citizend

Guilt makes things taste better.

We all have our guilty pleasures and indulgences we feel the need to hide or deny from the world at large. Something that brightens our day but isn't shared with those closest to us. It somehow makes it all the more special knowing that it's your guilty secret and yours alone. It's probably why affairs have been so popular throughout history. Aside from the constant shagging that is.

For some indulgence is gambling on sports, or playing air-guitar to "Masters of Metal vol 4." For others it's the feel of polyester and disco revivals; right through to bug collecting (it gets an element of creepiness after you start high-school; science majors excepted) and masturbation on public transport.

For me, it's Evanescence.

For a dedicated classic & hard rock enthusiast with an strong appreciation for metal and punk, owning up to this partiality was like telling your father, Machoman Randy Savage, that you abhor violence and bullying and oh yeah, you're pretty sure you're gay to boot.

But then God, in the closing paragraph of an interview, said it was okay.

And if Lemmy says it's okay, then colour me Emo-kid. I attended their Perth show, but I didn't buy any merchandise. And I rocked out to Shihad, who opened for them. So I figure that leaves most of my rock credentials still relatively intact. And, early in the night I did my best to start a blue with the event security. So another +1 Rock cred. (Shout out to "Big Pat" from Challenge Stadium security, I hope the Rogaine treatments work.)

This brings me to a somewhat errant rant: I enjoyed what were fine performances by both bands, and Amy Lee's impressive vocal stamina is better than ever. Well worth the money for the ticket. But bugger me with bottle-brush if I wasn't in teen-angst filled hell. One of the benefits of rocking up early to steal better seats, is that you have nonchalant eavesdropping time.

15 is the new 40.

15 yearolds today must have the market cornered on anti-depressants. Or more likely, sugar pills labelled as anti-depressants. I can only surmise that they receive a two month supply free with every tube of mascara or eye-liner. (Which appears to be applied with a paint roller.) Now don't get me wrong, I like the whole gothy / trashy badgirl look as much as the next guy, but at some point it stops being The Crow and merely becomes Raccoon. And on a 15 yearold, 45kg male it merely becomes the somewhat rhetorical precursor to his crackly lamentation, "Nobody understands me or takes me seriously."

Because you look like the recipient of a monochrome makeover delivered from a spray can. And you're 15. Nobody's interested in what you have to say. Deal with it. Have a coke and move on. It's a lesson that'll crop up throughout adulthood too.

At 15, I was incapable of taking myself seriously, let alone too seriously. Hell, I couldn't take anyone seriously. It's probably why I was referred to as "academically transient" for much of high-school. It's not that I didn't have any self-worth or esteem, just that I knew the likelihood of "being right" and "being heard" coinciding was as likely as O.J. finding the real killer; probably only going to happen when talking into the mirror. I knew what life had in store for me; mortgages, taxes, speed traps, failed relationships and the potential for back and shoulder hair. So why purposely cultivate the angst?

"After the time when I cut my wrist, I decided show my poetry and lyrics to get it out. Not out of me, but to see if there's anyone that will understand where I'm at. To see if they would help. If they would care."

I resent these little bastards squandering those precious few years before obligation and liability on bad poetry, worse myspace pages and what are just plain weak attention whoring suicide attempts. A nail-file is not the tool for the job. In my day, we used shotguns. You want attention? Do something worthwhile Picasso.

"The media is to blame for all of the youth suicides in the world. They only show rich and beautiful people. It's no wonder everybody's so depressed. They feel inadequate."

I resent the mollycoddling we've had to do through the various forms of media teaching them that it's okay to not take responsibility for your actions, because there's always an influence out there ripe to become a scapegoat. Pretty people exist. Deal with it. Television and movies are primarily about escapism and fantasy. Fantasy is much like a brothel, it's okay to visit, but you need to leave when your time's up. Television is not real life kiddies, if your using it as a yardstick you need to be beaten until you see all the colours of he test pattern.

I resent that they've pushed me into another generation. That I'm "the previous" generation. I'm old at 25 to these punks. That in this post, I've used the terms "In my day" and " # yearolds today". Most of all I resent the irony and hypocracy that has just hit me of my reprehension regarding their compulsion to fill the internet with half crafted web-pages littered with unintelligible feelings and unfinished thoughts.

Maybe I'm not that old after all.