Some days, I just feel like life would be so much easier if I bought a bunch of billowy dress shirts and wore makeup all the time…
Okay, let’s back up a twinge. There seems to be a great deal of confusion about who I am in real life. Frankly, it surprises me the things some people get in their heads when they read my writings. I’ve run into people who thought I’d be more goth, or more indie, or more punk, or more emo, or more geek, or more whatever in real life.
The truth is that the truth isn’t very interesting. Maybe if I were skinnier. Maybe if I were cuter. Maybe if I wore makeup. Maybe if I just weren’t who I am. I’m never going to be a cookie-cutter image from the “alt kid” issue of Vogue. And I don’t say that as some sort of badge stating how cool I am. I’m not cool. At all.
My passions personify who I am. But most people misinterpret that in a stereotypical way and get it so very wrong. I am passionate about music, hockey, and love. Maybe that doesn’t make any sense. But that is who I am.
And that causes a lot of great disappointments to a lot of folks. Bet you weren’t expecting to meet a relatively quiet guy who drinks a lot and talks about things you don’t understand and isn’t especially attractive.
I love gothic rock. I don’t own any makeup or wear tons of black. I love indie and punk and Britpop. I don’t dress like one of those “scene” kids. I could never pull it off. It’d be inauthentic coming from me. Again, that’s not some sort of declaration that I’m cooler than those kids. If anything, it makes me more disappointing.
I barely play any videogames. I’m as befuddled as you about your computer problems. I’m really not a geek. I like comic books. I don’t suck at the teat of Warren Ellis (although I did quite enjoy Nextwave). All in all, I’m just not that interesting.
So, to those who wind up meeting me in real life, I do quite apologize for not living up to whatever expectations you may or may not have. I don’t live in a box, because I was never made for the box. I just exist.
Maybe someday I’ll suffer a brain injury and wake up a far more interesting, attractive, cookie-cutter person. Until then, I’ll be a fucked up weirdo flitting about on the outskirts of society. Uncool. Unloved. Untamed. If you’re up for it, I know a lovely little dive bar downtown we can have a few drinks at…