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Somewhere, a school bell is ringing. The doors are open, the classrooms ready, but the halls are empty.<\/span><\/p>\n Funny how it takes a pandemic and a general feeling that Armageddon has its hand in our pockets to make us wax poetic about going back to school. I was a good student, but I hated school the way Leah Remini despises Scientology. Mornings, I wished for some disease that would keep me home (and got that wish in senior year when I came down with mono that had me bedridden for months). In class, I prayed the fire alarm would go off and this time it wouldn’t be a false alarm. Having to stop playing Wiffle ball or street football after school so I could get my homework done was like asking me to hack my legs off with a rusty, blunt shovel.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n My high school was an all-boys Catholic academy. There was no joy in Mudville. Think a quasi-controlled Lord of the Flies<\/em> with robed brothers doling out haircut and shave checks. The only bright spark each day was knowing I had to pass by the all-girls Catholic high school on my walk home from the bus. Many is the time I had a nun chase me out of those mysterious, hallowed halls for trying to sneak a romantic tryst with a be-skirtted co-ed.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n It’s no wonder I was so attracted to what I call the “horror high” movies of the ’80s when I went to the video store. There were standards — my own — for a movie to be considered horror high. There had to be an entirely subjective number of scenes in an actual high school. The budget had to be low. The good looking girls quotient high. The kills bloody or at least interesting. It was, admittedly, a very low bar.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n