“I'm the kid you'll see on CNN talking about changing the world and you'll think, Wait a minute, isn't that the same guy who threw up on his sneakers in Algebra II and then cried so hard his mother had to pick him up? That guy became successful?! —Ronnie.”— American humorists Jason Roeder and Mike Sacks, “Shouts and Murmurs: Realistic High-School-Yearbook Inscriptions,” The New Yorker, May 25, 2026
Monday, June 8, 2026
Monday, July 21, 2025
Movie Quote of the Day (‘Clueless,’ Comparing Two Forms of Futility)
Cher Horowitz [played by Alicia Silverstone]: “Searching for a boy in high school is as useless as searching for meaning in a Pauly Shore movie.”—Clueless (1995), written and directed by Amy Heckerling (1995)
Thirty years ago this month, Amy Heckerling’s loose contemporary version of Jane Austen’s novel Emma was released. It remains clever in its own right, well worth watching and re-watching (unlike, say, Pauly Shore movies).
And, if it gets kids
interested in reading Austen, as well as Hamlet (a play that Cher,
astonishingly, knows well enough to identify the source of a famous quote), so
much the better.
Monday, October 16, 2023
Movie Quote of the Day (‘Mean Girls,’ on a Member of One High School’s Elite)
“Janis Ian” [played by Lizzy Caplan]: “That little one, that's Gretchen Wieners.”
Damian [played by
Daniel Franzese]: “She's totally rich because her dad invented Toaster
Streudels.”
Janis: “Gretchen
Wieners knows everybody's business—she knows everything about everyone.”
Damian: “That's why her
hair is so big—it's full of secrets.”—Mean Girls (2004),
screenplay by Rosalind Wiseman and Tina Fey, directed by Mark Waters
Wednesday, January 25, 2023
Quote of the Day (Donna Tartt, on Being a Freshman Cheerleader in Mississippi in 1984)
“The gymnasiums were high-ceilinged, barnlike, drafty, usually in the middle of some desolate field. We were always freezing in our skimpy plaid skirts, our legs all goose pimples as we clapped and stamped on the yellowed wooden floor. At halftime there were the detested stances, out in the middle of the court, which involved perilous leaps, and complex timing, and—more likely than not—tears and remonstrations in the changing rooms. As soon as they were over and the buzzer went off for the third quarter, the younger girls rushed in a greedy flock to the snack bar for Cokes and french fries, Hershey bars, scattering to devour them in privacy while Cindy and her crew slunk out to the parking lot to rendezvous with their boyfriends. We were all of us, all the time, constantly sick—coughing, blowing our noses, faces flushed with fever: symptoms that were exacerbated by bad food, cramped conditions, exhaustion, and yelling ourselves hoarse every night. Hoarseness was, in fact, a matter of pride: we were accused of shirking if our Voices Weren't Cracked by the end of the evening, the state to which we aspired being a rasping, laryngitic croak. I remember the only time the basketball coach—a gigantic, stone-faced, terrifying man who was also the principal of the school and who, to my way of thinking, held powers virtually of life or death (there were stories of his punching kids out, beating them till they had bruises, stories that perhaps were not apocryphal in a private school like my own, which prided itself on what it called ‘old-fashioned discipline’ and where corporal punishment was a matter of routine); the only time this coach ever spoke to me was to compliment me on my burned-out voice, which he overheard in the hall the morning after a game. ‘Good job,’ he said. My companions and I were dumbfounded with terror. After he was gone they stared at me with awestruck apprehension and then, one by one, drifted gently away, not wishing to be seen in the company of anyone who had attracted the attention—even momentarily—of this dangerous lunatic.”—Pulitzer Prize-winning American novelist Donna Tartt, on life as a freshman cheerleader in Mississippi in 1984, in “Basketball Season,” Harper’s, April 1994
(This photo of Donna Tartt was taken Oct. 21, 2015 by
Antonio Monda.)
Friday, September 16, 2022
Quote of the Day (Colin Jost, on Bus Rides Home From NYC During High School)
“I was always on edge when I travelled home alone late at night. I was very conscious of never smiling, because I was afraid that if I smiled someone would punch me. I actively tried to look sad, and, in keeping with my slow-to-talk, living in-my-head approach to life, I would invent awful things that had happened to me to tell a robber so that he would feel guilty and then not rob me. Like, I expected a robber to say, ‘I’m so sorry, Colin. I was going to steal your ten dollars, but after hearing that your cat killed your sister I cannot in good conscience take your money. In fact, here’s five dollars from me. In memory of your sister, Noxzema.’”—Saturday Night Live writer and “Weekend Update” co-anchor Colin Jost, “Commuting,” The New Yorker, Mar. 16, 2020
(The accompanying photo
of Colin Jost—cropped from another showing him with Michael Che—was taken at
Citi Field, Oct. 12, 2015, by Arturo Pardavila III on Flickr.)
Friday, January 8, 2021
Quote of the Day (Frank McCourt, on His Students' Reaction to Required English Class Reading)
“Put everything away and open your books.
“What books?
“Whatever books you have for English.
“All we got is this Giants in the Earth and
that's the most boring book in the world. And the whole class chants, Uh huh,
boring, boring, boring.
“They tell me it's about some family from Europe out
there on the prairie and everyone is depressed and talking about suicide and no
one in the class can finish this book because it makes you want to commit
suicide yourself. Why can't they read a nice romance where you don't have all
these Europe people all gloomy on the prairie? Or why couldn’t they watch
movies?”—Longtime Irish-born New York schoolteacher—and future Pulitzer
Prize-winning memoirist—Frank McCourt (1930-2009), 'Tis: A Memoir
(1999)
(The photo accompanying this post of Frank McCourt was
taken by David Shankbone on March 21, 2007, at New York City's Housing Works
bookstore, for a tribute to recently deceased Irish poet Benedict Keily. It
comes from the photographer's blog post about the death of Frank McCourt and
the memory of this photo.)








