Forced Blogging: These Crazy Kids

So, I decided I need to exercise my writing muscles. I can hardly get myself to exercise ANY muscles at all, even though I set my elliptical between my bed and my bathroom. I have 6 partially finished scripts, 4 specs, and a book. All of which are languishing on my nice mac, that is only used for surfing cute overload and facebook. Poor mac. Thought it would get rich being a ‘writer’ when instead it houses bed jumping photos and lots and lots of Muse songs.

The topic given to me for today is “these crazy kids with their hair and their clothes and their loud music.”

And this is a pretty easy topic, considering I LOVE these crazy kids with their hair and their clothes and their loud music! Ok, not love…I appreciate. Only when they are in a gaggle at the mall blocking my entrance to Hot Topic to buy a Gryffindor shirt, only then do I dislike them. When they mock my fashion choice of old-lady jeans and said Gryffindor shirt, I really dislike them. And when they’re under age 15, then I REALLY REALLY dislike them.

Maybe it’s less the fads, than the age. I love pink and green hair, and tutu skirts, and crazy Japanese bondage outfits. I love them blasting alternative and rap. But when it comes from a child – I do appreciate less, and wonder more. What is their rationale? What is the point of their rebellion?

I don’t recall rebelling as a child. I mostly read books. My parents thought I was a great kid, save for that one time I helped my best friend host a beer party at age 15. Of course I didn’t have any beer – yuck. So, clearly…a great kid.

I rebelled in my late 20s early 30s – pink hair, rockabilly jeans, and lusting over boys with tattoos. I rebelled by going to film school instead of becoming a science teacher. I rebelled by choosing to not have children, and by being extremely liberal.

So, what is it about the 12 year olds in grunge pants, tutus and punk tops that bothers me? It’s that they are doing it for no reason. They do it because it’s a fad. It’s that they don’t know what grunge, punk or being a rebel really means.

Not that I know either. I’m an old fuddy-duddy in a Hot Topic Gryffindor shirt that listens to Muse. What do I know? Maybe a pink stripe in my hair would get me some respect.

Probably not.