Dawson, you own me
I can not wait for this series of Dawson re-runs is over. I need to see it through to the end, but I can feel my soul slowly leaving through my eyes. And I need to save some of that soul for The OC. It's interesting being in a city so obsesed with something as a whole (Red Sox). Even the tradionally socalled social outcasts of punk rockers enjoy this pride that goes along with throwing and hitting a small ball. This kind of relieves punk rock of the qualities that deemed it desiradble. Not that by any means, I concidered my self punk rock, but the ideology, in its purist form, was appealing. But as it seems, orginized sports is not the first thing to degrade a sense of originality. It seems that almost everything and anything attempts to inhibit who it is we are trying to be. But maybe thats the problem, we should stop trying to be someone, and enjoy who ever it is we are. And through that enjoyment, we will slowly become more and more like that idealistic identity we hold so high. I really have no idea, all I know, is that I'm going to see Dropkick Murpheys play in front of the Massachusets State house. And as it seems, irony has taken over my life.