The Bon Voyage! Issue

WELCOME!

Well, we did it. Another year is finally done! And what a year this was, right? Dr. Mitchell just finished his first year, freshmen are super young now (2009?!), and the world is going to end. That’s why we’re leaving you. Bon voyage! We’re done. Absolutely done. We’re scared for the future, and us seniors are jumping ship. Mostly because we have to. Yes, we’ll miss the people, but the places could use some work. Will CRAP continue under new management? Yes. Will issues still be good? They’ll be better. At least better than the Wolfpacket–sorry, Jack, it’s just business (and true). Anyhoots, we’re finally here at the end of the year! That rhymes—nice. We worked hard on this issue today, and only today, but we think it’s pretty nice. The magazine is in good hands going forward, and we’d like to thank you ALL for reading and supporting us ever since we revived the magazine in 2022. 

Bon voyage, and enjoy!

BON VOYAGE!

In high school, summer is a time to say goodbye. But as we all know, saying goodbye sucks. It’s a horrible word that makes you feel horrible things. It’s in competition with “moist” and “homeroom” for the worst of the English language, if you ask me. So instead, let's say Bon Voyage! I have no idea what it means, but it sounds french, which is fancy. 

Bon voyage implies a great journey ahead—on a vessel to new things. It’s not a farewell, it's a fare-thee-well, a “good luck for the future, you’ll do great things” kind of attitude. Now sure, this vessel you’re on might be the titanic. Things could end horribly, and for a lot of people they do! But hey, at least you’ll have stories to tell. And who knows? If you’re very privileged and/or lucky, you might find yourself on a lifeboat.

This year was a year. There have been years before, and there will be at least 3 more in the future. After that, I really don’t know. But it was a good year. Our football team won a game, kids got together and broke up, and Dr. Mitchell did whatever it is he does (I have no idea). We laughed together, cried together, and used quizlets to do VHL homework together, but it’s time to move on. To better things? No idea. Probably not. But to more things? Probably. That’s how time works. 

But whether you’re coming back next year, graduating, or transferring schools because you were too lame for us here, we wish you luck in the future. Use this summer wisely, have fun, and please don’t die. That’s lame. Bon voyage!

SUMMER? I HARDLY KNOW HER!

Greg: Hey Roy, what are you doing this summer?

Roy: Summer? I hardly know her!

*room erupts into laughter*

Greg: Come on, man. We’re graduating. We can’t just act all immature!

Michelle: Oh, lighten up, Greg! That was funny!

Roy: Yeah, Greg. Lighten up!

Greg: How could I?! We’re never gonna see each other again!

Joanie: Jeez Greg, stop being such a downer.

Alexander: *makes womp womp sound*

Roy: Classic Greg!

*Greg stares around, wanting to gain the group’s favor*

Greg (all in one breath): HeylookitsAlexander! AlexanderIhardlyknowher!

*Everyone stares at Greg in silence. You could hear a pin drop*

Michelle: My God, Greg! Come on.

Roy: Read the room, pal. 

Joanie: Yeah, bucko.

Alexander: I’m not a verb.

Greg: Oh. Ok. Sorry, guys. I guess this whole graduation thing and us never seeing each other again is just making me sad. It’s kind of a bummer.

Alexander: Bummer? I hardly know her!!

*the room erupts into raucous laughter and applause, people begin to party, and a single tear rolls down Greg’s cheek*

SEBASTIAN'S CORNER #11 - PLENTY

In the past 24 hours I have heard several graduation speeches and dozens of opinions on how successful each of those speeches were. In the discussions I witnessed, naturally, the question over the what makes a good graduation speech came into question. After hearing various opinions I have formulated my own and confidently share with you what I have decided upon. A commencement speech is one of those things that no one can really agree on. What that signals is that the criterion of a good speech isn’t easily defined. Despite their difficulty I will try to describe two different ways a speech can be successful. The first way is when a profound idea or experience is shared and recounted to the audience in such a way that inspires them. The San Antonio speaker CHS Valedictorian speaker’s both fall into this category. The San Antonio speaker managed to inspire the audience by recounting the anxiety he felt about going to school and how much he’d come to love school. His story was a testament that meaning can be found through education and proper mentorship. The Valedictorian’s speech had a similar message but was a little more nihilistic and dark. Kepha Sher explained how “complacency is the greatest vice of all” and followed that idea with an explanation of how adversity inevitably builds character. The other three speakers, fell into the second type of successful commencement speeches. They were based around nostalgia and primarily serve to incite gratefulness in the audience. This is done by recounting key events and inside jokes amongst the class. All three speakers did a wonderful job of creating a sentimental air that I definitely felt. While these two types of speeches aren’t mutually exclusive, speeches are rarely successful in both realms.  When you evaluate a speech, you cannot designate it unsuccessful because it falls in either of the two categories. Rather you should understand that despite being in the audience, you might not necessarily be the target.

CRITIC REVIEWS CLAREMONT'S REALLY ACADEMIC PAPER

It’s no secret that what our horrible world needs now is comedy. It can solve the world’s problems, bring people together, and make everyone happy. Over the past two years, I have been reading a “humor” magazine called Claremont’s Really Academic Paper, which I can now safely say is not what the world needs right now, or ever will. It is about as funny as a root canal performed by a blindfolded monkey on cocaine. If you're looking for a publication that, if printed, perfectly embodies the art of wasting paper, then look no further.

The cover art alone made me feel violated, blending colors and fonts so atrocious they look like a mid 2000s website. One glance and you’ll be begging for the sweet release of cataracts. Inside, the humor is so highbrow it trips over its own pretentiousness and falls flat on its already quite ugly face. The jokes are bad. Each punchline misses by a thousand miles, leaving you to wonder if you accidentally picked up Atlas Shrugged.

The writing staff at C.R.A.P. must be an elite team of failed improv comedians and disillusioned AP English students, united by their shared goal of making even the most patient reader contemplate setting themselves on fire. Their articles are the literary equivalent of the UK’s food: bland, uninspired, and utterly forgettable. They say humor is subjective, but C.R.A.P. manages to achieve the remarkable feat of being objectively unamusing.

But perhaps the most impressive feature of C.R.A.P. is its uncanny ability to make time stand still. Readers highly value evergreen comedy, which stays relevant no matter the year it was written. C.R.A.P. is evergreen, in the sense that reading an issue makes me want to drive my car into an evergreen tree. It feels like an eternity in purgatory, where each page turn is a reminder that life is fleeting and you’re wasting precious moments on a bespectacled virgin’s drivel. It's almost admirable how a single magazine can evoke such profound existential dread. Instead of reading, I consider using C.R.A.P. for its most appropriate function: wiping your rear after a monumentous Claremont’s Really Academic Paper.

HOROSCOPES

It’s no secret that your horoscope is very important. After all, the stars influence every second of every minute of every hour of every day of every week of every month of every year of every decade of the (on average) .79 centuries of your life. Don’t pay attention to any other horoscopes. They’re fake, stupid, and lame, which is not cool. And trust me, I know what’s cool. We are the only publication that truly knows the future. Take a look!

Aries: Whenever you enter a pool, a hungry great white shark will magically teleport to you. This is not good, as the shark will want to eat you. 

Taurus: On the 4th of July, you will have a nightmare that Uncle Sam is trying to capture and eat you with the alive heads on Mt. Rushmore. Laugh it off if you like, but it’s a premonition and will happen for real.

Gemini: That one person definitely likes you, but you’re graduating. You should talk to them this summer and give them a bunch of confusing, mixed signals before heading off to college!

Cancer: You have cancer. Sorry, cancers. That’s right, all of them. Also happy birthday! Enjoy this present, from God.

Leo: Everything will go great. Then your birthday will happen in August. Then your life will suck. 

Virgo: Why are there so many songs about rainbows? It’s not the start of a song, I’m really asking. Help.

Libra: You will have a beautiful, enjoyable summer with no problems or obstacles. Have fun!

Scorpio: You will die.

Sagittarius: Wear and buy plenty of Coppertone™ brand sunscreen this summer, and nothing else. This horoscope was brought to you by The Coppertone Corporation: tan, don’t burn. Available wherever sunscreens are sold.

Capricorn: During your driving test, a truck carrying five hungry bears will crash into your Prius. You will survive, but be horribly maimed. 

Aquarius: Hi, we totally didn't forget you guys when we originally published this issue. HAGS!

Pisces: Pisces, pisces, pisces. Avoid all bananas this summer. It’s not worth it, trust me. 

SHOUTOUTS

There are, of course, people we like to thank every year. A lot of them are seniors, some of them are groups of people, and one of them is a government agency. Regardless, think of these as end of year “Yearbook” type messages. 

Christopher Santamaria: Thank you for reading and supporting the magazine! It’s been an honor.

Matthew Corona: Thank you for reading and supporting the magazine more than Chris. We’ll miss you!

Lyle Mideiros: Thanks for writing for us, and good luck continuing to do so as our new president!

Kepha Sher: Congrats on being valedictorian! We're so glad you're a fan, and you'll surely do great things.

Sebastian Quadrini: A fine human specimen. Thank you for the stuff. 

Mr. Easton: It's good to know we have *a* staff member on our side. Thanks for supporting the magazine, and good luck as VP!

Dr. Mitchell: Your ties are cool.

CHS Marching Band & Mr. Shouse: Thanks for working with us on Battle of the Bands! You guys are awesome

Class of 2025: We still think of you as little kids. It’s crazy that you’re seniors now. Enjoy your senior year, it goes by quicker than they say.

Class of 2026: You’re the last cool class ever to graduate from CHS. ‘25 sucks, fill their shoes. Academically, you’re screwed. Enjoy your free time while you can.

Class of 2028: We have no idea how people born in 2010 are in high school now. It feels weird and scares us all. Please stop the slang, and have fun.

You, the reader: We can't thank you enough for supporting us the past two years. You are THE BEST

OUR PRESIDENT'S REJECTED GRADUATION SPEECH

Haha you thought this was over?! Of course not. We’re not finishing this issue without some words from our graduating president, Benito. They wouldn’t let him speak at graduation, which is probably a good thing, but they really should include a student-voted speaker in the future. Anywho, take it away, Benito!

Good evening fellow graduates, family members, and old people who just go to these things. This is it. This is the big one. We’re finally done with high school. I couldn't be more thrilled to be here at the graduation of the class of 2024, which, if I’m being honest, is probably the last good class of people that will ever graduate from this place. Trust me, I’ve been talking to some juniors and let's just say that things aren’t firing on all cylinders up there, if you know what I mean.

Now, I know some of you are thinking, “Benito Sandoval? Really? Why did they let this guy speak?” And I’ll be honest, I have absolutely no idea. I am sharing this stage with some of the brightest minds in Claremont. These are academic superstars. 5.0 GPA, scholarships to top ten universities and their own non profits. I'm looking around thinking, “Wow, these people are going places!” And then I look at myself and think, “maybe I could use another year here…”

But I can’t believe that we’re finally done after all these years. That’s crazy. I remember my own high school experience like it was yesterday—mostly because it was. We had a good run, guys. From my time in Band watching the football team and playing music with friends to swimming and reviving CRAP, I don’t regret anything. But I sure will miss it. We’ve come a long way from the days of learning how to tie our shoes, how to tie a tie, and how to deal with many, many, many romantic failures (maybe that’s just me). We’ve learned a lot, grown a lot, and in all seriousness, I'm proud of you guys. Every single one of you. Everything we’ve done over the past few years will stick with me—the good, the bad, and the very, very weird—until I’m a confused old man, wondering why I know Mr. Easton’s address.

Now you may say “that’s in the future. I don't need to worry about that, right?” Well, the future is now. And now. And well, look at that: it’s now again, because that’s how time works. My point is, we are in constant motion. It feels like just the other day we were stepping onto our elementary schools for the first time. Now, most of us have gone back to visit, only to not understand a single thing those kids were saying. Skibidi gyatt Ohio rizzler. I’m scared for our future, and I’d like to preeminently congratulate Mr. Beast on winning the 2032 Presidential Election. These kids need help, as did we. 

Before I finish, there is a list of people I would like to express my sincere gratitude for. By myself, I think it’s safe to say I would have zero success. We are all the product of the many people who’ve supported us our whole lives, and I’m truly, insanely thankful. I would like to thank my mom, my dad, my siblings, grandparents and other family members, my friends (you know who you are), my very real girlfriend (she lives in Canada), all of my teachers—but special thanks to Mr. Shouse, Mr. Melanson and Mr. Easton—my swim coaches, Dr. O’Connor, Dr. Mitchell, my actual Doctor, my Dentist and Orthodontist, comedian and talk show host Conan O’Brien, President Gerald Ford, King Charles III, Dave my cashier at Vons, Julie my cashier at Whole Foods, the baristas at my local Starbucks, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, and my close personal friend, Pope Francis.

I truly believe that it is impossible for a single person to say anything that represents the feelings of an entire graduating class, or much less that it is a student’s place to offer advice for their fellow graduates. I have the same questions you do, like how do I pay for college, where do I pick up my diploma, and what is a skibidi toilet? We are all in the same boat, and I’m really hoping it isn’t the Titanic.

But I do know this: If there’s one thing I’ve learned at CHS, it’s that you will fail. People say that you shouldn’t be afraid of failure, but I disagree. Failure is scary. It’s terrifying, and you should do your very best to avoid it. But it will come. I have failed a lot. I failed on zoom, freshman year. I failed in sophomore year, when I didn’t pay attention in class. I failed this past spring, when I didn’t get into any of my top schools. But if I had never failed, I would have never grown. I’ve always wanted to be someone else—to be like my “idols,” or whatever you might call them. Conan O’Brien, The Beatles, or Fred Astaire. A high achieving student, a musical prodigy, or the funniest man of all time. But what I have learned over the course of my very short, very amusing life is that if I had done this, successfully become what I wanted to be, I wouldn’t have done anything authentically real. It is our failure to become our perceived ideal that ultimately defines us and makes us unique. It’s not easy, but if you accept your misfortune and handle it right, your perceived failure can be a catalyst for profound reinvention. 

Class of 2024, we had a good run. You are all proof that if you do what you love with people you love, amazing things will happen. I have no idea what’s going to happen next, but I’m starting to think that’s kind of nice. You all are the BEST—hug your friends, high five a teacher, and don’t die. I’ve heard it sucks. Goodbye, and have fun paying taxes!

A POEM FOR THE CLASS OF 2024

Last year, we wrote a poem about the Class of 2022. It kind of sucked, but we’ve decided to try again with the Class of 2023. It was OK. That leads us here, where we've decided to try it once more. It should be better this time. Please enjoy, class of 2023!

Class of Twenty Twenty-Four

Your days are said and done

From now to times in seventh grade

You all were number one

But look at what it’s come to!

You’ve left the school in shambles

Sebastian and Louis are off to New England

It’s time for you all to ramble

We can't namecheck every student

That would be way too long

But Benito, Chris, and Edgar

Won’t leave without a song

Easton is Vice Principal?

It’s cool but quite a shame

Harith says his cred will be up and gone

From coolest down to lame

Math may not have been the best

And english was quite tiring

Science can be a real pain

‘Least you students are retiring

From Playboi Carti concerts

To the joys of claremont hoops

You brought such spirit to our school

There will be many dupes

You may think yourselves quite the catch

Consider yourselves quite fancy

But the truth is you’re the end of things

A bunch of washed out pansies

Regardless, I guess you did cool things

At least a little piece

How some of you are leaving single

Mystifies me to say the least

Now that you’re gone, the school may rust

And we may be impartial

But you found Claremont in the dust 

And left it a school of marble

Make us proud, Class of 2024!