Hillcrest High School - Impact Yearbook (Ottawa, Ontario Canada)

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M any sleepless nights G rave A lso many nervous breakdowns R umors T he exam is coming soon A lways surround the H eart attack ahead D ungeons U nder which R eceived the vital document A student E ' s are dominating the scene T he poor fool writes his P arents none too happy E xams in June O h well ! R eally didn ' t want F orever T o go out A nd ever S aturday night anyway I ' 11 be here L et me out! FINAL EXAM FOR GRADUATES Did Wordsworth run the 6th-street bus off Westminster bridge? 1. When did he flip his trolly? 2. Did Annette get taken for a ride? Is it better to be a lousy mouse or a mousy louse? If so, when? Answer in 25 or more transition tentrametres. Did Jonathan Swift ' s hairdresser know for sure? Did Jonathan Swift? Did Esther Johnson? If not, is misanthropism quicker than liquor? When Lady Macbeth said The Thane of Fife had a wife; where is she now? was she speak- ing to 1. Peter Pumpkin Eater, 2. Friar Lawrence, 3. Pythagoras Logarithm, 4. a common multiple? If so, suggest 127 reasons for Daniel Defoe. When Tennyson crossed the bar, did he 1. escape the Nurse, 2. violate the Prohibition act, 3. Kick Lady Macduff in the epigramatic expression? Was Lawrence a friar? If so, which came first? Paraphrase in your own words. When Banquo said Fly, Fleance, fly, fly, fly! Was he 1. committing a literary device, 2. trying to tell him something, 3. an entomologist, 4. all of these, 5. none of these, 7. debatable? Was Queen Mab a fly-by-night or a social climber? If not, conjugate in 7,000 words the Nightingale ode. Would she have made a good apothecary? TEXT TITLES WITH A TWIST Ancient and Medieval World — The Staff room Julius Caesar — Grab the blond! Modern Chemistry — Boy meets girl. Beckoning Trails Summer Holidays Foods and Nutrition Royal Burger

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A STUDENT IS SLAVE TO THE CLOCK LINDA MINOQUE 13C A modern student of Hillcrest, or any high school, is indeed a slave to the clock. The day begins at 8:55 sharp. The blare of the public address system is the signal that everyone is to be seated and listening. If they are not, the teachers are out in the halls scaring the stragglers into classrooms. Once the class begins everyone starts watching the seconds inch by inch. The time drags. Even the teacher begins to watch the clock. The things done in a class Period are nethodically timed by the teacher. For ex- ample the student may be allotted the sum total of five minutes to write out a theorem in Geometry, or thirty minutes to write an essay in English Composition. The time for the bell to ring at the end of the period is calculated by clock watchers down to the last second. There is the famil- iar rustle and scramble to gather up belong- ings three minutes before the period is scheduled to end. Students have to catch buses, go home or go to appointments at certain times. They have to juggle their plea- sure hours and homework hours and some- how come out even. Excluding school hours, students like other people are conscious clock watchers, but must co-ordinate their activities with a specific time. In school they are subjected to a strict time element; therefore, they are aware of time and are clockwatchers. RAINY DAY It ' s a gloomy, rainy afternoon, and it ' s even gloomier and darker in my masochistic soul. A crueler mind would flick on his lights and finish his essay in the crass efficiency of an artificial glare, but I ' ll leave the muddy light to leak through my grubby window panes, so that my room will match my jaundicol mood. I would escape to sleep, but I ' ve just returned from fourteen hours of blissful unconsciousness, and, there is a limit. If dying is falling asleep, I ' ll go now. But I ' m neither dying, nor falling asfeep; therefore, I ' ll try to think. Why is this world so ugly? Even as I walk down the street the houses all seem sordid. Some show evidence of larger fam- ilies, but no images of cheerful conviviality warm my mind; rather the emotional over- ciowding, the responsibilities and petty drudgery that turn women into unkempt, gravel-voiced harpies. The overaggressive children conceived, reared and educated without grace. I am passing the public school- yard with brisk steps, hating giggles and screams of uninhibited mirth. Little do they know. I can ' t look at that cutely dressed child in front of me without hearing a rasping voice rasp Get out of the sand box with your good jumper on! My Gawd, what next . Is there nothing but sham? What is more pathetic than these girls of their middle teens, these virtuous lovelies whose lives centre about clothing and adorning those ig- norant chaste bodies; yet who would be re- volted by frank sensuality. My disgust for these sophisticated innocence is only matched by my distaste for their worldly male ounter- parts, with buttocks cleft by their leotard denims; and masculinity asserted by Old Spice and profanity. It is still raining. The gloom only shows me wrinkles and cracks, stains and scratches, knots and faults. There must have been happier days. Why won ' t my perverse memory cherish a recol- lection of old friends without reminding me of how far apart we ' ve grown; of childish ex- uberance without awkward ignorance; of faith and respect before cracking disillusionment; of love; but also fear pain and worry, worry, worry .... What insomniac hobgoblin of my psycho is it that sees only pain and never fully releases me to pleasure? The sun has set on the endless rain. The morning will bring drowned worms rot- ting on the road, and puddles. Bruce McCormick 12 G

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