or perm evokes when one can look in the mirror and say, l'Oooh, baby, you do look good! So cut the deck and hope the hand comes up aces. I6 HAIRCUTS

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The humiliation is overp you've reached the top fi- nally. Now you can play by your own rules, for you MONOPOLY. havea... ome say, What a long, strange trip it's been. Others say, A dog returneth to its vomit. But, all one really has to say is, It's time. Gametime. Time to look to tomorrow. Time to live for today. Time to work. Time to play. Time to have fun, for now one owns the game. Senior year. One can never expect the feeling, never plan for it. lt just appears from the first day of school onward. The feeling of being a senior, of being at the top, of commanding respect, of finally being in charge. The game belongs to the senior, he makes up his own rules. It's about time! One has passed GO four long grab for Clues to Life, Monopolize times. One has plucked one's share MIHS, and still find time to Pursue of CHANCE cards. One has rolled more Trivial things. But, when push with the dice, folded with the cards, comes to shove, and one receives a and spent quite a bit of money along the way. Now it's time. Time for the Class of '86. GO DIRECTLY TO JAIL card, the senior hits the Jackpot on Payday and wins the Grand Prize behind The class to whom the Dead are, Door Number Three. for better or worse, still alive. The Sheer dee-light!! class whose weekend activities meet For this, as always, is the year for with raised eyebrows in more respectable communities. And yes, the class whose creativity shines above all others. This class knows how to have fun. This class knows how to play games. The games of a senior surpass even the wildest-imaginations of Milton-Bradley. Seniors take Risks, seniors. The last year. The first year A past of elementary education. A future of college education. A Now. Living for the moment, enioying each since it would not exist any longer, the senior dedicates himself to only one time. The NOW. The Game. 'Nl ..- ' f Ks. Nice legs! EQ ... 5-.rx W. .. , s 1 .cf I , I as P' , Y. .. 'J js .: 'Q lLEFTl Kevin could have had a V-8. lABOVEl