"He had yellow eyes! So, help me, God! Yellow eyes!" Yesterday's post about the chimpanzees got me thinking back to my junior high school days.

That's when bullying was at its worst for me. My compelling need to be considered the class brain certainly didn't help matters, but that was my primary source of happiness so I wasn't about to quit. Another factor was working against me; I cried very, very easily. I would've given anything to be able to control that but I couldn't. Once other kids figure that out about you, it's all over. Still, because I never fought back, I never really got beat up.

The day that stands out in particular was in the first week of class in seventh grade, which would put it at September of 1978. During the first day of REAL gym class, all the boys had to shower together, nekkid, for the very first time. We were all kind of nervous about it but got through it just fine. Standing around in the lobby outside the locker room afterwards, we were feeling pretty good ourselves.

That was when Randy and his little band of thugs came out, and started working down the line of boys, accusing them of being too chicken to get their hair wet. The wetting of the hair was, of course, not the real issue; he was just establishing his dominance. Still, I cowered in the corner of the lobby, dying for the bell to ring, and wishing to God that I had gotten my hair wet (as if would have made any difference). He worked his way past and through a couple of my friends and down to me. I can still picture him screaming up at me in his nasally voice. (Yes, up. He was a full head shorter than me, and scrawny too. It's not about size, it's about how mean you are.) I don't remember what words I used to placate him but eventually he and his entourage moved on.

You can bet that the next day, all of us who were out in the lobby made sure we got our hair nice and wet.

Somebody in the class actually stood up to him about halfway through the year. Randy jumped on him, knocked him down, and they wrestled around a bit, right there in the locker room. He escaped mostly unharmed, and was left alone for the rest of the year. I could easily recognize in this a ticket out of tormenting, but of course was too much of a chicken to try it.

Junior high is a time of great fear but also of great fun. And it's amazing how fast the needle can swing from one side to the other. The only movie I've ever seen that captures this is Welcome To The Dollhouse. I've known many people who can't even watch it, but I thought it was amazing.

Emotion, I've heard, is the trigger your brain uses to know when to store something in long-term memory. So it's no surprise that I can remember so many little details about that fearful day outside the locker room. And my mind can still drift away while pondering all the things I could have said or done.

Best lines from games night at the American Club tonight:

1. During a game involving a timekeeper --
Nora: I'm going to the bathroom. Here, Flip, you take the timer.
Flip: What was your previous record?

2. During a discussion of using phrases like "My Very Educated Mother Just Served Us Nine Pizzapies" to remember all the planets --
Marjorie: These memory tricks, what's that word for them again?

Two fascinating articles containing much insight into the human condition and the keys to happiness:

The Tyranny of Choice cites recent studies to suggest that having an abundance of options may actually be a recipe for unhappiness, and suggests some guidelines on how to best cope in a society where often there is no lack of choices. This is something we can really relate to. Unfortunately you'll have to buy the magazine to read the whole article.

No Time For Bullies: Baboons Retool Their Culture describes the changes that occur in a baboon society when all the agressive males died off due to tuberculosis they caught while fighting other tribes. Fascinating stuff.

Quitters Inc. report. A few weeks back I reported on my plans to quit cracking my neck and knuckles, as well as biting my nails.

Quitting "cold turkey" is not possible for these compulsions, I think, since I do them involuntarily, and the means to do them is close at hand. With something like smoking, you have to conciously go out and buy the cigarettes, which gives you a lot of time to think about it beforehand.

So I've been just tapering off these habits, stopping and mentally scolding myself when I find myself doing them. No snapping of rubber bands on the wrist or anything.

It's kind of working. My nails look better, at least, but I still catch myself biting fairly regularly. My neck feels all the time stiff like it wants to crack, and it's giving me headaches, so I'm still occasionally partaking of a good twist. Knuckle cracking seems to be my biggest success; although I haven't quit 100%, it's getting more difficult to actually do it, as the joints stiffen back to their normal range of flexibility.

Next thing to work on is my habit of smashing plates on my desk while singing "Lee dee dee dee dee".

We're back. Gee it's hot here.

I'm not much of a photographer, but I really like this photo I took at the wildlife park.