I am the very Model of the Modern Major General - BY GILBERT AND SULLIVAN

I am the very model of the modern major general. 

I've information vegetable animal and mineral. 

I know the king of England and I quote the fights historical

From Marathon to Waterloo in order categorical. 

I'm very well acquainted too with matters mathematical

I understand equations both the simple and quadratical. 

About binomial theorem I am teeming with a lot of news,

With many cheerful facts about the square of the hypotenuse. 

I'm very good at integral and differential calculus,

I know the scientific names of beings animalculous.

In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral,

I am the very model of the modern major general. 

I liked this poem because it is unique, and it brings back memories of my childhood (I learned this poem as a child). 

My First Day At School II - Lost In New York

1) My first day at school, I was trembling with fear throughout the day. I wore a turquoise sweater because I didn't have another one, and it was really cold. 

2) His first day at school, he was shaking with excitement. He was so confident, so happy to be there. He wore a turquoise sweater because he wanted to stand out from the crowd.

3) I don't really remember my first day at school, because I am an adult, and I have forgetful tendencies.

It Ain't Easy Bein' A Skunk

I am not black, I am not white, but I am black and white. And no, this is not the riddle that J.R.R. Tolkien decided to leave out of "The Hobbit". I am, simply, a skunk. 

It's actually kind of annoying to be a skunk. The black animals don't accept me. The white animals don't either. Actually, while we're at it, none of the other animals accept me. I could pull the color card and blame it on not being completely black or completely white, but we all know that's false. The zebra is living proof of that. No, the real reason no one likes me is because I smell like feces.

It's really not my fault. Jesus' dad gave me the terrible smell as a defense mechanism. I'm not getting angry with Papa Christ, but I just feel so excluded from all the other animals. I mean, no one even wants to eat me. My life is incredibly boring. Whenever I approach another animal, or a human being, they always run away as if I'm gonna kill them. Really, I just wanted some companionship. I just wanted to have a conversation. But before I can get in one word, they're completely gone. My kind is barely better. They are all so self-conscious about smelling bad that they overcompensate by loudly calling out all the other skunks for how bad they smell. At the end of the day, I am all alone. I am stuck in the middle, but without you. I am the hamburger without the buns, I am the pepperoni, just chilling in the corner, without any pizza it can lie on top of. I just wish I was gray. I just wish I didn't have to be black and white at the same time. If I was gray they would except me. If I was gray... My life would be so much better. Maybe I'll just start using Old Spice. 

[NO TITLE]

Tina Fey,

Has no shades of gray. 

The Fiddler Fell Off The Roof, and Died.

As Demetri Martin once said, "A musical is like a burlap sack. I would not want to be in either." Since I have fortunately not been in a burlap sack, I will only be able to offer my reflections on the former.

The year was 2004. Or 2005. I don't remember. I do remember that I was in 8th grade. Our class had chosen Fiddler On The Roof as our class play that year. I'm not gonna lie, I liked the play alot. It was a touching, heartfelt, humorous, sad and inspiring tale of love and tradition, of struggle and hardship, and of many other things that can be learned through googling "Fiddler On The Roof - Plot summary". Oh, and the music for the play was great. 

I got a singing part that year. I was so proud of myself, and so motivated to do well. But then I realized something. I was in 8th grade. My voice had not changed. I spent many a night crying myself to sleep (figuratively of course) just re-enacting the manly baritones of my male classmates in my head. I ended up making our pianist - an eccentric fellow named Alan Dynan who played brilliantly but mumbled while he played - play my song in an obscure key that should not exist on the piano. I would have felt bad, but I didn't. I did what I had to do. I had to make my song as low as I could possibly sing it. I had to salvage what was left of my 8th grade manhood. 

Apart from some uncoordinated dance steps and several extremely ill-timed sneezes, the play went very well. As Borat might say, it was a "GREAT SUCCESS!" But what I will always remember about that experience is my high voice ringing out alone, as I myself  dreamt about being trapped in a burlap sack.