My parents came for a visit this weekend and brought with them an ugly green chair for my study and a batch of oatmeal cookies with Grammaw's pecans in 'em. They took Singular Girl and I out to eat at Bistro 110, which was really shwanky and had lots of fresh seafood. My mom got the red snapper, which they baked whole and fileted in front of her. I got the chicken, which they bake at 700 degrees, meaning it's as juicy as a flash-fried turkey.

So anyway, sitting at the table next to us was my eigth-grade social studies teacher, Mr. Rolfes! He remembered me from the 89-90 school year. Amazing. I mean, I was a troublesome student, so many of my teachers remember me with gritted teeth, but teachers have thousands of students pass through their classrooms. It must be amazing to travel the world and run into all these former students of yours.

I was the weak, nerdy kid who goofed off in order to gain what I thought was acceptance from the cool kids... but I'd quickly learn they were merely laughing at me... I sure wasn't invited to their birthday parties. I was the kid who was in the Chess Club, Odessy of the Mind, and the Drama Club, and thought that those clubs were social clubs just like the ones the cool kids were in. I was also the kid who got nosebleeds every day- the only thing I remember from Mr. Rolfes' class is that one day I sneezed, and my nose started bleeding, and I sneezed again, and sprayed blood all over my desk, myself, and my neighbors.

Then when I went into high-school I became the angsty, long-haired, trenchcoat-wearing, camo-pants-bloused-into-combat-boots type of nerd. The one who played roleplaying games at lunchtime and thought that the world didn't understand me. I had the ratty clothes and the goatee and a pocket sown into my trenchcoat full of 50 lbs of junk, like a manhole lifter, a potato gun, a telephone... what a loser. I was the one who hung out with the stoners but didn't even drink. I skipped school only one day, during my junior year, when we had a walk-out in protest of budget cuts and me and Matt, Chris, and Ryan snuck off to Peffer Park where I smoked a clove cigarette, the first time I ever smoked anything. Our high school had a term for us: "Smellers". In my school, you were either a Prep (richies, jocks- the cool kids) a Rebel (rednecks, trailer trash, and hoods), or a Smeller (band, theater, skaters, the kids who were in the art room all day, Columbine potentials). Nerds and geeks slipped through the cracks, unless they could disguise themselves as one of the three. Like me.

Then, after high school, all the cool kids went two routes: They either got fat, married, and pregnant, and settled down with their high school sweeties for a life as a rural Ohio dental assistant or roof-shingler. Or they became grungy, long-haired, goatee-wearing stoners. In high school, the smellers wore flannels and holey jeans, and at the dances the DJs (always cool kids) refused to play that Nirvana shit. Right after high school, "Grunge" hit and my old uniform was the uniform of the fratboy.

So now, whenever I go to Townie night in my hometown, or a concert by a band from my high school, I always run into those cool kids, and they always seem to be on some mission to demonstrate how much they are now like I was then. Then, they kicked the shit out of me and called me fag, shot spitwads at me in class and tripped me in the halls, or in the case of the girls just completely ignored me except for the occasional fake-note-from-your-crush gag. Now they want me to know that they realized what cool was, that it was about fighting the man, man, dropping out of society, getting whatever tats and piercings are required in order for them to look just like the other millions who are trying to look different. They never apologize, they just over-compensate.

I always give them the benefit of the doubt, though. Everybody becomes a different human between 18 and 25. I was sure an asshole, and I turned around and took out my anger at being picked on on the nerds and the geeks. This last decade has afforded a nice revenge on us uncool kids- now the geeks are the millionaires, the smellers are the graphic artists and actors and rock stars, and the preps are all marketing managers and account reps, stuck in miserable lives with spouses they hate and jobs that suck their souls away. Why else does Bill Gates do what he does, but for revenge?

I got out of that town, where there were only two places that were open 24 hours and both were Stop-n-Robs. I was lucky. Many more are still there, trudging through their lives and wondering why nothing's exciting any more. Gotta get home from Ace Hardware in time for Survivor. I try to do what I can to encourage them to make the leap- it's a scary one, but it's the best thing I've ever done for my life. I'll retire to a small town, but I sure as hell won't waste the prime of my life there. What the fuck, I'm rambling, and Ryan said it better than I could anyway...

i wish i didn't grow up
in the town that i grew up in
kept me silent
kept me stupid
never fought back
never fought back

where were my friends
to keep me up down
that's all it took to keep me on the ground
rubbing mud in my eyes
rubbing mud in my eyes...