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.