Aug. 16th, 2010

Day 6

Aug. 16th, 2010 02:30 am
rigger: (Default)
Day 01. Your favorite song - Peg, Steely Dan
Day 02. Your least favorite song - Takin' Care of Business, Bachman Turner Overdrive
Day 03. A song that makes you happy - Donkey Rhubarb, Aphex Twin
Day 04. A song that makes you sad - This Woman's Work, Kate Bush
Day 05. A song that reminds you of someone - Flakes, Frank Zappa
Day 06. A song that reminds you of somewhere - City of the Angels, Wang Chung
Day 07. A song that reminds you of a certain event
Day 08. A song that you know all the words to
Day 09. A song that you can dance to
Day 10. A song that makes you fall asleep
Day 11. A song from your favorite band
Day 12. A song from a band you hate
Day 13. A song that is a guilty pleasure
Day 14. A song that no one would expect you to love
Day 15. A song that describes you
Day 16. A song that you used to love but now hate
Day 17. A song that you hear often on the radio
Day 18. A song that you wish you heard on the radio
Day 19. A song from your favorite album
Day 20. A song that you listen to when you’re angry
Day 21. A song that you listen to when you’re happy
Day 22. A song that you listen to when you’re sad
Day 23. A song that you want to play at your wedding
Day 24. A song that you want to play at your funeral
Day 25. A song that makes you laugh
Day 26. A song that you can play on an instrument
Day 27. A song that you wish you could play
Day 28. A song that makes you feel guilty
Day 29. A song from your childhood
Day 30. Your favorite song at this time last year

My high school friends and I, we crashed parties. We weren't bad kids; we just needed distraction. To a teenager, south San José is a dumb, sleepy suburb, and after 9pm, there weren't nothin' to do. So we crashed parties. Mainly we crossed the highway into Monte Sereno and Los Gatos, where the rich kids lived and were ignored by their parents. I drank a lot in high school.

After a party in Saratoga got broken up by police, Andrew and I found ourselves in the cramped back seats of a Porsche with two wealthy, alienated, Less Than Zero type guys from Los Gatos up in front. We had never met them, had no idea who they were. I never got their names. It didn't come up.

They got us really stoned, parked away from the street lamps, by the pallets and dumpsters behind the Alpha Beta grocery on Harwood. Really, really stoned. Like, cripple stoned. I was completely non-functional. It wasn't After School Special awkward or anything like that; we put up no resistance, took the bong gladly, knew what hopeless clichés we were. Somehow, though, what should have made us giggling comrades, instead pushed us further apart, into our dark leather corners of the car. We weren't the laughing kind of stoned. We were the staring, empty-inside kind. The driver started up the engine and drove us up the hill, into the mountains, fast.

No one talked. It wouldn't have been right. Each of us was alone with what he had going on. School was ending. Friendships were dissolving. Our families were coming apart. Andrew's older brother had long ago run off and vanished. One of mine had already died. A few months ago, Andrew's father drunkenly announced his layoff and left for Mexico. By May, my parents would lose our house in bankruptcy and tell me that I was on my own. In two more months, Andrew was going to gash the hell out of his wrists and arms with an X-Acto knife, soaking the hall bathroom of his mother's house with, as she put it, "All that blood. All that goddamn blood."

Instead of talking, we listened to the soundtrack to To Live And Die In L.A. at tooth-rattling volume, and watched the ghost-white trees blur past us. It's admittedly a dated soundtrack to a film that has not aged well, no, not at all. But it was ideal for that night drive through the Los Gatos mountains, because it was the perfect, sharp-angled embodiment of the smoked glass and coke mirror 80s, and that decade's strangely detached, self-annihilating intensity.

I don't mean to be overly dramatic. We were semi-affluent, destructive white kids, stoned and speeding through Los Gatos backroads. Andrew survived, although we grew apart after that. But kids feel shit more desperately. They're also afraid that they'll live forever. It accounts for a lot.

Runner-Up: Marrakesh, Morris Pert, which reminds me of Interstate 5 at sunrise.


rigger: (Default)

June 2011

   1 234
567 891011
1213 1415161718
192021 22232425

Page Summary

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 26th, 2017 07:44 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios