I'm 20 and home from college for the summer. I'm feeling angsty after having read "Please Kill Me," a sort-of illustrated history of Punk Rock. So angsty in fact that I feel like I have to rail against something somehow or be sucked into suburban normalcy before I return to school and be embarrassed under the scrutiny of my misguided-musician crush -- who, I would later discover to be an ego-maniacal ass, but who I saw at the time as the cool guy with 45's and the fatalistic attitude.
So I did what any budding punk rocker would have done -- I threw out all my makeup from the year before: when I had gone trawling to college parties with the rest of em, "shades of seduction" eyeshadow in tow -- before my life was saved by rock n' roll.
Next step: bleach hair to a crisp underneath a shopping bag, buy some t-shirts with favorite band names on them, rip holes in all my jeans (if I can't accomplish it by falling off my skateboard), and spend lots of time in my basement with my $10 record player, ignoring the suburban hell outside.
Though it has been, and continues to be at times, misguided, here's to many more years of railing against shit.
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