Is it Tuesday? Well, it's Way Back Tuesday anyway, no matter what day it is. For this edition, we'll go way back to ninth grade, which for me was in 1994. If you're clever, you can figure out how old I am from that. Since (as I may have mentioned) I grew up in a small town in Minnesota, this was about the time that grunge hit our scene. Since I had a father who owned flannel and a sister a size or two larger than me, I was set as long as I just wore anyone's clothes but my own. Also, I grew out my bangs, which were never curled and hair sprayed the way they should be anyway, because I'm lazy and because my hair does whatever the fuck it wants; I am not its master.
Anyway, I was 15 years old and thought I was tough in some way I can't really remember or explain, especially since this story involves a band trip. Not Band Camp, you understand, just a fun-filled overnight trip to Madison County, Iowa to compete against other tough band nerds and go to a classical music concert and out to the dinner theater. Rockin!
This was the end of the year*, and as such it was time for the seniors to pass their awesome torch to us freshmen. Because they got rid of hazing after some band dork had to be taken to the hospital when he was wrapped in tape and all his skin came off**, all this meant is that the Seniors gave us those "Awards" which are really just pieces of paper making fun of you. I got "Best Section Leader" because I was (after my senior left) going to be the only person in my section. And because apparently I was so devoid of personality that they couldn't even make fun of me properly. One of my best friends got "Anastasia." Because they couldn't remember her name. Hint: It was not Anastasia. Another best friend got something like "Practice Freak." Because she was really really good and practiced her instrument and it sucked how much other people in her section sounded like ass next to her.
Anyway, that night after our rockin' dinner and awards ceremony, me and my three best friends retired to our hotel room and lit those awards on fire in the tub. I'm not sure how four nonsmoking fifteen year olds got a hold of matches and/or a lighter, but I'm going to guess it involved my friend flirting with one of the older boys who was also a band badass and once called me anorexic and street dumb, but that's another story.
Anyway, there was glue involved in these awards and a fair amount of smoke ensued and we had to turn on the shower and did not burn the motherfucker down like Lisa Left Eye Lopes, but all in all we felt pretty awesome.
I used to have a thing with fire. It's pretty.
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* I think it was the end of the year. My brain kind of sucks at, like, remembering stuff like times and dates and places and names. This story is all true though many details may be confused and/or made up.
** That may have been The Breakfast Club. But maybe it happened in my school too. Who knows?
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