by Tim Carvell
Sophie and I played Monopoly tonight. I’m not sure how that game ever got made. Like, did someone go into Parker Brothers and say, “I have an idea for a game: A dog, a flat iron, a shoe, and a hat are all buying streets. Sometimes, one of them will go to jail for no good reason. Plus, there’s an old man with a bag full of money who sometimes wins beauty pageants, there are some railroads, and it never ends and there’s no way to tell who won.”
It’s like a board game based on someone’s nightmare.
Today in science class, Mr. Parker said that anyone who enters the science fair this year will get extra credit—and whoever wins will get an A for the semester. I went home and looked on the internet for science fair project ideas, and I found one that looks unbeatable: You can make a volcano out of clay, and put baking soda, vinegar, and red food coloring inside it to make “lava” flow out of it. I don’t know what the big science lesson is supposed to be from that, because I’m pretty sure that’s not how real volcanoes work.
Then again, I don’t really care what the lesson’s supposed to be. I just like the idea of making something that explodes.
So I asked Chuck today if he was making a science fair project, and he said that he was. And I asked him what it was, and he said he was keeping it a secret, because his was so awesome, he didn’t want anyone to steal it. Then he asked me what I was making, and I told him that I wasn’t going to tell him, but that it was even awesomer than his. So we made a bet. Whichever one of us wins the science fair will pay the other one ten bucks. I’m already making plans on what to do with my winnings. Like maybe getting a shirt that says “I Won Ten Bucks from Chuck.”
Here are some things I learned today while doing my science project:
• If you’re going to make a volcano, don’t make it out of your sister’s old Play-Doh on your kitchen table. Because if you do, when you pour baking soda and vinegar in it, it might start to leak all over the kitchen floor.
• Also, don’t use a whole bottle of red food coloring, because the giant puddle on your floor will be super red.
• Also, don’t run when you’re getting the paper towels to clean up the table and the floor, because you’ll just slip and fall and get it all over you.
• Also, try not to time the whole thing to the moment your mom comes home from work. Because it turns out that if your mom walks in the door and finds you under the kitchen table, in the middle of a giant red puddle, and covered with red liquid, she’ll scream really, really loud, in a way that you’ve never heard her scream before.
That is what I have learned about volcanoes so far.
At lunch today, Susan Meyers asked me if I was doing a science fair project. I told her I was, but that it was top secret. She said, “Oh, I’m doing one on optimizing the uses of activated charcoal in a water-filtration system.”
I’m not even sure what that means, but I know this much: It’s no match for a tiny volcano. I’m so going to win.
In order to do some research on volcanoes, I went to the library and got a whole bunch of books on them. I also rented the movies Volcano and Dante’s Peak. Applying the scientific method, I now have a hypothesis that all movies about volcanoes suck.
Well, I got the volcano done in time for tomorrow’s science fair. I think it looks OK, even though I kind of screwed up in painting it—it was supposed to look gray, but when I put the paint on the clay, it wound up looking dark brown. Sophie kept saying it looks like “a pile of poop,” and then laughing, until my mom told her to stop.
I also made a posterboard display covered with facts about volcanoes. For instance, did you know that “Volcano” is the nickname for rugby player Lesley Vainikolo? Wikipedia is awesome.
Tonight was the school science fair. My parents helped me bring my volcano in and set it up. Then Chuck got there with his parents and his science project: a volcano that erupts baking soda and vinegar. And then other kids started coming in, and it turns out that, like, twelve guys from my class all made volcanoes. I guess we all went to the same website and got the same idea. Three other kids even had pictures of Lesley Vainikolo as part of their displays. Stupid Wikipedia.
So I’m not getting an A in science after all. In fact, Mr. Parker seemed so unimpressed that by the time he got to me, he said, “Don’t even bother pouring the vinegar in. I get it. It’s a volcano.”
Susan Meyers won the science fair. I was pretty sad about it, until Mr. Parker told her that she’d have to compete in the regional science fair, which takes place during our spring vacation. Chuck and I agreed: We were glad we hadn’t won.
Afterward, I took my volcano over to Chuck’s house and we put some of his little brother’s Lego men in front of both of them, poured vinegar in them, and videotaped the whole thing. It was sort of like Dante’s Peak meets Volcano, but with better acting.
I’ve never understood why it’s such a big deal in Green Eggs and Ham that Sam won’t eat green eggs and ham. Not eating green eggs and ham seems like a really good policy to me.
Oh, man. So I came down to breakfast this morning, and my mom looked really sad, and my dad said: “Your great-aunt Sophie died yesterday.” And I said, “Which one was she?” And my dad said, “She was your mother’s father’s sister.” And I said, “The one with the bright-red hair?” And my mom said, “No. That’s your great-aunt Katie. Sophie’s the one with the cane.” And I said, “Oh! You mean the mean one who always picked her terrier up by the neck? Wasn’t she dead already?” And my dad gave me a look that told me that was the wrong thing to say.
My little sister Sophie’s pretty upset—she was named for our great-aunt Sophie. She came into my room tonight and said, “Where do you think Aunt Sophie went?” And I gave her the same answer my parents gave me when our golden retriever died: Great-Aunt Sophie was taken to a farm where she gets to spend all day chasing rabbits and playing with other great-aunts.
That seemed to make her happy.
After school today, Mom took me to the outlet mall to buy a new suit for Great-Aunt Sophie’s funeral, because I outgrew my last one. Mom always takes me to the outlet mall to get clothes. One day, when I’m older, I want to wear clothes with labels that don’t have the words SLIGHTLY IRREGULAR stamped on them. I wanted to get a suit with big pinstripes, like Jay-Z would wear, but Mom wouldn’t let me—she made me get a really boring black one instead. When I got it home and showed my dad, he said, “Are you leaning over to your left?” And I said, “No.” That’s when we realized that the right arm was a lot shorter than the left one. Stupid irregular suit. Now I’m going to have to spend all day Saturday leaning slightly to the right, to compensate.
Well, today was the funeral. Everyone said nice things about Great-Aunt Sophie, but the truth is, she smoked nonstop and hit her terrier with her cane and was super mean. She wasn’t a nice lady. But I guess you can’t say that at a funeral. So everyone pretended to be really sad. Except for her terrier. He looked happier than I’d ever seen him.
April
Attention, friends of Tad!
If you go onto Facebook and find this profile with my name on it, please be aware that IT IS NOT my profile! It is a fake profile that my friend Chuck put up as a stupid April Fools’ joke. He thought it would be funny. But if I had a Facebook profile, I wouldn’t list my interests as “nose-picking, butt-scratching, playing classical banjo, and dressing up like a girl.” I don’t even like the banjo.
However, rest assured that this profile of Chuck is the real one. Honestly, I’m as surprised as anyone to find out that Chuck cried at the end of Titanic and still wets the bed, but if that’s what his profile says, then it must be true.
When I was at Great-Aunt Sophie’s funeral, I saw my uncle Scott, and he taught me a new joke. When he saw me, he said, “Hey, how’ve you been? Do you want a henway?” And I said, “What’s a henway?” And he said, “Oh, about three pounds.”
Get it? Because it sounds like I was asking, “What’s a hen weigh?”
So I tried telling the
joke today. First I tried it on Chuck—he asked how my trip to Great-Aunt Sophie’s funeral was, and I said, “It was good, except I lost my henway.” And he said, “A henway? I don’t know what a henway is.” Then I tried it on Señora Lutz, when she asked where my Spanish book was, and I said, “I must’ve left it in my locker next to my henway,” and she just sighed and said, “Well, run back and get it.” Finally I tried it on Doug Spivak in social studies—I asked him if he’d remembered to bring his henway. And he said, “What’s a henway?” And I said, “Oh, about three pounds.” And he thought about it for a few seconds, and then he said, “I don’t get it.”
I don’t care. I still think it’s an awesome joke.
Hooray! I’ve been practicing for weeks, and I finally figured out how to do a kickflip on my skateboard! Well, sort of—I can jump up and flip the skateboard beneath me, but I haven’t figured out how to actually land on anything other than my face. Still, though, the first half looks pretty great. And besides, landing isn’t important. The important thing is, I can take a picture of me in midair and put it on my Facebook page, and it’ll look awesome.
Gaaaargh! Chuck and I spent all afternoon in his driveway, trying to get a picture of me doing my kickflip, but my dad’s digital camera really sucks. Here are some of the photos we took:
This one was taken, like, a second too soon.
This one was taken a second too late.
This one is of Chuck’s finger. He’s not a very good photographer.
Anyway. We’re going to try again next weekend. Hopefully, by then the swelling in my face will have gone down.
Easter Sunday’s in a few days, and Sophie’s been talking a lot about the Easter Bunny lately. All through dinner, she kept saying stuff like, “I hope the Easter bunny brings me lots of Cadbury Creme Eggs!” or “Does the Easter Bunny know I don’t like licorice jelly beans?” I asked her how the Easter Bunny makes Peeps, and she explained about the Easter Bunny’s Peep factory, and my parents just sort of nudged each other and smiled.
What they don’t know is that back when she was six, Sophie told me that she’d figured out that the Easter Bunny doesn’t exist. But she’d also figured out that Mom and Dad really like pretending to be the Easter Bunny, and that they probably give her more candy than they would if they knew that she knew that they were the ones leaving it. And since they have to give me the same amount of stuff they give Sophie, I’ve realized that it’s in my best interest to keep my parents believing in Sophie’s belief in the Easter Bunny. So we both put on this little show for my parents. It’s actually sort of cute how excited they get about it. I mean, I know that it can’t go on forever, but it’s sort of fun while it lasts.
Good news! I was talking to Chuck and Kevin today, and Chuck mentioned how we’re trying to take the skateboard picture. It turns out, Kevin’s dad has a really nice high-speed digital camera that’s amazing at taking action shots. Kevin said he could sneak it out and let us borrow it, but that we’d have to be super careful, ’cause it’s a nice camera and really expensive. And then he mentioned it again. And then he mentioned it a third time.
Kevin worries a lot.
Tonight at the grocery store, my mom sent me off to buy Easter candy while she distracted Sophie. I bought a bunch of chocolate stuff and some Peeps. Did you know that the official name of Peeps is “Marshmallow Peeps”?
Why would you bother putting the word Marshmallow on there? It’s not like there are other kinds of Peeps, and you have to call them Marshmallow Peeps to prevent people from confusing them with Cheese Peeps or Meat Peeps.
Well, today was Easter, so I woke up to the sound of Sophie running around the living room screaming at the top of her lungs. I came downstairs and found out that she’d already eaten the ears off her chocolate rabbit, a Cadbury Creme Egg, and a whole box of Peeps, and my mom had taken her Easter basket away from her. Sophie really can’t handle her candy.
Then we had breakfast, and my mom told the same story she tells every year, about how when I was five, we went to a petting zoo on Easter to see the rabbits, and my parents told me, “Look! It’s the Easter Bunny!” and I ate some of what I thought were tiny chocolate eggs that the Easter Bunny had laid. Sophie loves hearing that story, but I still don’t see what’s so funny about it.
Ohhhhhh crap. Kevin gave me his dad’s camera today, and I put it in my backpack. But when I got home, I kind of forgot the camera was in there, so I did what I usually do with my backpack, which is throw it into the corner of my room. That’s when I heard a noise. A bad noise, like someone else’s dad’s camera breaking. And sure enough, when I took it out and turned it on, the camera just made this weird whining noise.
Oh crap oh crap oh crap.
Oh crap.
I took Kevin’s dad’s camera to the camera store today, to ask about how to fix it. I was sort of hoping they’d tell me that it just, like, needed a new battery or something. But instead, the creepy guy at the camera store who looks sort of like Elmer Fudd told me that I’d knocked the lens out of alignment. I asked him what that means, and he told me it means that I need to pay him $300. I told him I’d just try and fix it myself, then. That’s when he told me that just having had him look at the camera would cost me $50. I told him I didn’t have $50. He said he’d keep the camera until I did.
Great. All I wanted was a picture of me doing my kickflip. Now Kevin’s dad’s camera is broken and being held for ransom by Elmer Fudd.
I did some looking on the internet. It turns out you really can’t repair a digital camera by yourself. So I need $350.
I gathered together all my money today, and went through all the sofa cushions in the house, twice. You know, just in case someone had dropped 1,400 quarters in there lately. Nobody had. In total, I have $37. That’s $313 less than I need. I’m too embarrassed to ask my mom and dad, which means I need to figure out a way to get that much money, and fast. There is one option, but it’s too scary to even think about.
I tried to avoid Kevin all day at school today, but he cornered me at lunch and asked me where his dad’s camera was. I lied and told him I’d left it at home. He said to be sure to bring it in tomorrow, because his dad was looking for it.
So I had no choice: I borrowed money from Sophie. She’s kept every penny anyone ever gave her—all her allowances and birthday checks and even her money from the Tooth Fairy. I asked if I could borrow the money, and pay her back with my summer job money. She told me she’d loan me the $313, but only if I paid her back $375 in three months. Also, she told me that I might owe even more money, if something called the “prime lending rate” goes up.
Sophie is the scariest seven-year-old in the universe.
So I went to the store, and Elmer Fudd fixed the camera. I paid him the money and went to Kevin’s house and gave him the camera. I don’t know how I’m going to pay back Sophie, but at least everything’s over.
So Kevin came up to me at lunch today and said, “Hey, what did you do to my dad’s camera?” I almost puked up my ravioli, but instead I just said, “Nothing. I didn’t do anything.” Then he said, “Are you sure?” And I said, “Yeah.” And that’s when he told me that the weirdest thing had happened. His dad told him he’d dropped the camera a few weeks ago, and it had stopped working. That’s why he’d been looking for it—to take it in for repairs—but now it was working fine again. Kevin shrugged and said, “Funny, huh?”
Yeah. It’s funny. It’s frickin’ hilarious.
If the Mario Brothers were real people, I bet Luigi would constantly be wondering, “Just once, why can’t we be referred to as the Luigi Brothers?”
Do Chinese people have Scrabble?
Today in social studies class, we learned about the Donner Party, which is nowhere near as much fun as the word party makes it sound. They were a group of pioneers who were going across the country and ran out of food, so they wound up eating each other. I think there was more to the story, but I spent the rest of the period distracted by trying to figure out
how that worked—like, did they cook the people they ate? Or eat them raw? How did they decide who’d get eaten and who’d be doing the eating? Did they just start with the fat guys? Or what?
I looked through my textbook for more information, but they didn’t have anything—not even a recipe. I hate textbooks. They always leave out the most important parts.
I also think that the Donner Party’s situation would have made for the best episode ever of Little House on the Prairie.
So in all my classes, we’re getting ready for the statewide standardized tests we have to take at the end of the month. Anyone who scores above a 90% on an exam will automatically get an A in that subject for the semester.
Today in social studies, Mrs. Wexler made us all take practice evaluation tests, so we’ll be used to them by the time we have to take the real ones. It took a while, though, because every time she started to say that we needed to use a number two pencil, Doug Spivak laughed uncontrollably about the words number two.