At the end of every summer, around 800 students walk into Hoban. They are ready (or not) to resume the education that for the last three months they were perfectly fine living without.

As for myself, I spent the last six weeks taking classes in North Carolina. In fact, as I write this, I am sitting in my dorm room at Duke University, so the prospect of high school is a bitter subject with me.

In this light, I am going to introduce myself in terms of the one thing I hate (and yes, I know hate is a strong word) most about Hoban.

I hate the so-called “official school shirts.” I don’t suppose this makes me unique in any way, because everyone hates them. Some openly hate them, as I do, and some pretend to like them for the sake of their mental health, as I should have done. No one actually likes them. No one.

Now I am not going to spout about how they restrict our individuality or anything like that. I don’t think they do. Even if they somehow infringe on our God-given right to have various animals emblazoned on our polos (because that’s what everyone wears anyway), I don’t care. I have a much graver problem with the shirts: they are ugly.

Given that this is my biggest complaint about school, we are pretty well off. So despite my, and maybe your, current attitude about coming back to Hoban, it will probably be a good year.

As for my column, I plan to be witty and interesting, but don’t hold me to that. Besides, even if it’s neither of those things, you will read it anyway, because the fact is you have nothing better to do in math class.

The title of my column, apart from being the best jazz album ever recorded, characterizes me. I attend a school where the colors are blue and gold. This summer, I considered myself a Duke blue devil. Blues is my favorite genres of music. Blue is even the first syllable of my last name. Let’s be honest; if you were to stick a needle in my finger, I might bleed blue, but let’s not try. This column should be titled “Entirely Blue,” but then I would lose the Miles Davis reference, which is infinitely more important than accuracy.

Now don’t think this disregard for accuracy will get in the way of good journalism. I will do my best to get the facts right. My disregard for accuracy applies only to my own assessments. For instance, I may call The Real World the cause of everything wrong in the world. While it certainly isn’t (Fox News takes some responsibility), it is at least the cause of some. I only choose to take the extreme because it will generate more of a response. My goal is to get you to think about issues, not to make you agree with me.