Punk Rock

Go to church, go to school, go to work, eat health food, don’t ask questions, it seems rude, wear the right clothes, listen to the right music, make the right friends, follow the rules set upon you, they’re there for a reason, but not the reasons they like to tell. They want you to function, they want you to prosper, they want you to continue the cycle. But the Clash, and Crass, and the Sex Pistols, and hell, why not Blink-182, and Simple Plan, pop punk still counts, The Ramones, The Stooges, The Dead Kennedeys, Anti-flag, Black flag, The Black lips, Limp biscuit, the misfits, sublime, and all the rest, they say fuck that. They say be broke, be angry, enjoy your youth, be yourself, and if you can’t just for the love of god, don’t be them, jay walk, wear short skirts and high cut shirts, wear jeans that don’t fit, and go break shit, from valuables to rules, disturb the peace, bump that shit so loud your ears break, deface your body because it’s yours to decorate, throw fits and be angry, make scenes, and be angry, embarrass your parents, impress your friends, and scare the shit out of the rest of them. Spray paint walls, carry pocket knives, show your boxers, and rip your shirt.

Formaldehyde and Rotting Dog

       On a rather uneventful, partly cloudy day, I decided to download Kevin Smith's Filmography and watch all of his movies. I finished Clerks, Clerks II, Dogma, and Mallrats by the time I was rushing to the car to accompany my parents on an unexpected endeavor. My sister had recently moved out, and bought a dog like she had wanted since our last one had died. However, my sister worked a lot and barely had time to take care of herself. After a few months of mostly being in a cage, either because she was at work or he was being bad, this pure-bred black lab had begun the process of chewing off his fur. I called him dog of the living dead. Later we found out this is also because he's allergic to every-god-damn-thing ever. His condition worried my parents so they insisted we go check up on him that night. To this day I have no idea why that day was chosen. Anyway, when we got there, he was covered in diarrhea and missing even more fur than when we had last seen him. My parents decided that this was the final straw, and took him home, leaving my sister, who is infinitely more careless than malicious (in this scenario), with a simple text reading "we kidnapped Eddie"

       We came home, cleaned Ed up, I watched Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back, and all of a sudden it dawned on me to tell my mom that I wanted to talk to Leather Dan before he died. Which I suppose needs some explanation. First, the name. He was called "Leather Dan" because he always wore brightly colored, skin-tight leather pants, and there were two Dans, so he needed a monicker. Second, the dying. He had recently (in the last few years) been diagnosed with stomach cancer and did not have too much time left. Third, who he was. Leather worked with my mom since before I was born, and he was always my favorite of her co-workers.

       Now, back to the story. Mom said "yeah, that's a great idea, we should call him tomorrow morning!" After watching Chasing Amy, I was off to bed. I let Eddie sleep in my room, but not in my bed because he was covered in shit like 5 hours before. He laid down n next to my bed, and I was asleep by the time my head collided with my pillow case, making Eddie curling up the last thing I remember before the image of my mom's face. inches from my own, laying down in my twin bed next to me, with tears rolling sideways across her nose, collecting onto the pillow case. I think you can guess the rest.

NERDS!!!

       Okay, I'll say it. My friends and I are nerds. Dorky, quirky, overly-enthusiastic nerds. After all, that's all a nerd really is, right? Enthusiastic. That's something we're granted. The rest of society is okay with and accepts the fact that we get way too excited about...well, anything. We're allowed to get bounce-up-and-down-in-your-chair-till-you-tip-over-like-an-idiot excited, over whatever makes us happy. I wouldn't live life any other way. I wouldn't want to know a world where I couldn't get in a totally serious debate over whether Gandalf is a better wizard than Merlin (he is). I wouldn't want to exist without the luxury of getting furious and yelling at my roommate because we disagree on whether or not Anakin Skywalker really did bring balance to the force (he didn't). I can obsess over worlds and lives that are too fantastic for anybody to hope to live in. I can go play Dungeons and Dragons with the people I'm closest to, pretend to be a Goblin for 4 hours and have memories of a time with my friends, only in those memories, I'm not in a garage sitting around a table, I'm a freaking Goblin, sitting around a campfire with a Hobbit, a Gnome, and a Druid, and those memories feel as real as any other. When you're a nerd, the confines of life seem almost non-existent.

Panasonic RP-HTX7

       I believe that my introversion stems from my extreme shyness as a child. I was (and still am) quite the mama's boy, and would always hide be hind her and cover my face in her dress to hide from new people when I was a toddler. In a small way, this tactic remains, and that is the hiding. The if-I-can't-see-you-you can't-see-me defense. Only now-a-days, it's "if I can't hear you". You see, I use my headphones as a metaphorical security blanket. They hide me from the things that scare me (talking to new people, or about things that bother me). I noticed it in my Junior year. Instead of facing the emotional struggles I was having, I hid from them. I had had the same pair of Panasonic headphones for 3 years, and I knew I listened to them a lot, but it took a while for me to realize it wasn't just because I love music, it was because if I couldn't hear people, it was an excuse for me to not interact with them. This included people I didn't know because I, for some twisted reason, am afraid to meet strangers or make new friends, people I didn't know well enough to know whether it would be socially acceptable to greet them or if I would get a weird look...and most importantly, when I was sad, or bothered, or angry, I could close my eyes, put on my headphones, press play, and pretend that neither the problems I had nor the people who legitimately wanted to help me with them were there so I could both avoid taking responsibility for myself, and avoid bringing my friends into my mind--two of my very favorite things to do. And let me tell ya, it's sure hard to think of anything when you have music coursing through your veins. That's why this worked for me in the first place. When you listen to music, you stop thinking about your problems. Even if you're listening to a song way sadder than your problems, they're still not YOUR problems. It's an escape, and I'm nothing if not an escapist. When those were falling apart, and smelled like vinegar, which is a very long story, and only one ear worked, and I was about to take a 6 hour flight to Hawaii, I knew I needed a new pair to make the plane ride bearable. Nobody understood why I damn near had a panic attack when I couldn't find those exact same headphones anywhere. They thought I was being totally unreasonable, and because I never explained that it was more than just a pair of headphones, I completely understand their point of view. But the first night there, I felt terribly home-sick, and the only reason I slept that night was because I put my Panasonic RP-HTX7 headphones around my neck. They made me feel like I was right in my own room.

Cohabitation

       "So! I type a text to a girl I used to see", Andre 3000 sings out as I feel a vibrating against my leg. I reach for my phone, pull it out, and get stricken with apathy. The name that appears in my hand may be one of my best friends, but my desire to slide the bar, speak a greeting, and excuse myself from social interaction is not present. You see, I am rather introverted. In most cases, unless I know it's important or I really feel like seeing someone, I will not answer my phone. When it comes to socializing, I like to keep it small. If I spend the day with a friend, I will likely not talk to anybody for days after. I require a recharging period, otherwise, I feel just exhausted. A few weeks ago I had 3 straight days of sleeping at other people's houses, and running around town with different friends, and by the time it was done, I shut down. My friends thought I was dead because I didn't respond to anything for a week. I love my friends, and I can't live without them, but I value my time alone above most other things in life. I enjoy having time to reflect on my thoughts and persue my hobbies without the looming threat of having to come up with proper responses to conversational stimuli. While small groups of people for a few hours at the time are dandy, anything further mentally drains me.



       Now that I've thoroughly lined out how much of a basket case I am, I can get to my actual point. Recently, a large change came into my life. One that scared me at first. My very close friend Sam suffers from temper problems, and his mother suffers from manic depression. As one would guess, they have very heated and escelated arguments. For a few weeks, it was getting worse every day, and on top of it they were going to move very soon. At one point I jokingly offered my floor for him to stay on. At the time, I had no idea that a week later, Sam would be on my doorstep, practically in tears, begging me to help him. And I couldn't. I'm sure I didn't demonstrate this clearly enough previously, but being loyal to my friends is something I take much pride in. When a friend is in need, I will d anything and everything I can to help them. So I couldn't refuse. Over the next week, he slowly gathered his belongings and we made a bed for him on my floor.


     
    I'm sure you can only guess what was running through my head at this point in time. I was sharing my room. I couldn't go 12 hours with someone before I needed to be alone. I thought surely that I would drive myself mad. But, though this is a debatable statement; I never lost my sanity. I never got tired of being around him. I still haven't, as he sits in my peripheral vision while I type this to you now. Cohabitation has proven itself to be an entirely new animal. I never feel the need to be alone anymore. In fact, sometimes I even feel lonely, as if there ISN'T another person there at all. Of course I still try to avoid adding people to our party, I no longer feel the need to refuel my tolerance of socialization. Since it happened, I feel like more of an adult. I do more chores, try to keep the room clean, am far more desperate for a job, and feel generally more responsible. I can tell that a new chapter is opening in my life, and I can't wait to turn the page.

Break a leg out there...

       I am terrible at public speech. I shake so hard I can't read the paper I hold, and start to stutter after a while. But put me on stage and the problem is gone. Because that's not me up there. That's a character. Every aspect of myself is gone. My wants and desires, my thought process, it's all somebody else. Then when you go offstage, after a long period of time of being an entirely different person, who doesn't suck at speaking in front of people, it's a wonderfully unique feeling. You feel relieved that you get to be YOU again. You can breathe a big sigh and feel happy and relaxed at the fact that you are yourself. It's comforting, to say the least.       


       When I was a Junior, my acting class teacher (a class I took for fun, and an easy a) urged me to be in the show coming up called "The Odd Couple". I had been going through some typical teenage problems, and some more complicated things at home, and was not in the best state of mind at this certain point of my life. I'd often have my headphones on all day and only talk to my friends when I couldn't avoid it. I decided that this may take my mind off my current situation, and I was beyond right. Instead of sitting at home every day after school and drowning myself in music and thought, I had something to focus on. But it went far beyond that. By my senior year, I actually had a real reason to want to graduate, and do something after. Throughout high school, I slacked off and failed a lot of classes. I was more than intelligent enough to pass, in fact doing well on tests saved me a few times, I just didn't and couldn't care about the work I was given. I was deficient 7 credits at the end of Junior year, and 5 at the beginning of Senior year thanks to summer school. I passed all my classes to be able to participate in the shows, and I made up all 5 credits in online classes in order to graduate on time. I was inspired to actually pursue a career on the stage by a man named Samuel Benedict. He basically directed, choreographed, and acted as musical director for our spring show, a Revue called A Night On Broadway. His passion and talent exceeded anything I had ever seen, and he showed me something I decided I desperately wanted. I enjoyed nothing more than my time on stage, and I knew from then on out that I would rather live in poverty my whole life chasing something I love than be successful doing something I don't. Were it not for the feeling I get every time I pass the theatre, I wouldn't be going to college. I'd be working full time and going nowhere slow.

       You develop a family when you're in a show. Your talent and abilities grow alongside people that, whether you love or hate right off the bat, you have to at the very least have a mutual respect for. I met some of my best friends in the theatre program, and strengthened friendships I already had. Leaving that dressing room was one of the most emotional days of my life. That's when high school ended for me. When I packed up and left my second bedroom. Shaking the Principal's hand and receiving my diploma place holder? Utterly insignificant in comparison. Seeing my stage mom and dad (our backstage and stage managers) cry, and embracing the girl who had been like a little sister to me, and my best friend, my brother, who I knew my friendship with would never be the same. When I saw Matt (dad) start to cry, I lost it. He was the one who carried every show on his shoulders and never showed a bit of weakness. He had worked from 8 hours to our 3 and still sat quiet while we bitched about our feet hurting. I use the word family quite literally as you can see. We've bonded over our hardships and our shortcomings, our talents and our humor. To be able to have that kind of love forged out of a common interest is just an indescribable feeling to me.





I wouldn't trade 10 minutes of the most tedious tech rehearsal for all the wealth in the world.