the more things change the more they stay the same

On Friday I let my best friend J.P. guest post here and in the comments, some people requested that he post a picture of us during high school.  Well, let the record show that I have heard the people (yes, both of them) and I have given the people what they demand!

The following picture is of J.P. and I during our senior year in high school.  

If you think we look dashing, you’d be right.

If you think we look like two Amazing Dudes, you’d be right.

If you think we look like two guys who asked their friend to take a picture of them after they finally scored some more pot even though they clearly are already baked out of their minds, you’d be right.

Behold:

 

Friends. Unfortunately.

roots

Over the last few days I’ve been downloading Nirvana songs that I used to have years and years ago when this blog was just a glimmer in my eye.

That band will always hold a special place in my heart, because when Nevermind hit, it was like a perfect storm.  You know, the kind without George Clooney as a grizzled old fisherman trying to prove a point (with disastrous results!).

Here I was, a 12-year-old kid just trying to fit in and desperately hoping for facial hair to sprout, and along comes a band that doesn’t give a fuck about anything, and in fact, hates everything that most people give a fuck about.

It was love at first listen.

When my friend showed me his tape of Nevermind, we sat down at his desk, popped it in his yellow (yellow!!!) Sony Walkman and that was it – I was a fan.  And lucky for me, I met all the requirements for being a Nirvana fan.

Poor Enough That You Already Wear Gross Flannel Shirts? Check.

Angry About Things? Check.

Enjoy Being Dirty? Check.

Within days of first hearing their music, I had used whatever money I could steal from my Mom’s purse (don’t judge me!) to purchase Nevermind and Bleach on tape and I listened to them until I knew every word of every song.  I would sit for hours in my room, listen to the tapes, write angst filled poems about how chores were oppressive and love every minute of it.

Sadly, by the time In Utero rolled around, Nirvana had become so popular that of course I had to tell everyone I didn’t like them anymore.  I even told this lie to my best friend who was, and probably still is, the biggest Nirvana fan ever.  It was something I felt I had to do, along with smoke excessive amounts of pot all day every day. What?  Growing up is hard.

But now that I’m older, and have a clearer outlook on life, or at least as clear as it’s ever going to get – I have come back to Nirvana, and it feels great.  Because when I think about it, I might not wear green and black flannels anymore, but I’m still Angry About Things and I still won’t shower until someone says, “Dude, I think I can smell you.”

Life is circular my friends.

face the music

Life just isn’t very fun anymore.

You know that, right?

Aside from making fun of people who are Weird Because They’re Different, the joy just gets sucked out of life once you become an adult.

It’s mainly because there’s always such huge consequences for when you do something stupid.  When you miss a payment on a bill, your credit score takes a hit.  When you punch someone in the neck for saying they don’t like Shrinky Dinks, you go to jail.

It’s not like when you were a kid, when the worst that happened to you when you fucked up was that you got detention.

I used to get detention all the time.

I know, you’re shocked.

But it’s true.  I went to catholic school from first to eighth grade and I would say I spent about 3/4 of my time in detention.

I’d be throwing my sweet ninja star that I made out of paper – detention!  I’d be trying to holler at Angela Abbodanza, that ball of brunette amazingness – detention!  I’d be trying to act like I saw the newest episode of The Simpsons even though I didn’t because my Mom wouldn’t let me watch it – detention!

I never minded it though, because detention was basically a meeting of all the cool kids.

I’d stroll in, high five Jake Breiding, nod a cool “what’s good” to Martin Craig and take my seat, knowing that the rumors were spreading about me and tomorrow the school would be filled with stories about The Bad Kids.

All I ever did in detention was draw Awesome Cool Things, like monsters biting the heads off of my teachers, and write lyrics to songs that were the shit, like “Same Ol’ Situation” by Motley Crue.

It was a really good time, as you can see.

No matter what I did, I could always count on going to see Sister Nancy – who had no eyelashes and no eyebrows (!!!) – and then going on to the detention room.

Detention was the easiest consequence I’ve ever had to deal with.

Today when I do something terrible, I get an adult punishment, which always makes me think twice about doing it again, because there’s no Angela Abbodanza in prison.

Bubba and “Give me your tater tots before I smash your face” yes, but no Angela.

revolutionary

When I was eighteen, I got my tongue pierced.

My friends and I, on the last day of senior week at the beach, decided we’d all get something pierced and I went with the tongue.

I decided on the tongue because it felt Rebellious and it was Something For The Ladies – if you know what I mean.

If you don’t, that’s fine too, because I have no idea either.

I had that stupid piece of metal in my mouth for about six years, mainly because I forgot about it being in there.  Eventually I took it out because it was stupid and it didn’t make me a rebel like Che and it was Time To Grow Up.

How fucking dumb is it to get something pierced as a way to be rebellious?

I remember when I got it I was thinking, “I won’t conform to this society!  I won’t do it!”  And then I went into my room, wrote shitty poems and listened to The Toadies.

When I have a son and he decides that he wants to Rebel Against The Man, I’m not going to let him do something stupid like I did.

Son: [Approaching me in my Man Room] “Dad, I’ve been thinking, I’m gonna get my eyebrow pierced.”

Me: [Still watching the game] “Oh yeah?  Why would you do something dumb like that?”

Son: [Getting the disapproval he wanted, and now excited] “Because I want to, okay?  Just because you don’t like it doesn’t mean I don’t!”

Me: [Commercial is on, so I look up] “Look.  If you want to be rebellious, do something truly different.  Don’t do so many drugs that you forget what you ate for breakfast.  Maybe even get a career that doesn’t make you want to punch yourself in the skull from nine to five everyday – that’s rebellious.  Not getting a piece of metal stuck through your face like some idiot.”

Son: [Shocked and unsure what to say]

Me: [The game is back on] “Good talk dude.  Let’s play some pool when the game’s over.”

World’s Number One Dad?

Fucking right.

three peas in a pod

A lot of people hated high school, but I’m not one of those people.  I actually loved high school, and I think this was because of my two best friends during the time, Bob Marley and Ganja.

I loved Bob Marley in high school (favorite song – “I know“).  I mean, I owned every single album he made and would listen to them constantly.

Of course, I had no idea what the hell he was talking about in pretty much every song he wrote – Jah Rastafari?  Sure! – but I did know that he liked weed.

And so did I.  A lot.

I smoked before school, during school and after school.  Every day.

So when he would croon about the spiritual benefits of bud, I could always be seen raising my fist in the air and saying something along the lines of, “Right on man!  Right fucking on!”

Also, who do you think was the inspiration behind my hair?

Bob was everywhere during my high school years.  I really don’t even think we could be internet friends if you didn’t like Bob Marley at some point in your life.

I suppose I could let you slide on the pot thing.  As long as you did some sort of drugs.  Or if you were a slut – they were awesome in high school.

Now that I’m older (not old!) and I don’t smoke anymore, I find Bob a little harder to listen to – but I still rock out every time it comes on my iPod.

It takes me back to the good days, when I didn’t care about anything but scoring the next bag, trying not to get beat up by The Athletes, and making sure my bell bottoms looked Really Sweet.

Right on man.  Right fucking on.

glossy side up

Most people miss things about the past.  Some people miss being in high school.  Some people miss that one summer at the beach during college.

I miss poster board.

I miss being able to present an entire idea using little more than a glue stick, a pair of scissors, and some random shit cut out of a magazine.

My life would be much easier if I could just use poster board to present my thinking during important events of my life.

Like asking for a raise.

[I walk into the boss’s office, poster board in hand]

Me: Hi, how are you today?

[Boss looks quickly at the poster board, then at me]

Boss: Good, so, it’s been a year already huh?  You’ve certainly impressed us with the stories that you’ve been able to get, so we should discuss a salary increase.

[I place the poster board on her desk]

[Boss squirms uncomfortably]

Me: [With confidence] Yes, well I think you can see all my major points are presented here on this poster board.

Boss: [Looking at the magnificent poster board] Um, well, okay.  But who is that?

Me: [pointing at the poster board] That?  Oh, that’s Brad Pitt.  He represents me for this presentation.  I tried to pick the man that most resembles myself.

[Silence]

[We both look at the poster board]

Boss: [Uncertainty clouding her voice] I have to tell you, this is quite an odd way to ask for a raise, but it appears that you put a lot of thought into it.

Me: [Smiling] Yes.  As you can see, I’ve folded it into three sections.  This also allows it to stand up on its own.

Boss: [Noting that it is, indeed, folded into three parts] You’re right, it does just stand there huh?

Me:  Yes.  And I think the cut-outs of dollar signs really drive home my point.

Boss: [Clearly impressed] You are quite the negotiator Chris!  A 50% raise should do it, don’t you think?

Me: Why yes, I think so!

[High fives are exchanged]

[I exit the boss’s office, my old friend poster board in hand, ready for whatever else may lie ahead]

things that matter

I love 80’s crap.

So this morning, when I was getting ready to walk my puppy (and hoping that he doesn’t eat more dirty Kleenexs along the way) I got an old song from a cartoon I used to watch when I was a kid stuck in my head.

Denver the Last Dinosaur.

Even if you’ve never heard of this cartoon – judging solely by the title – you can surmise that it was the work of pure genius.

The only thing I remember about it was the theme song. For some reason, I swear, for as long as I live I’ll remember it – and probably nothing else.

I’ll be 87 with no teeth and skin sagging.

More cynical and grumpy than ever.

Referring to my kids as, “Whatever the fuck your name is.”

And still, somehow the only clear thought in my old, decrepit mind will be “Denver, the last dinosaur, he’s my friend and a whole lot more!”

a ball of life

Remember gym class?

For some reason this morning when I woke up, my first thoughts were of gym class, and more specifically – dodge ball.

Dodge ball days were always met with a sort of nervousness in the air. The girls would be slightly less chatty and the boys would be eying each other up, knowing that in an instant, best friends could become bitter enemies depending on which way a small, orange ball bounced.

I was always “The Skinny Kid” so I was athletic, but not nearly as tough as the bigger guys in my class. But somehow dodge ball was my ticket to stardom. You didn’t have to throw the ball very far, and being skinny I was also fast, so I could dodge the ball (pun fully intended) easily most times.

These were days when I knew I could become a hero. These were days that I stood a chance of getting that glance from the prettiest girl in the class, Kelly Cook. These were also days when I could somehow stand toe to toe with Jake Breiding, a boy who, rumor had it, started shaving when he was 7. I don’t think I need to tell you that Jake Breiding was fucking cool.

Most games of dodge ball ended the same way though – with the Jake Breidings (ever notice how names from your past sound so odd when you think about them now?) of the world triumphing over the The Skinny Kids of the world.

But there were those days when something special would happen – when a girl (“She can’t possibly win,” all the guys would think) would make an amazing grab and thus win the game despite all the odds. Or there were those days when I, The Skinny Kid, would win one for the small guys, my eyes beaming and full of pride.

I’d get a nod of approval from Jake Breiding and maybe, just maybe, a brief glance from Kelly Cook.

And that would make all the difference in the world.

What are your memories of gym class?