Frances Farmer Will Have Her Revenge On SAN FRANCISCO.
"I'm fuckin' Lou. Who the fuck are you?"
Though it serves as a segue into my topic, Fight Club has really little to do with what I'm going to say.
I've been thinking more into this whole growing-up deal today. Whilst postponing the finishing of my art history homework, I stumbled upon The Simpsons episode were Homer parodies Nirvana with his band "Sadgasm." So this got Diana to go to her shelf and pull out her Nirvana CDs and upload them onto her new laptop.
This led to a whole digression into why I suddenly felt a lot better and how it is a lot easier to be angry than it is to be sad. Honestly, sometimes, the atonal '90s kid in me wants to KICK my indie music snob's ASS. I enjoy a wide range of music that has been amalgamated from my middle school angst and my high school angst. The difference I see is that one of these subcultures lets me not give a shit about my appearance and, really, it is so damn comfortable.
The deviation from badassery I've pretty much tried to either run towards or avoid has been haunting me like a motherbitching-motherfucker since 9th grade. I don't know about anyone else who is comfortable with their taste in music and style, but do you ever look at some girl in the hallway who is very clearly the eye-vomit of an Urban Outfitters and think, "Damn. Her clothes are pretty cute," and, "Damn. Being skinny is kind of a turn on?"
I've given a lot of thought now into how Matt calls me a pussy for listening to indie rock and essentially turning my back on the hard rock and classic rock that defined my prepubescent years. And I've also thought about how my friends teasingly call me the indie kid or as the guy-who-I-talked-to-that-one-time-I-think-his-name-was-Moe-but-I-can't-recall-Hilary, help me, called me indie incarnate.
Talking to Matt leads me to think that guys have something to do with this change in attitude for me. I think the kind of guys I used to be attracted to were the asshole, I-don't-give-a-fuck type. But somewhere between listening to Kurt Cobain's lack of intonation, AC/DC, Dead Kennedys, The Ramones, The Distillers, The Clash, Reel Big Fish, Steve Miller Band, Led Zeppelin, Tenacious D, and The Smashing Pumpkins, I found Ben Gibbard, the son of a bitch who warbled about the optimal love that only hipsters could feel in their tiny chests. There's something about a person who can sum up your angst in pretty words with connotations of individuality that makes you want to change your clothes and join their cult. Fucking cults.
I don't know what I was thinking, but the only thing I could think was that I really, really needed to find some indie boy who loved all the crazy music I did too. And there was this picture in my head of us skipping through a park on a sunny day in New York City. I was going to be successful, but somehow Bohemian at the same time. He as well. We'd teach each other snobbery philosophy. However, it occurred to me rather quickly as I was submerged into the subculture that indie boys and girls were little elitists on par with Ivy League colleges and schizotypal artists. Plus, as it turns out, the kind of guys I still ended up being attracted to were not into my music at all. In fact, I think their music is crap. Yeah, you heard me, Matt, CRAP.
If I were to go undercover into every single genre's subculture (everything is better as a secret agent), I think I would find trouble adjusting to their personality accoutrements. It just so happens that the greatest annoyance of my life is arrogance. That would cross off indie and rap. At the same time, I don't like being a presumptuous asshole who yells at people, so most rock would have a hard time fitting into my lifestyle. Meanwhile, I think it's some kind of unwritten rule to own and wear make-up if you want to listen to pop--plus, my ears can only take so many high pitched renditions of "Umbrella." Fuck you, Rihanna (See? Presumptuous asshole glitter that I already feel displeased with tacking on).
There is a metaphorical bread crumb trail of thoughts and events that leads me to self-discovery. I was really hoping that high school wouldn't have to be about self-discovery and experimentation or whateverthefuck, but we're always blindsided by giant purple elephants. I wish I were better at doling out blame, but then I couldn't feel like I was a better person than you.
Though it serves as a segue into my topic, Fight Club has really little to do with what I'm going to say.
I've been thinking more into this whole growing-up deal today. Whilst postponing the finishing of my art history homework, I stumbled upon The Simpsons episode were Homer parodies Nirvana with his band "Sadgasm." So this got Diana to go to her shelf and pull out her Nirvana CDs and upload them onto her new laptop.
This led to a whole digression into why I suddenly felt a lot better and how it is a lot easier to be angry than it is to be sad. Honestly, sometimes, the atonal '90s kid in me wants to KICK my indie music snob's ASS. I enjoy a wide range of music that has been amalgamated from my middle school angst and my high school angst. The difference I see is that one of these subcultures lets me not give a shit about my appearance and, really, it is so damn comfortable.
The deviation from badassery I've pretty much tried to either run towards or avoid has been haunting me like a motherbitching-motherfucker since 9th grade. I don't know about anyone else who is comfortable with their taste in music and style, but do you ever look at some girl in the hallway who is very clearly the eye-vomit of an Urban Outfitters and think, "Damn. Her clothes are pretty cute," and, "Damn. Being skinny is kind of a turn on?"
I've given a lot of thought now into how Matt calls me a pussy for listening to indie rock and essentially turning my back on the hard rock and classic rock that defined my prepubescent years. And I've also thought about how my friends teasingly call me the indie kid or as the guy-who-I-talked-to-that-one-time-I-think-his-name-was-Moe-but-I-can't-recall-Hilary, help me, called me indie incarnate.
Talking to Matt leads me to think that guys have something to do with this change in attitude for me. I think the kind of guys I used to be attracted to were the asshole, I-don't-give-a-fuck type. But somewhere between listening to Kurt Cobain's lack of intonation, AC/DC, Dead Kennedys, The Ramones, The Distillers, The Clash, Reel Big Fish, Steve Miller Band, Led Zeppelin, Tenacious D, and The Smashing Pumpkins, I found Ben Gibbard, the son of a bitch who warbled about the optimal love that only hipsters could feel in their tiny chests. There's something about a person who can sum up your angst in pretty words with connotations of individuality that makes you want to change your clothes and join their cult. Fucking cults.
I don't know what I was thinking, but the only thing I could think was that I really, really needed to find some indie boy who loved all the crazy music I did too. And there was this picture in my head of us skipping through a park on a sunny day in New York City. I was going to be successful, but somehow Bohemian at the same time. He as well. We'd teach each other snobbery philosophy. However, it occurred to me rather quickly as I was submerged into the subculture that indie boys and girls were little elitists on par with Ivy League colleges and schizotypal artists. Plus, as it turns out, the kind of guys I still ended up being attracted to were not into my music at all. In fact, I think their music is crap. Yeah, you heard me, Matt, CRAP.
If I were to go undercover into every single genre's subculture (everything is better as a secret agent), I think I would find trouble adjusting to their personality accoutrements. It just so happens that the greatest annoyance of my life is arrogance. That would cross off indie and rap. At the same time, I don't like being a presumptuous asshole who yells at people, so most rock would have a hard time fitting into my lifestyle. Meanwhile, I think it's some kind of unwritten rule to own and wear make-up if you want to listen to pop--plus, my ears can only take so many high pitched renditions of "Umbrella." Fuck you, Rihanna (See? Presumptuous asshole glitter that I already feel displeased with tacking on).
There is a metaphorical bread crumb trail of thoughts and events that leads me to self-discovery. I was really hoping that high school wouldn't have to be about self-discovery and experimentation or whateverthefuck, but we're always blindsided by giant purple elephants. I wish I were better at doling out blame, but then I couldn't feel like I was a better person than you.