MBD - The Case Studies

So I was thinking back over the past few days, trying to remember the strange things that have been happening around school. There has certainly been an unusual number of bizarre incidences, like when I put my jumper on again after PE on Tuesday and was convinced it wasn't mine, and went around the school trying to find the actual owner before my friends managed to convince me it was definitely the one I'd had on that morning. Or when I wrote all my notes in Maths backwards to perplex and bemuse Gwen (it didn't work amazingly well. She spared it a brief glance before going back to her own work, leaving me to try and interpret my own mirror writing in an attempt to recall a formula. Not something to try again). But I was giving it some thought when I realised that what most of the incidents I was considering had in common was that they took place in the library. Yes, what should have been the quietest room in the school, full of people working hard or reading quietly, was in actual fact quite the opposite. These events occurred after school, within our free time, or even during the classes themselves. The only common factor is the location. At this point I was forced to stop my train of thought and get on with my Physics questions (I'd like to know a better time to plan future blog posts than in the middle of Physics), but I devoted a great deal of thought to it at a more appropriate time later in the day (Geography), and came to a conclusion. I have recently made a number of strange discoveries in my professional guise as Dr Leslie M. Harper, PhD (Uttoxetercamfordbridgedam). For example, that schoolitis is a dangerous disease. And that cow tipping has its own Wikipedia page. However, I think this may be one of my strangest. 

We've had schoolitis, and covered it thoroughly: I believe what causes these bibliotomous events is a branch of that disease. It's almost certainly due to the presence of books. Our Technological Generation adolescent brains are unequipped to cope with such a large quantity of the printed word at any one time, especially when our immune systems have already been crippled by the savage onslaught of schoolitis. Hence, I term this strange condition, which causes the incidences of behaviour such as I have listed below, Mad Book Disease, or MBD (yes, I know it's misleading, seeing as it's not the books themselves that are ill, but Mad Youth Disease seemed too broad. Also I want to keep it for a future band name, just in case).

Case study 1: In which I am viciously and ironically attacked by Marie-Clare

I am willing to admit that this incident is at least partly my fault, although I still maintain I had only the best intentions at heart. Long-time readers - also anyone who has ever met, spoken to, or passed within a metre of Marie-Clare - will know that she has a morbid and unrealistic obsession with an older boy. I'm sorry, I meant a healthy and endearing crush on an older boy, whom we shall refer to as 25. It's surprising when Marie-Clare decides to like someone in her vicinity. Normally she goes for people like Paul McCartney or Richard Hammond. It's a nice change for her to fancy someone who is less than thirty years older than her. So obviously, we (everyone but Marie-Clare) are doing our best to facilitate said relationship. I happened to be having a conversation with Gwen the other day when we passed 25, talking to some of his friends. He's on crutches at the moment, and had paused briefly. I didn't want to waste this opportunity. I promptly raised my voice - fairly loudly, I wasn't in the library at this point - and said something along the lines of 'Marie-Clare is an amazing person! She loves people suffering from minor disabilities!' while Gwen gave me concerned looks. Honestly, I doubt 25 even noticed. Yet when I mentioned this event to Marie-Clare in the library after school, she was less pleased. I still don't think this was any reason for her to seize a book from the shelves, hit me with it, and leave. This, in itself, wasn't noticeably unusual, but this is the book she chose:

 There's nothing like seeing a giant peace symbol coming towards you, being wielded by a friend with violent intentions, to really demonstrate the meaning of the word 'irony'.

Case study 2: In which Marie-Clare attempts to prove that she is not a stalker

I'll set the scene for you. Marie-Clare, Peanut, and I are in the library for Geography. Our Scottish teacher is occupied a couple of desks away. We've got laptops and are supposed to be doing our assignment on them. Peanut has, instead, opened my blog to the previous post and is laughing at what it says about polar bears. Marie-Clare is Googling people she finds attractive and showing me their pictures. Once she'd reached the point at which she was Googling Justin Bieber, I felt sorry for her and changed the topic of conversation.

'So, how are things going with 25? Talked to him yet?'

'Well, he thinks I'm strange now. But at least I'm not stalking him. I wouldn't do that.'

'Do what, exactly?' asked I, intrigued. I'd previously considered her behaviour to be extremely stalkerish. 'What kind of thing would you consider stalking?'

'You know, looking him up on Google Images to see if there's a picture of him, like this.'

She proceeded to type his name into Google, look at the images, scream when she saw a picture of him, and slam the computer shut. I won't go in to how hard it was to persuade our teacher we were still doing work at this point.

Case study 3: In which Giuseppe finally reveals a form of ignorance

Throughout our time together, I have always regarded Giuseppe as one who, despite my many attempts to prove otherwise, is a superior being - to me, at least. She gets better grades than I do. She is older than me (her birthday was yesterday - she's now sixteen, to my petty fifteen years, eleven months and twenty-seven days. I'd made an animation saying 'HAPPY 16TH GIUSEPPE!' to upload on this blog, but it didn't work - if you want to see it, you'll have to ask me in person). This week, however, I found a weak spot, a single point of ignorance.

It was during RAVE (Religious and Values Education. Apparently it used to be called Religious and Philosophical Education, but they changed it). We were on the library computers. I was Googling the Cambridge Five (well, I certainly wasn't going to do anything RAVE-related. If they wanted us to do work they wouldn't make us take the subject). From there I got on to the Wikipedia page of a secret Cambridge debating team called the Apostles (yes, they have secret debating teams now. What do you mean, you've never heard of them? The clue's in the name. Although it must be said, I'm not overly impressed with the secrecy levels of this team, considering they have a Wikipedia page). I got Giuseppe's attention, on the basis that she'd probably want to read about it (she's a debater, and she hopes to go to Cambridge. In fact, one of our frequent arguments is Oxford vs. Cambridge. Oxford all the way, my friends. Oxford all the way). We were reading through the page, occasionally making comments like 'So what exactly is utilitarianism?' and 'Natural law can be applied to this problem in a number of different ways,' to make it sound like we were deeply involved in our religion study. We'd gotten down to the bit about how the Apostles like eating sardines on toast (apparently this is the kind of information Wikipediacs think we need) when Giuseppe turned to me and went 'What exactly is a sardine?'

At which point I probably exclaimed at her ignorance. I can't remember, precisely. All I know is that in my head I was going 'WHO DOESN'T KNOW WHAT A SARDINE IS? WHO? WHO?'

I may be biased by my partial British upbringing (I lived for two years in Oxford and three months in Cambridge, and I know which I prefer), but who doesn't know what a sardine is? Who has never played Sardines, or compared a packed room to 'a tin of sardines'?

My answer was tentative: 'A small fish. A bit like an anchovy. You can eat them on toast. Well, I don't like them on toast, but some people do.'

Her response shocked me even more, if that was possible. 'I'd always thought an anchovy was a kind of vegetable.'

I considered this. 'Well, it does sound a bit like 'olive', I suppose.'

'No, I thought it was a type of capsicum.'

We then had to look up both sardines and anchovies, meaning we didn't get any work done,which is the status quo in RAVE lessons. Again, I blame the books for Giuseppe's ignorance. Clearly a deep-seated case of MBD. Q.E.D.

Case study 4: In which Aviator proposes to the librarian

Ames brought in some rings earlier this week, some of which she gave to Ariane. Ariane proceeded to wear one, a gold-ish one with a large "diamond", as a wedding ring (although she's been married three or four times now, she decided it was easier to wear just one. Lala, who now has nine wives, is considering getting a wedding ring for each of them and wearing them on a bracelet). The next time I saw Ariane, she was wearing a silver one with a small diamond (diamond-shaped glass) instead. In response to my questioning, she informed me she'd temporarily passed the gold one on to Aviator. I couldn't think what Aviator needed a ring for, but not being there, I was unable to ask him. The next time I saw him was in the library after school. I was sitting across the table from Giuseppe, who was doing French homework with her iPod earphones in. When Aviator leapt up to her, thrust his hand directly into her line of vision and shouted 'Kiss the ring!' she let out a wild shriek and rocked backwards. When we'd both recovered slightly, and we'd assured Aviator that we were not, in fact, going to kiss the ring, no matter how many other people had agreed to, as neither of us wanted contagious diseases (except for MBD, which we didn't know about at that point), I asked him why he'd borrowed the ring in the first place. Apparently he'd used it to ask someone else in our year, Lis, to marry him. We were sceptical. Finally, he grew tired of our cynicism and said 'Fine, I'll show you how I did it.' The librarian happened to be passing, presumably on some innocent errand, when Aviator got her attention and knelt in front of her, proffering the ring. She was momentarily stunned. 'Where did you get that?'

'I used it to become engaged to someone earlier,' he explained.

'I'm not sure you've got the point of it, then. You're meant to leave the ring with the girl.'

'So will you marry me?'

'No.'

Despite this rather disappointing outcome, it was certainly a diversion to the homework I was supposed to be doing. I'm not sure how Aviator's engagement will fare when he's forced to return the ring to Ariane, but I offer him my humble congratulations, speaking as someone who has been married three times in as many weeks.

Case study 5: In which Gwen refuses to salute the poster

The librarians, in the past weeks, have put a number of posters up in the library. We used to have one of Russell Crowe and one of Frodo Baggins holding a book with the caption 'Reading. Make it a hobbit.' But my English teacher made them take the Russell Crowe one down, on the grounds that it was setting a bad example for students, and the library staff made the decision themselves to remove the hobbit poster and replace it with one of a couple of Twilight stars staring blankly out of the picture as if they've both been hit in the face with bricks (or possibly that's wishful thinking). A bad decision, in my opinion, but I couldn't get enough supporters to fall in with my plan of storming the library and ripping it off the wall. Anyway, the Russell Crowe one has been replaced by a picture of Hugh Laurie. Anybody who claims to know me at all well will know of my preoccupation with the phenomenal comedic powers of Messrs. Fry & Laurie. This poster could only be an improvement. In fact, it seemed to me, when confronted with the poster for the first time, that it was a little callous simply to walk past without acknowledging the man himself. Peanut, who was with me, seconded this notion. Now, when we walk past the poster, we always stop to salute.

I attempt to keep this important custom going even when Peanut is not with me. I also encourage others to do the same. Gwen, however, although she puts up with a great deal of insanity from us Strange Things, has to draw the line somewhere, and she has drawn it right down the middle of the library floor (metaphorically speaking). Not only does she not salute the poster, she shuns me if I attempt to do so. Blog Readers and Strange Things All, I believe we can change her mind. I'm relying on you to spread the message. Don't walk past that poster without a brief acknowledgment. A salute is not necessary. A discreet wave will do. A smile. A parade of honour marching up and down the corridor, stopping before the poster to fall to their knees in awe before the great man, while exclaiming his numerous qualities in loud voices. Any one of these small gestures is fine.

Reading back on this, I think it's fairly obvious that I, too, am afflicted with MBD.

Case study 6: In which the RCG steals a book

My sister, the Reluctant Cheese Grater, who has displayed very few criminal tendencies in the time I've known her, attempted to steal a book from the library after school. Oh, it was subtle enough, and she claims she didn't mean to, but I can see through that. She was walking from the library when she spotted the target - a book about dancing. She seized it, flicking through that pages, and casually attempted to walk out of the library. Obviously the alarm went, and she rapidly left it on the desk and departed hastily. I made her come back and put it back on the shelves (not for any particular reason, I just enjoy asserting my sororal authority), which she did, before leaving for so-called 'rehearsals'. Not only am I related to a criminal, she's an inefficient criminal. A criminal genius would be fine. I mean, there are ways of doing these things. Earlier in the year Aviator managed to liberate a book by slipping out through the door used to enter the library (he thought it would be an ironic gesture. It was a 'Where's Wally' book. I can just imagine the librarians searching for it frantically). By 'slip out through' I actually mean 'grope frantically at until Vyvyan got it open for him', but it still worked. He later returned the book,and attempted to take another one by using the library's various machines to deactivate the little magnetic strip that makes the alarms go. He was caught that time and banned from the library for two weeks. I hadn't considered it before, but that was probably one of the first cases of MBD.

Concerning, isn't it? Luckily, I don't think it's terminal. Until I can fully investigate a cure for this heinous disease (which, let's be honest, might not be for a while, seeing as I'm having so much fun chronicling the symptoms), I can only suggest that people try and stay away from libraries, classrooms, textbooks, and even novels of more than usual length. Any one of these things could set it off. In fact, the only thing it's safe to read is this blog. Yes, The Life & Times of Stranger Things™ is now the only reading material available to those who don't want to come down with MBD, that most feared of disorders (at least, it will be as soon as a proper scientific study is conducted).

And if you'll believe that, you're suffering from a disease far, far more severe than anything MBD can produce. Hello, Shoelace.

If you think you have MBD, I'd recommend that you just sit where you are, stay calm, and try not to propose to any passing librarians. You'll regret it. If you actually follow this advice, you probably do not have the disease.

If you have any concerns regarding this, or other, illnesses, the only thing I can suggest you do is to immediately send money in to the Therapy unit of Uttoxetercamfordbridgedam University. We will devote this money towards finding a cure. If we can't find a cure on our first couple of tries, we will put your kindly donated money to a different good cause, like buying a coffee machine or putting in a swimming pool on the roof.

Thank you for your time,

Dr Leslie M. Harper, PhD (Uttoxetercamfordbridgedam)

Schoolitis: A Survivor's Tale

School is getting to some of my friends.
Who can say why? Possibly it's just holiday withdrawal symptoms. Perhaps the cold, cold weather causes something deep within them to react. Maybe it's a result of the dancing lessons we are given at this point of the year (due to it being too cold to get changed into proper PE uniform - although personally, I think the teachers are just feeling down at having to come back to school and are forcing us to perform inept, and sometimes painful, waltzing steps, to cheer themselves up).

At any rate, whatever the cause is, it is having quite serious implications.

Let us call this mysterious illness 'schoolitis'. It is virtually untraceable, and has no symptoms other than instances of unduly silly behaviour. But it is a serious problem, a fact I will outline through five examples taken from real life.

The first attack began at about 1:15 yesterday afternoon, while we were having lunch. Ariane and Lala - two friends I believe I haven't mentioned yet, but will no doubt get their due share of mentions in the future - began to laugh. I forget what at. I think they were throwing nuts at somebody and it snowballed from there. It was astounding. Normally, it is usual to stop laughing after a given amount of time, varying upon the funniness of the joke in question and the person or people one is sharing it with. In this case, it didn't stop. I've a feeling they were still chortling as we headed off to our classes, at the end of lunch.

The second instance occurred in double Geography, a class I share with Peanut. Little did I know, as I headed into the classroom, what was about to unfold. Even simple things - such as asking her where the Three Gorges Dam could be found on a map - sent her into a fit of silent laughter. I had assumed it would get better when we went to the library to work on our assignments. It did not. I will not go into the painful details, merely state that it involved her nearly falling off a chair, and then becoming intensely distracted by a book about Christmas. The book was actually an improvement. Still, you can see how worrying this behaviour was to me at the time.

The third instance of this horrible disease happened to Vyvyan. She continually jumped at me suddenly from behind, shocking me and nearly causing me to spill my Ovalteenies on a number of occasions. Actually, I'm not sure this counts as a case, as this is normal behaviour for Vyvyan. I had thought Marie-Clare was another sufferer, when she dragged me out to the oval in the middle of lunch, then spent about five minutes hiding behind a tree at the edge of the grass. Except then I realised all she really wanted to do was spy on a boy she likes - we shall call him 25, as that is the number on the back of his sports shirt - so this cannot be counted as a case either.

The fourth case occurred in physics. I'm not going so well on my quest to completely own Gwen in this subject. We were doing an experiment involving pendulums. That is to say, Gwen was doing the experiment, a boy from our class called U (he's not going to turn up again, he doesn't need a proper nickname) was dropping the pendulum, and I was sitting on a desk holding a stopwatch and humming obscure songs from the late 1930s. Well, I only know one song from the late 1930s, and that only goes for about a minute and a half, so I hummed it a few times until Gwen asked me to stop. Anyway, this particular case of schoolitis resulted from U being an idiot. He thought it was cool, after having dropped the pendulum, to move his face in extremely close to it, and move it out of the way again just in time. After he'd done this two or three times he got hit by the pendulum - which weighed 250g - in the forehead. I'm not sure this is schoolitis either. I don't know him that well: it might be normal behaviour for him. I just thought I'd add it in as it was hilarious at the time, although I had to keep a straight face while Gwen was getting slightly annoyed at him for messing up our measurements.

The fifth case of schoolitis happened to Aviator. He has created a dance. It is called the 'Fishing Rod Dance'. He shuffle-steps while pretending to catch something with a fishing rod. It looks better than I've managed to describe it here. He performed it for us at lunchtime. This sent Ariane and Lala into another fit of giggles.

And so, there you are. Schoolitis. A disease which causes even the most mild-mannered individuals to break into spontaneous outbursts of silly behaviour. It is not fatal - at least, we have seen no fatal cases as of yet. Should you, the concerned reader, notice the same symptoms among your friends, contact me with the case details. We may, still, have time to prevent it from becoming an epidemic.

A sixth case has suddenly occurred to me. I had not intended to include it: but as I am approaching this from a purely scientific perspective (actually, who am I trying to kid?) I think it is important to note personal cases as well. It is a sad truth, but I have lately noticed some traces of schoolitis in myself. In my case, the disease manifests itself as a delusion that I am a trained therapist. It generally seems to occur while I am in Gwen's presence. I cannot say why I have spent the past one and a half science lessons trying to convince her I have a PhD in psychotherapy from the prestigious university of Uttoxetercamfordbridgedam. Perhaps you, with your greater scientific mind, will know why. If you believe you have an answer, do leave a comment: it is vital we find a cure before my mind, and others', succumb completely to schoolitis. Please. We need your help.

Dr Leslie M. Harper, PhD (Uttoxetercamfordbridgedam)