I am a Los Angeles-based twentysomething. I have a profession, and I have a secret life in music, and this blog isn't about any of that. I like Blogger because I can't read what you're thinking.
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Monday, July 12
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[KICK KICK KICK KICK KICK]
Blame Claude Debussy for making me feel this reflective and bittersweet.
In my freshman year of high school, I did pretty well when it came to grades. I mean, everything went well as far as classes went up until I realized that I really, really couldn't juggle this "band" thing and classes. Both things were very time consuming, and I didn't push myself enough. I truly admire those who did both, and turned out to be incredibly spectacular students by going off to universities with such amazing accolade. I really should've made friends with them earlier.
No offense to my friends -- oh wait, that's right -- all my friends are incredibly spectacular students as well.
Freshman year eventually turned me into a half-ass student with no intention of really kicking any ass in academics. I gave a subtle sigh of "I give up."
Sophomore year, all I wanted to do was party, stay out late with my friends, find a cool kat who would sell me a fake ID and go to live shows as much as possible; and believe you me -- I did just that. It was an incredible year. Simply incredible. I had so much fun that it's hard for me to imagine someone could have had as much of a kick ass year as I did. But I suffered in classes. Especially chemistry. I had a teacher who failed 95% of her entire class. I'm not lying. And oh, I'm not saying it was entirely her fault. I'm just saying that it was a bad recipe: hard teacher + recreational schedule.
Junior year, I had so many conversations about my future that I pretty much said, "well -- there's no use in trying." My GPA barely hit a 3.0 and I didn't even want to think about fitting into that UC plan anymore -- I knew it was out of my league at that point.
But I was an optimist. I said, "Hugo," because I always address myself in the ...omniscient (is it?) perspective, "you'll be fine. Except you won't go to a great school immediately following graduation. And oh, you'll have a dirty academic record. Oh yeah, and the only thing you're good at is playing music. That's right, Hugo, an industry no one ever makes it in."
Let's just say this: Junior year was not only socially draining, but it was also academically fucked. I had to read John Steinbeck's East of Eden, which to me is one of the biggest time wasters of all time. I couldn't stand his excessive use of imagery and symbolism. I didn't want to be challenged, goddamnit. I wanted a fucking book that didn't have a negative 3 font size. I wanted something entertaining, something that didn't try to make kids my age try to be eloquent and literate. It was bullshit. I don't care what any of you (my peers) say -- I fucking hate that novel with every inch of my body. It is a novel that could EASILY be pushed into 300 pages, not 850.
But I digress.
Someone, I don't remember, told me, "your attitude is going to kick you right back in the ass once you exit high school."
Whoever you are, you were right.
I want to make an open apology to my brain: Brain, my friend, you're very often underestimated. I'm sorry I wasted you for four years on ...pretty much "useless until further notice" information. But I gave you music. I really tried. I gave you pointless trivia, something that could get us both a gig at VH1 or Trio television. I let you absorb every magazine and newspaper and book and newsletter I read. I gave you Bush, Cheney, Wolfowitz, Janet Jackson, Jon Stewart, Dane Cook, Al Franken, and several conversations with the occasional big to lame celebrity. Oh, and I'm sorry I never let us both look into the college life -- something that would've given me incentive TO WORK MY ASS OFF LIKE THE REST OF MY PALS WHO ARE OFF TO BIG, BEACHSIDE AND/OR TREE-LADEN UNIVERSITIES!
I'm sorry I didn't give you enough geometric figures, chemical compounds, more John Steinbeck, that Woody Harrelson profile that we accidentally viewed in history class that we were tested on, ...
Who am I kidding? Even though I ended fairly well (like I said -- with a GPA which is equivalent to the value of Pi), I still consider myself a high school disappointment.
Senior year gave me a totally different perspective. I learned that, hey, maybe writing could be for me. I realized that, hey, maybe I'm not such a disappointment after all. Writing for the high school newspaper gave me a couple opportunities that really made me stand out above 'em all. For one, my teacher entered me into the Stan Chambers Journalism competition, which, by the way, I didn't win! I don't know how I placed, but the fact that she went out of her way to enter me into the contest is more than flattering. On top of that, she got me a fucking critic credential to view network sitcoms and dramas at not one, but two junkets, therefore declaring me an "official critic" of Los Angeles. Can you fucking believe that? Just because she believed in me.
Sure, she looks like Ann Coulter. But I love her to death. She's a sweet and a real inspiration, despite her moments of total cluelessness and overkill on the Reality TV talk she had every morning with the class.
I didn't know I could write. I really didn't. I'm no Peter Travers or Joel Stein, but I now know that I can hold a reader from paragraph start to end. Bitchin'.
So this is for my family, friends and strangers who happen to read this: I am not the bright guy that you thought I was. I am going to college. If I told you otherwise, it's because I was tired of saying the same thing to everyone, and I wanted to spice up conversation by making those of you I fooled believe that I was some lousy jerk off, aspiring to be a musician.
I am attending Fullerton City College in the fall to transfer in one o' dem U-Cs everybody been don' talkin' 'bout. Which one, I do not know. But I do have to make it to a great, big university because it's the brand name on the diploma that counts in the real world. Sadly, it alllllll whittles down to just that.
And for the final time, yes, I made it into the Berklee School of Music in Boston. But no, I will not be going. There are far, far too many reasons. And it's not what you think. There are so, so many barriers right now that I have no control of. That settles the, "did you get in?" question.
I will study music and journalism. But who knows -- maybe a really cool professor will befriend me, and will teach me marine biology and fascinate me. There's no time for looking ahead, though.
Now is now and that's all that really, really matters.
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