Teen Angst? Naaah ... Read Online Free Page B

he buys from catalogs and keeps in his “Weapons Locker.” He also collects more exotic weapons:
bolas, sai
, and
nun-chucks
. * I started hanging out with him because he was just too weird to pass up. But as I came to know him, I discovered a genuinely kind person with a twisted sense of humor. We’ve had some fun times.
    Once, in eighth grade, Ike and I cut school to protest something called Take Our Daughters to Work Day. We were irked—how come the girls got to visit their parents at work while we toiled over algebra? We made our own signs (mine: “Stop Reverse Sexism!” Ike’s: “Help! U R Oppressing Me!”) and walked down to Seventh Avenue—the main street of our neighborhood, Park Slope. **
    We positioned ourselves in front of a coffee shop and paced in circles, yelling, “Equal rights now! Hey, hey, hey!” Not many people were sympathetic to our cause. In fact, almost everyone ignored us, althoughsome women rolled their eyes, and one said, “Yeah, like you guys know jack about sexism.”
    One guy was supportive—he drove by in a pickup truck, leaned out his window, yelled, “All right, fellas! Keep on truckin’,” pumped his fist, and drove off. Just when I was starting to think the whole Take Our Daughters to Work Day protest was a big success, our school principal, Mary, showed up. She had come down to Seventh Avenue
in her own car
. She personally drove Ike and me back to school, and then gave us detention for the next six weeks, until graduation.
    In detention, we had to compile a report on the mental health of adolescent girls. I read
Reviving Ophelia
, and after sifting through accounts of bulimia, anorexia, and sexual abuse, I decided that teenage girls have it plenty rough; if they wanted to spend a day hanging out at their parents’ jobs, more power to them. *
    But back to Wormwhole. We recorded two songs in Ike’s bedroom, “Pants in the Mail” and “Lumber.” They were both instrumentals, because there was no way I was banging the drumsticks together and singing at the same time. Ike was a terrific guitarist. For one thing, he actually had a guitar. For another, he had an instructional video,
How to Play Guitar
with Dean Hamill
, which I borrowed and later lost. He could even tune. He couldn’t play chords, but who needs them?
    As for percussion, I was solid on those drumsticks. Never missed a beat. I could even solo with them. Each of the songs had a good hook, a development, a solo, and a concluding section. I figured we could make a single, send it to radio stations, and be famous in a few weeks.
    For some reason, though, nobody liked our music. I played it for my parents, and they hated it. I played it for my music teacher, and she said, “Don’t quit your day job.” I played it for other kids, and they gave me a look. * Eventually (i.e., after a couple days), we had to face facts: Wormwhole was a failure.
    A few weeks later, though, while watching a music video and feeling misunderstood, I realized something: Wormwhole may have been a failure, but it wasn’t bad. And it isn’t bad, to this day. It’s just
alternative
. There’s a fine line between the two, and nobody knows where it is. Wormwhole was an alternative to alternative—our music was so alternative it would blow your mind.
    First, we had no amps. Only conformists use amps. Second, we had no vocalist. Everyone’s got avocalist; our lyrics were telepathic. Third, we had only two songs. Why write more? Fourth, parents, teachers, and (conformist) youth hated us—so we must have been good. Fifth, look at the name! Who knows what it means?
    For all these reasons, and many more that I’ll think up later, you need our demo tape,
Crap (and Lots of It)
. It features “Pants in the Mail” and “Lumber,” with five extra-special bonus tracks of me playing bass guitar and singing. The first five