| | I wish they sold self-confidence the same way you sell shoes or books or movie tickets, and it would be just as easy as flashing a brand name or spouting one-liners to make yourself a person you felt proud of in the morning. Self-confidence is waking up to your naked body in the mirror and saying “I look good,” versus getting dressed and saying “I look good.” And I’m sorry, I can’t look at myself naked. I’m too busy trying to catch up to the cool kids I went to high school with six, seven years ago, because they’re still around, giant headphones, smirks on their faces, asking “what are you listening to?” “Taking Back Sunday . . . old Taking Back Sunday.” You have to say it’s old, because it gives you a history, a credibility. Self-confidence is saying you were born yesterday because you were and you have a long way to go, versus saying you were born last week, even if you don’t have an alibi for it. I think religion is a good way out of trying to keep up with the scene, because it comes pre-made for you. I like the idea of a God that doesn’t care what records you listen to or how much your shoes cost but totally knows what records you’re going to buy next week or when your shoes will finally come apart after years of abuse and stepping in dogshit. I leave my shoes under the bed so I can soak up all the places they’ve been to when I wasn’t paying attention. I haven’t seen the movie everyone’s talking about, and I probably never will. I don’t know how to tell jokes or how to keep up in conversation between people I barely know. I don’t know why people spend two hundred dollars for things they’ll use to step in dogshit. I don’t know why I’m proud of my records from six, seven years ago, the ones I associated with those kids I hated but, eager to co-opt their tastes and personalities, adopted as my own. I don’t know why I am so tall. I don’t know why I straighten my hair. I don’t know why I’m only happy with how I look every once in a while, and only if I slept well and haven’t talked to anyone before three in the afternoon. I don’t know why I’m never happy, not in the depressed sort of way, but in a frustrated, why can’t I keep up with the scene, any scene, any group of people in any sort of way. And if I’m always behind you, I don’t know why I keep trying to trip you so you’ll walk next to me instead. |
| | Posted 8/28/2008 1:09 AM - 76 Views - 0 eProps - 0 comments
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