Insta Insta Tortured Emo Punk Rock Points

I’ve been getting an unusual amount of traffic onto a post I wrote almost a year ago. I reread it and its a pretty angsty post. I find it a little unsettling that you can pretty much predict my emotional state based on the time of year. Februarys can be rough on me because of certain things I’m reminded of. And, apparently Junes suck for me now. My shrink had some $10 word for my supposed chronic condition. I can’t decide if, like half of psychology, it’s complete bullshit. It could just be everyday highs and lows. Then again, the highs and the lows are probably more intense for me than the average person. I could have been an emo kid in high school. We’re talking Rivers Cuomo emo here, not Pete Wentz or Chris Carrabba.

My friend Melissa thinks I’m just a tortured soul. She says I should be happy about it, because tortured souls are sexy. RFK, Robert Downey, Jr., Elliott Smith, Kurt Kobain, Holden Caufield, the Incredible Hulk, Bruce Wayne.  And, oh yeah, current favorite tortured soul Hank Moody (if you don’t already watch Californication, you need to get on that). The problem with tortured souls is they are completely and utterly spent. There is no emotional capital there for anything other than the internal turmoil. Also they’re all dead or drug addicts. Or both. And the really good ones, they’re all literary characters. Come on ladies, where are you? Tortured soul, come and get your tortured soul. Huh, I guess the emotional bankruptcy kind of cancels out the sexiness of a soul that’s tortured. Yeah, I don’t want to be that.

Prince is 50 today. He’s almost as old as my parents. What?

My parents are having their bathroom and closet redone, so all the rooms upstairs are sealed off with plastic to keep all the dust out. Before the renovation, my mom told me to go through my stuff to see if there was anything I needed before the work started. There probably are a few things up there that I will need, but oh well. I didn’t do a very thorough check. I did pull out my high school yearbooks. I looked through all the notes left by other people and marveled at the unbridled excitement and naivete about the future. Keep in touch this summer. Best friends forever. Going to school with you next year is going to be CRAZY!!!! PARTIES WOOO!!! All the requisite we’re gonna be friends forever stuff. Then, there was this:

Your two fingered salutes get you insta insta punk rock points.

A kid named Welch left that. I was probably only friends with him because he was good friends with one of my good friends. I guess I was pretty fond of the middle digits on either hand. And even more fond of using them at the same time. And it apparently gave me insta insta punk rock points. I wonder if my brown Dr Martens, jeans and polo shirt got me punk rock points.