This episode is making me unaccountably angry and I’m not sure I have a full handle on why.

When I saw where things were going with Karofsky, my first instinct was to be angry because this show simply hasn’t been written well enough to ask for my emotional buy-in to that plot line. And what was especially angering is that the show got it anyway, because, what, I’m not going to feel for the kid who’s being tormented; I’m not going to get choked up when a good actor does the things he needs to do to convince you he’s in the kind of emotional pain that would lead to a suicide attempt? No, obviously, I’m going to buy in, but it’s cheap and dirty, show, because you’ve done nothing to earn my fucking tears, alright?

Yes, by the way, I got this mad crying while watching The Notebook because it’s a stupid fucking movie with a stupid fucking premise and it pulls out all the little tricks to jerk tears from one’s eyes without doing a thing to earn them. But I digress.

The problem is bigger than just this plot line. The problem is that you’ve got an incredibly talented cast. Chris Colfer, Lea Michele, Jane Lynch, and even underused Max Adler (Karofsky) are phenomenal actors, and at least three of them are amazing singers as well. My love and adoration of Naya Rivera is pretty well-established. Heather Morris and Harry Shum, Jr. – goddamn can they dance. Amber Riley? Holy hell, Amber Riley. You’re amazing. Darren Criss, my husband has a little bit of a crush on you. Which is completely justified. Mark Salling? Uh . . . call me. I could go on, because the cast is just terrific, but I think I’ll stop there. My point is that this is a collection of incredibly talented people, being backed up by some great production design, and they have you people for writers. It’s a shonda, is what it is.

You didn’t even do a good job. You brought this topic – teen depression and suicide and the bullying that often triggers it, especially as it relates to homosexuality in teens – and you fucking dropped the ball. Because you had to get in Regionals. And Finn and Rachel’s wedding. And Sue’s f-ing pregnancy, not to mention her 47th complete character turnaround. Characterization. Plot Structure. Pacing. These are Fiction Writing 101 topics. Try to learn something about them.

Oh, and maybe Quinn dies at the end but probably not? That’s the cheapest storytelling ploy in the book. Class up your fucking act.

And that little tease? That little “. . . how are we going to tell the students . . . that David Karofsky attempted suicide . . .” Just fuck you. That’s not a place to tease. Especially since why would they need to make an announcement to the student body that David Karofsky didn’t die? Wouldn’t his thankfully unsuccessful attempt at suicide be a pretty fucking private matter?! Wouldn’t his parents be involved in that discussion? I mean, this kind of thing, this total lack of connect to the fabric of reality is fine when you’re making up some fictive “tenure slot” which somehow propels a half-assed plot about Ricky Martin, but suicide? You don’t half-ass a script about fucking suicide.

Maybe I’m just emotional today. I haven’t read how this episode is being received by others; maybe I’ll read something that will change my mind. But as it stands now, I might be done with this show. I’ve got “Smash” now; I don’t need you.

Here, this woman seems to know more about it than I do, in terms of legal definitions.

But very few news outlets are even reporting this, and the ones that do are doing the, “Gee, that’s really wrong” thing. Which it is. It’s really, really, really wrong.

It’s state-sanctioned, state-sponsored, hell, even state-coerced rape. Penetration without consent of the penetratee is rape. Let’s please work on calling a spade a spade.

(And please spare me the bullshit about “What if I forcibly penetrate your ear with my finger, is that rape?” because the Virginia legislature is talking about the vagina, not the ear. You can’t get an ultrasound from an ear. I mean, you can’t get an ultrasound of a fetus from an ear.)

Here’s what I want. I want all of the legislators who’ve signed this bill, who’ve sponsored this bill, who’ve declared their willingness to sign this bill immediately fired. For threatening to rape the women of Virginia. Because that’s got to be against some oath they took. Right?

Then I want somebody to explain to me why I shouldn’t assume that Republicans simply hate, loathe, despise, and abominate women. I didn’t used to believe that. I didn’t used to believe that Republicans were simply evil. I used to think that there were just a few bad apples, a few crazies that the media liked to highlight because, hey, it’s entertaining, but really, Republicans as a whole aren’t evil. They just have a different vision of what an ideal world would look like than I do, and a lot of how they think the world should look is just as legitimate as how I think the world should look. Plus, I love me some NASA, and Democrat presidents tend not to. But between this, and the New Hampshire domestic violence shit, and the birth control brouhaha with them all talking about if women would just keep their legs together, like, hello, even if that were a sane and non-hateful thing to say, there’d still be married women who use birth control, dipshits, and yeah, I’ve covered this already, I’m not sure why I shouldn’t believe that Republicans are pure evil and just hate women.

So maybe the explanation is, “No, no, those are just the extremists, that’s not what real Republicanism is about.” If that’s it, then here’s what I want. I want every Republican candidate for public office – and every Republican currently holding public office – to go on the record with how they feel about this Virginia bill.

And I want to set up a website wherein I put up pictures of those who say they support the bill with big red signs over their faces – This Person Supports RAPE.

Hell, we can ask Democrats, too. And if any of them support the bill, their pictures can go up on the site.

Because the truth is, I really want this not to be a party thing. I really want this to be a “limited number of crazies” thing. We only have two parties in this country; if it is generally agreed upon by Republicans that women are hateful, disgusting, unworthy beings, that’s approximately half the country backing that up. That’s too frightening to contemplate.

But I haven’t heard boo from party leadership saying, “Oh, my God, you guys, we don’t support rape; cut it out.”

The truth: No, I’m pretty sure that’s not true.

The lesson: Brian Stokes Mitchell should guest star on a musical show and not really sing all that much.

The truth: What the what? I mean, I love “You’re the Top,” but they didn’t do much of a production of it, and isn’t Brian Stokes Mitchell kind of a big deal? Why didn’t he . . . sing?

The lesson: Ryan Murphy is totally reasonable about homophobia!

The truth: This episode tried to do that “Let’s hear from both sides of the issue” thing by having the new member of the brand-new God Squad – I mean, the God Squad that’s always existed, of which at least three members of the cast have been prominent members, but of which we’ve heard not one word – consider maybe not singing a love song from Santana (who continues to be hella gorgeous) to her girlfriend Brittany (because that’s apparently public now even though last time we checked – which was forever ago – Santana was struggling with that) because, you know, God hates fags or some shit. Then the new member decided to be fine with that – without really talking about why he can reconcile his loving Jesus with his accepting Sappho – and sing to the girls.

And, okay, fine. I kind of hate giving any quarter to the “It’s okay to be homophobic” crowd but I can see what Ryan Murphy is trying to do.

He’s trying to recover from that time he called Kings of Leon homophobic because they didn’t want “Glee” to cover their songs.

The lesson: Holy hell, Mercedes can sing.

The truth: Dude, totally.

I mean, no, no, no, Amber Riley can sing.

Seriously, this was actually a decent musical episode. And one of the best things was Mercedes singing “I Will Always Love You” in tribute to the dear departed Whitney Houston.

But please, next week, can Blaine lead the group in a rousing and joyous “I Wanna Dance With Somebody”?

Okay, watched it? Heart sufficiently warm and fuzzy? Great.

Because that’s the perfect video about what love means. Not giving someone stuff that you think will impress them but doing something with them that they love to do.

For instance, you could join your believed in the kind of orgasm that makes her forget her own name.

Uh, yeah, thanks, Sophia. Or you could jump rope with them.

I think the main point is paying attention to who your beloved is, as a person, and joining them.

Great video. Good job, Google.

In fact, if I’m limiting it to people I recognize, I could probably end this post here.

Okay, no, here we go:

Adele

The whole world agrees that Adele is awesome and I certainly can’t deny that.

The dress is okay but could be better. Different neck, different color, different hair? I don’t know. Could be better.

But she sings like motherfucking Adele and she’s also gorgeous. She could have shown up in a Juicy Couture sweatsuit circa 1999 and we’d still love her.

Alicia Keys

Are you looking at those shoes?

Those shoes are messing with my mind, y’all.

Bonnie Raitt

is apparently headed to the Moms’ Night Out organized by the PTA at the local Joe’s American Bar & Grill.

But she’s still Bonnie Raitt so whatevs.

Carrie Underwood

Isn’t that girl only 22 or something? Why is she styled like “she’s still got it!” fifty-five year old?

Corinne Bailey Rae

looks absolutely perfect. Love the whole thing. Favorite of the night. No contest.

Fergie

You know, the thing is, it’s the Grammys, so if you want your underwear to be visible, you go for it, you know?

That said, why did she just go for a basic black bra and panties set? The panties are high-waisted, so I guess that’s “fashion,” but fifty years ago, that was just your regular underwear set. Why didn’t she go for, I don’t know, bright turquoise or something?

Joy Williams

Joy Williams is one half of the duo The Civil Wars, a group my sister’s boyfriend introduced me to and which I really, really love (though I disagree with both Kate and her boyfriend that the male half of the duo looks like Johnny Depp). Don’t love this dress. I mean, it’s fine, but it’s not great. But she’s great so who cares?

Kate Beckinsale

I have been given to believe I would not like Kate Beckinsale as a person. That’s fine. She’s still in my personal top five prettiest people in existence. I don’t know what she’s doing there, other than decorating the red carpet, but she does that damn well, so fine.

Katy Perry

I am once again surprised that my liking this dress is coinciding with popular opinion on it. I thought I was being controversial. Oh, well.

Kelly Osbourne

You know what? This is the best she’s looked all awards season. Even with the stupid purple hair. (As a note, though, the hair is looking awful, and not just the purple-ness. There’s a point where you’ve put so many chemicals in your hair that it ceases to look or feel like hair. That’s when it’s time for a pixie cut and/or deep, deep conditioning.)

Nicki Minaj

You know what? There’s nothing I can say. You wore this because you wanted everyone to go, “Oh, my God, can you believe what Nicki Minaj wore to the Grammys,” and mission accomplished.

But the actual bishop? What actual bishop agreed to be your date to this thing? Memo to the Catholic Church – you show up as Nicki Minaj’s date to the Grammys, we don’t have to take any of your moral edicts seriously anymore.

Paris Hilton

So that’s still happening.

Rihanna

I mean, what does one wear that’s apropos for an awards show at which your sometimes-ex who quite famously beat the shit out of you is going to perform?

A dress that makes it obvious you’re not sporting bruises anywhere?

Okay, that works, I guess.

Taylor Swift

Oh, dear. It’s just like mothers everywhere have warned for generations. Your face has frozen like that.

Now, Rick Santorum and Mitt Romney both have enough children in a short enough period of time that I guess it’s believable that they haven’t relied on hormonal contraception like the Pill.

But why is other contraception is okay but not the Pill? Because I’m going to go ahead and assume that Rick Santorum and Mitt Romney have both had sex with their wives that they have not intended to be procreative, and not just when said wives were pregnant already. So they must have been preventing it somehow. It’s believable that their methodology did not involve altering their wives’ hormones, but they were either a) using a non-hormonal device like a condom or diaphragm, b) doing things the old-fashioned way, i.e., pulling out, or c) had one party surgically altered so as to never conceive again. And they could only have done c) after all the kids were born (although I don’t know how long their wives nursed, but sometimes that will prevent contraception between kids – but not all the time and not for all women).

So whether you use a pill or a diaphragm, you are preventing sperm from meeting egg. In the first case, you prevent the egg from being released; in the second, you prevent the sperm from getting into the uterus/fallopian tubes. Why is one better than the other?

And pulling out? Pulling out?! That is “onanism”! I know that’s the term typically applied to masturbation, but the real story of Onan is that his oldest brother Er died (was suddenly struck down by God for some unknown reason), so Onan had to marry his brother’s wife Tamar and then their child would be considered as if it were Er’s and inherit all their father’s stuff instead of Onan being next in line. So Onan decided to pull out when he had sex with Tamar so that he didn’t create his own supplanter. And then God struck him down, too.

Now, I have argued that Onan’s crime was deliberately circumventing the system that would have provided his dead brother with an heir at Onan’s own expense, and masturbation has nothing to do with it. But I don’t get to be the Grand High Priestess of any religion, more’s the pity. This story is usually interpreted by others to mean you can’t “spill seed” uselessly, i.e., either masturbate (if you’re a boy) or pull out!

So even if they’re not using hormonal birth control, I don’t understand how what they are doing is okay by their own standards.

And other politicians who’ve done things like spoken out against hormonal contraception being paid for by insurance, or signing the Personhood Pledge, do not have so many children that lack of use of hormonal contraception is really believable. I mean, pulling out can be effective, but let’s be serious, here. Newt? Rick Perry? They both only have two children, and many years of being married to some number of fertile women (Rick, just one; Newt, infamously three). (And also my research has shown that Rick’s two children are named Griffin and Sydney. Would you have ever guessed that Rick Perry would have children named Griffin and Sydney?) And Newt doesn’t have any children with his second two wives, both of whom he started sleeping with while married to his previous wife. What was he doing to prevent conception? (One would think being Newt Gingrich would be enough, but hey, three women married him, so evidently, they didn’t find him as objectionable as I do.) Am I really supposed to believe that no one in any of these situations used hormonal birth control?

I find it somewhat irritating that conversations around birth control, contraception, and abortion always center around the sex that’s being had by people who are not in long-term, committed, even legally binding, relationships. Not that I think having sex outside a long-term, committed, and/or legally binding relationship is wrong. But a lot of policy seems to be dictated by people who believe it is wrong, and discussed in terms that seem to indicate a certain level of acceptance of the idea that it’s wrong. And even if you think it is wrong, you’re leaving out the sex that’s being had within long-term, committed, and/or legally binding relationships, which I’m willing to bet is most of the sex that’s being had. I know that there are lots of jokes about married people not having sex anymore, but I’m still willing to bet that the average person in a committed relationship is having more sex than the average person not in a committed relationship. And neither the individuals in these relationships, nor we as a state, can afford for all of them to be getting pregnant all the damn time!

I had this problem when there was recent talk about male hormonal contraception, and the pundits’ party line was, “Well, women will never trust men to take a pill because it’s not the man that gets pregnant, it’s the woman.” And I’m going, wait a second, I’d trust Jason to take one. Because we’re in a long-term, committed relationship, and it would be his kid that resulted if we weren’t using any birth control, so, yeah, I’d trust him to be invested enough in our reproductive future to take a pill. If I were single, I wouldn’t trust a guy with whom I had a casual relationship, necessarily, but, again, I really suspect that more sexually active people are in committed relationships than not. So why is the discussion held on the assumption that the only people using birth control are unmarried, uncoupled persons?

Anyway, I do think that it’s great to see the politicians who are in favor of paying for contraception rally around feminist concepts like women’s rights over their bodies, etc. But I fail to understand why non-feminists plant their flags against contraception because I have to imagine that even non-feminists like to have sex with their spouses and prefer not to get pregnant every single time. Why isn’t access to reproductive control a universal (or, an all-heterosexual, non-Quiverfull person) issue, and not a women’s, issue?

The lesson: Santana Lopez is ssssssssmokin’.

The truth: No, no, no. Naya Rivera is ssssssssssmokin’.

The lesson: Kids still know who Ricky Martin is.

The truth: I don’t know; do they? He did just come out relatively recently; I suppose it’s possible that they know that.

The lesson: You can be a high school Spanish teacher for many years without speaking any Spanish.

The truth: I sincerely hope not.

The lesson: You should stop communicating with one of the two possible loves of your life to determine if he really is the one.

The truth: (snore) 

Okay, fine. Probably constant texting and e-mailing and tweeting and Facebooking is bad for your teenage relationships. But who the fuck cares? They’re teenage relationships. They’re already going pretty stupidly.

The lesson: It’s important to decide right now whether you’re going to marry your high school sweetheart.

The truth: No, it’s not. Y’all are what, 17, 18? Life is long. You’ve got time to think about what a terrible idea this is before committing to it.

The lesson: Turning in someone for assaulting your boyfriend is somehow less noble than not turning them in.

The truth: Okay, this is something I didn’t cover last week. That Warbler kid Sebastian through a slushy in the face of Blaine – even though last time we saw him, he had a crush on Blaine, but that’s okay, because last time we saw Will Schuester speak Spanish, he seemed to have a handle on it – and (because this show depends on the premise that just slushy-throwing is peachy-keen with any and all authorities) Sebastian added rock salt, which got in Blaine’s eye, which caused him to need some sort of surgery.

Santana then got Sebastian to admit what he did on tape so that they could turn him in to the police for assault. Now, admittedly, that tape could be severely compromised. It was taped to her “underboob” and she had clothes on and Sebastian was turned away from her when he said it (I think) and it was immediately slushied and it was just a dictation recorder from OfficeMax or some such so who knows if it would even be reliable enough to present as evidence? But the show doesn’t bring up that possibility, so let’s say it is usable. At the very least, such a tape would be useful if, say, Blaine’s parents, who don’t exist, wanted to sue the little shit for medical expenses. But Kurt – who is not Blaine and is not paying for Blaine’s medical expenses – decided that defeating Sebastian at Regionals would be the more noble thing to do.

Whatevs, people. Someone assaults you to the point where you need medical treatment, their “punishment” should not come in “sing-off” form.

I have, approximately, 1,882 cookbooks. I have cooked food from approximately five. I think it’s time to rectify that.

And to make myself in some way publicly accountable, I’m going to write about cooking from books I haven’t cooked from before! One recipe from each book, and I’ll report it here.

My first entry in this column will be the fig-and-goat-cheese muffins from Ancient Grains for Modern Meals.

Now, this is a little unfair for two reasons. One, it’s a brand-new cookbook. I’m 99.9% more likely to cook a recipe from a brand-new cookbook than one I was really excited to get but didn’t cook from immediately. Two, the reason I bought the book was to make these muffins. My friend got the book as a present – and it’s also been featured on many, many Best Of . . . lists – and I flipped through it at her house and I saw these muffins and I wanted them in my mouth right now. So it wasn’t, like, this great act of discipline that I brought myself to cook from this book or anything.

Ancient Grains for Modern Meals is a book that most people will buy in an effort to be healthy. The author, Maria Speck, does remind you in the beginning of the book that just because it has whole-grains doesn’t mean it doesn’t have other delicious and sinful things in it and these muffins illustrate that. Sure, one uses entirely whole wheat flour, and olive oil and buttermilk instead of, I guess, butter. But there’s still sugar and goat cheese and it’s not exactly health food, people. But it’s better for you than the average muffin and it’s totally delicious.

So here’s the recipe:

Filling:

3/4 cup (3 oz) crumbled mild soft goat cheese, at room temp

(It should be noted that the goat cheese doesn’t have to come crumbled. You can just crumble it as you remove it from the package. You probably already knew that, though, right?)

2 tbsp honey

1 tsp finely grated lemon zest

1/4 tsp vanilla extract

(I should probably also not have to tell you at this point that I wasn’t all that cautious about amounts here. It’s the filling; not the cake. You can be haphazard. So I had the amount of cheese right but I guessed on the honey and vanilla and I’m sure I grated more zest into the bowl than that. And it was definitely noticeable that I did in the final product, but in a delicious way.)

To make filling: Mix all that stuff up with a fork until it’s smooth. Let sit at room temp.

Muffins:

2 cups white whole wheat flour (though, having made them, I think standard whole wheat flour would have been fine)

1 1/2 tsp baking powder

1/2 tsp baking soda

1/2 tsp fine sea salt (or whatever good salt you usually use – not table!)

3 large eggs, at room temp

3/4 cup packed dark or light brown sugar (I used light but only because I couldn’t find the dark in my mess of a pantry. Next time I will use dark.)

1 tsp vanilla extract

1/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil (I always only have extra-virgin olive oil but if you have regular olive oil I’m sure that would be fine.)

3/4 cup lowfat buttermilk (Every recipe I’ve seen calls for lowfat buttermilk. I’ve never seen non-lowfat buttermilk in the store. Does such an item exist?)

1 cup chopped dried figs (about 10) (I used way more figs than this, I think)

3 tbsp turbinado or granulated sugar, for sprinkling (I used Sugar in the Raw, which may be the same thing as turbinado sugar)

To make muffins:

1. Preheat oven to 4oo degrees F. Butter or spray a 12-muffin pan.

2. Whisk together flour, baking powder and soda and salt in a large bowl. Make well in center.

3. In med bowl, whisk eggs. Add brown sugar and vanilla, then olive oil and buttermilk, until smooth. Add eggs to flour and stir with rubber spatula until just combined. The batter should look lumpy. Fold in figs.

(I messed up and just added the eggs to the flour right away, and then the sugar and vanilla, etc. I think it turned out okay but next time I will try not to mess up and see if they turn out better.)

4. Fill each muffin cup about half-full. Then put a little bit of the cheese mixture in the center of each. Then top with the remaining batter, such that the cheese is not visible. Sprinkle with turbinado sugar.

5. Bake until muffins look done, 13 minutes or so. (I think mine took fifteen.) “Looks done” = nice dome, browned edges, springy tops. Let cool 5 min, then remove from pan. Eat or save.

I have found these muffins to be totally delicious. Jason seems neutral. Zoe condescended to pick a few crumbs off of one.

At some point after seeing the third, I asked my mother if she could do something for me and she said, “I’ll try.”

“Do or do not. There is no try,” I replied, thinking I was funny.

Turns out she’d only seen the first Star Wars movie and didn’t realize I was quoting Yoda and got super-pissed.

I only bring this up because when friends reject and/or cancel plans with me, I feel inclined to quote Mean Girls and say, “Boo, you whore.”

Only I’m not 100% sure that they’ve seen Mean Girls or would know I was quoting even if they had. If they don’t know what I’m talking about, won’t they just think I’m being a bitch for no reason?

Then I think to myself, “Isn’t calling someone a whore a bitchy thing to do, even if you are quoting from a movie?”

So yeah, that kind of messed up this episode for me.

Plus, are they saving “Billie Jean” for the Warblers to do at Sectionals/Regionals/Nationals/Whatever competition they haven’t already done this year? And if not, why wasn’t it in this episode?

Anyway, on to the important things.

The lesson: Quinn got into Yale. Like all American teenagers on TV, Quinn and gang have only heard of a very select number of colleges – an Ivy league and a fictional one – and Quinn got into the Ivy League one! After having the ambition to do so for about five minutes! Go her!

The truth: No fucking way.

Look, I could go into all the ways Quinn in no way got into Yale. In fact, I just did, and then deleted it, because it’s pointless. Y’all know. Yale is f-ing hard. Quinn had not at any point seemed like a Yale candidate. And Yale? F-ing hard.

But there’s a deeper point to be made here, and it also speaks to Kurt and Rachel freaking out about Fictional NYC Drama School. (Finalists? What school has finalists? This is just so you can go back to this conflict in May, isn’t it?)* Kids – real kids – are freaked the fuck out about their futures. Colleges are harder and harder to get into every year. The future is bleak, and many kids feel that a school with a big name is the only route to success, and that there are only two options – phenomenal success, or sucky loserdom.

Actually, we reviewed this in my first Lessons, where we talked about how kids shouldn’t be given the impression that they are either Prom Queen or Nobody?

Anyway, real kids really do feel this way, and shows like this normalize that feeling by having, say, Kurt and Rachel respond to NYADA the way they are, which is realistic for them since they are both a) teenagers and b) drama queens, but with no “rational” voice to check them. No Kurt’s dad saying, “Even if you don’t make it, there are other schools, or you can go to New York and look for work acting and if that doesn’t work out, in a few years, go to school.” No Finn saying, “Hey, let’s look for public venues for you to sing now instead of waiting until graduation/New York.”

And of course it would be blasphemy for anyone on this show to say, “You know, a career in the performing arts is pretty much a crap shoot. Maybe we should look at pathways to an actual paying job.” And hey, I don’t blame them, entirely. Because on the one hand, Lea Michele and Chris Colfer are undeniably talented, and obviously they ”made it”, so why not Rachel and Kurt? And on the other hand, there are millions of Rachels and Kurts in the world. So I don’t know what I would do if I were one of their parents. Probably encourage them to go after their performing arts dreams as long as they could live on waitstaff’s salaries, and then support them while they went back to school.  But I digress.

But then to have a character like Quinn – a character who spent her junior year determined to become prom queen, marry Finn, and remain Queen of Lima, Ohio – get into Yale, really affirms the idea that there are only super-dooper winners and utter losers, because they can’t even contemplate for Quinn, say, Ohio State. Okay, I have no idea how hard Ohio State is to get into. But I know there are tons of colleges in Ohio of varying degrees of academic rigor. In fact, there are hundreds, nay, thousands of schools around the country with varying degrees of academic rigor, and frankly, your odds of having a successful life don’t increase that greatly, all other factors being equal, with or without a degree from an Ivy. (All other factors are rarely equal. That’s what skews the statistics.)

So anyway, kids, here are your lessons:

1. Making it in the performing arts is roughly as likely – and as related to your level of talent – as getting hit by lightning. 

2. Making it into an Ivy League has only a slightly higher probability rating, and is somewhat more related to your actual talent, although the relation and probability are still slim.

3. Getting accepted to a particular school – or not – will not make or break your future. 

Oh, and finally . . .

4. Don’t get engaged in high school.

*I stand corrected. Apparently this is a thing some schools for performing arts do.