Weezer’s new album is out today, which is making me feel old. I also just hung out with old high school friends today, which was fantastic. I always seem to look back on high school with a healthy dose of disdain–like it was the worst three years of my life. I guess mentally it was–a food tube isn’t a high school highlight for anyone. But from a friend perspective, I had a kick ass time. I had close friends, and they were goddamn funny. So today I’m listening to this Weezer album, remembering when I was Rivers Cuomo for Halloween in 8th grade awkwardly carrying my maroon Fender Strat through the brown and green halls, and feeling sentimental about the days when yeah, I hated myself and I was SUPER fucked up mentally, but things were simpler, and my friends loved me, and we had a good time debating Blue Album vs. Pinkerton and just how much Billy Joe Armstrong had sold out.
It wasn’t all bad. And I feel like it’s important for me to realize that. It’s easy when you’re in recovery from something to look back at the past like this giant demon of horrible happenings. You want to shun the whole past and blame everything for everything that’s wrong with you now. It’s easier I guess. If you look at the happy times, you’ll feel not legit enough. Like your rehab stint wasn’t necessary. But that’s not true. That ain’t how mental illness works, Amy. I’m realizing that when you remember the happy times, you’re realizing what you gave up when you were sick. And how NOT YOU you were through those years. The happy times are a solid sign post in the past that says, “HEY! Remember that you were you at one time. And you had a good time when you were you. Figure that shit back out, dude.”
Deep shit for a disillusioned Weezer fan. That’s what two days of reminiscing with old friends will do to you I guess. Wait, also, when did I get so old? I’m not old, but I’m old. So many details from high school are blurry I’m discovering, and I’m dying watching Gilmore Girls ands seeing CDs and Rory’s old blue iBook. AND THE BUTTERFLY HAIR CLIPS. Early 2000s, baby. I feel like my mom watching Gilmore Girls saying, “Oh would you look at that! I remember those!” and then launching into a ridiculously stupid story about my first cell phone and playing Snake while waiting for my boyfriend to pick me up.
Time flies. Cheers to growing older and being able to laugh at yourself, though. Growing old ain’t all bad. In fact, I’m starting to grow fond of it. I laugh more, and I think being able to say that I owned the Sugar Ray album is something to be proud of. I danced to Chumbawumba and wore Old Navy performance fleece with the rest of them.
Anyway, some pictures of our adventures last weekend in Fremont. I’m really behind on these photos, so I better get crack-a-lackin. Maybe I’ll find my blogging rhythm soon and write posts that are actually of worth to you guys. Until then, thank you for imbibing in my rambles as I try to figure out just what the hell I want to write about.
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