Part(y of) 3

I met Nicole while leaving a movie theater[1] and was able to get her digits in possibly the nerdiest way imaginable: I told her I would memorize her phone number if she said it exactly once, and would prove it by calling her later that afternoon. On both counts, it was a success, and we talked about the similarities between our respective high schools (architecturally speaking[2]) and the differences in the overall ethnic makeup of the student body (both Porter and Pace had "a lot of chongs," but Pace had more white people).

I was excited to have met a girl that was both good looking and interested in talking about Green Day with me, and we decided to talk the next day. This is the part where things get really fuzzy in my memory. I know we talked a few more times, but at one point I called and her sister or mother said she had just stepped out, but I could call her back later. This had happened on several other occasions, and when I did call back, we'd talk, so it's not like she was avoiding me. But for some reason that I cannot explain, I just gave up. I never called back, she never called me back.

This is actually more of a non-story than anything, but I have repeated a process like this more than once, and it makes me wonder why this happens to me so often. Granted, those were the days before social networking sites made it possible to exchange flirty, innocent-sounding messages with the object of your affection on a minute-by-minute basis, but I can't blame it on the technology. Maybe I would have stopped Tweeting her, or liking her Facebook status updates at some point. I don't know. But the sheer possibility that this girl might actually want to talk to me or eventually kiss me while watching another terrible movie didn't so much scare me as completely depress me. I figured it was all downhill from there. I was an idiot, even at 14.





1. That film was Independence Day. I was going to add "unfortunately" at the beginning of that sentence, but I guess it was fortunate in that I met Nicole because of it. Although, since nothing materialized from this chance encounter, I guess "unfortunately" works just fine.

2. Porter and Pace are identical structures, even down to the little rocks that made up the floors. I wonder if the chongs of Pace ever hung out in the CEILINGS, as ours were wont to do, but I guess they could have accessed them via the bathroom stalls in exactly the same way.

Party of 2

My first girlfriend was Amber, and blonde, and white. We were 15. I was a junior and she was a freshman newly transferred from wherever it is that beautiful white girls run amok before they're shipped off to the next relatives in the chain. She once professed to love me in rhebus form, by scrawling our names on the board in her aunt's classroom with a heart in between. We kissed exactly once, an event that caused me to miss my bus and walk home with a strut in my step for about 15 blocks. She also invited me to her birthday party at a bowling alley, where she then proceeded to ignore me the entire night. The next day, I got the message from her friend that we were broken up. That's a lot for a person to experience in five days.

I saw her about two years ago while visiting my parents for Charro Days, a Brownsville holiday in which kids get one and a half days off of school to partake in parades and watch their parents consume 4 dollar beers at Sombrero Fest. She did not look very good. I don't think she noticed me; I have morphed into one of those people who somehow never get recognized by their high school peers. I immediately had the urge to go up to her and strike up one of those underhanded revenge conversations you only dream about in high school. Basically, an excuse to throw the relative greatness of my life in her face, like a much more bitter version of the country song "Unanswered Prayers."

But it would have done me no good. My years spent touring in a band might seem like a ridiculous waste of time to her, and I know my intellect never really excited her. These are qualities that I LIKE in people, but I can't count on them to convince another person of my relative worth. Even though I won, she will always win. Ultimately, I was the one fretting over initiating a conversation with a girlfriend I had for a week, while she was probably totally content remembering me as some minor detail in her life, if she remembered me at all. After processing this information in my head during the 4 seconds it took me to walk past her, I was content to let bygones be bygones, and sip on my 4 dollar beer.

party of 1

I am terrified of parties. No, let me correct myself; I am terrified of new people who aren't aware of my status as a person whose merit has been pre-determined as a result of my contributions to the local music scene. As a fallback, I have my knowledge of esoteric and inane historical facts to convince them of my intellectual prowess. But that's it. That's my ace in the hole. Neither one is sufficient to impress the average person, but, in my defense, the average person has nothing to impress me, short of being related to someone more interesting or dynamic than they are.

As a result, I enter most social situations at a considerable disadvantage. I can either be "Rob Yoink" or the smart-ass in class who connects Faulkner to the Zombies, but the resulting gap between the two is comparable to the American frontier in the 1800s. Of the few intrepid souls who actually brave the journey into my ridiculous personality, most will die of disease, or get murdered by Indians, or ultimately miss the dock at the end of the Oregon Trail, doomed to eject their floppy disks in disgust at the sheer pointlessness of it all.

This is not a fun life at all. People either kiss your ass or completely ignore you. I haven't figured out which is more demoralizing, but I suspect it's the former, in light of the latter. Is it possible to seriously dislike yourself while still appreciating your utility as a musician/scholar/artist?

to be continued...