What We Do Is Not So Secret: My Punk Rock-Part 2

Middle School on Ice Planet Hoth
Upon entering the doors on the first day of any kid's tenure in middle school, was there any preconceived notion pertaining to anything other than how much it was going to suck? Elementary seemed to end like 'Star Wars'. Every fifth Grader, the Luke Skywalker's that we were, walked down the halls in parade fashion to the sound of applause and cheers from students, faculty, and staff members; the Rebels had just blown up the Death Star, freedom prevailed, and it was in good form to clap for the kids who made it possible. The big difference between how it happened in reality and my 'Star Wars'-lavished memory of it is that Carrie Fisher never handed me a medal. In fact, the fifth grade victory parade happened EVERY year; it was routine more than tradition. While the teachers were certainly proud of our accomplishments [because it ultimately is a reflection of their hard work], the younger students were actually thinking, "I have been clapping non-stop for twenty minutes, and you fifth grade jerks are out of here? I should be so lucky." It wouldn't be a stretch to suspect the janitors and lunch ladies agreed.


Middle school was 'The Empire Strikes Back'; the overall theme seemed darker, numerous attempts to gain ground seemed to fail [like on Hoth], girls fall for scoundrels [like Han Solo], some old friends may sell you out [just like Billy Dee Williams], new allies help support you [like Yoda], hormones run stir-crazy as the strict father clashes with the rebellious son [like Luke and Vader], and in the end, your heroes are defeated. In a strange twist, you are left with a great emphasis on character development and a clearer view of purpose. 'Empire' only lasted a little over two hours and is considered one of the best films ever; middle school took three years.


Enough with the George Lucas foot-kissing...


In sixth grade,I was a loser and I was angry, but not just due to the standard hormonal imbalances inherent in every guy hitting puberty at the time. It wasn't that the same kid fears that haunted me in elementary were now a few inches taller and the voices slightly deeper, and it had very little to do with my overall distaste for the new mathematical riddles, off-white prison-painted walls, or the less than appetizing mid-day cafeteria food. At 24, it finally becomes so clear what really was the center of my distress: the woes of a kid named Jeffrey Leachman.



Before we recall the story of Jeffrey Leachman, let's first remember that twilight had already passed on the peak of the early '90's Seattle scene that birthed Nirvana, and Kurt Cobain had been dead for an entire summer. Two summer months must have been all the time that every other kid my age needed to revisit their opinions, because upon arrival to Awtrey Middle School in August of 1994, some of the same kids who mocked me and beat me up for my love of Nirvana and the like were now donning their t-shirts. More and more atheletic types were cross-pollinated with punk rock fashion. Atlanta's top 40 hit station, Power 99, was now alternative rock radio 99X. Beavis and Butthead was TV show of choice. The same kids that hated me last year now hated me even more, but they sure did love the music I listened to.

I was heartbroken. What made the music of Kurt Cobain any different in August than it was in March? Why did they love him so much now? Was it a simple change of ideas, or could it have been the unwitting rock martyrdom that Cobain created with a shotgun blast to the face? Maybe this new crop of mimics and hypocrites were the Roman soldiers of our day, nailing a Christ to the cross in mockery, only realizing after he has died that he was truly the son of God [certainly an over-the-top remark, but at the time I was 12, pissed, and uneducated]. I never really could cope with the idea that my personal hero now somehow related to everyone that I couldn't even stand at the time. I'm sure you knew the type of folks I am talking about; in a conversation, they would be the one to proclaim, "Nirvana's Nevermind was the greatest debut album ever." and the flock of other fools nodded in agreement as I rolled my eyes. Go figure. Needless to say, I stopped listening to Nirvana for a while; there wasn't really a reason to.

A Love Letter to Kennedy

In the fall of that same year, I flipped over to MTV's Alternative Nation, a show that focused specifically on the alternative rock movement that was now in bloom. The show was usually hosted by the darling VJ known as Kennedy. With her thick-framed glasses, frizzy hair, and fruitful knowledge of all things rock, she quickly became the girl of my dreams. Juliana Hatfield sang in the song "My Sister" about how her older sibling was going to take her to her first "All Ages" show featuring the Violent Femmes and the Del Fuegos; that sounded to me like my dream date with Kennedy. In my mind, it made total logical sense that a charming TV personality in her mid-20's would be easily won over by a sophisticated, caring 12 year old nerd like me. I could imagine winning her over with a line about how much I dug Local H or buying her a drink and simply listing the numerous ways in which she was better than Tabitha Soren [the other smart, pretty woman on MTV]. We would sing "Punk Rock Girl" by the Dead Milkmen at the highest volume possible while cruising around town to all the record stores, jokingly holding up the crappiest albums we can find and telling each other how much we need to buy them because they are so bad that they are actually good [i.e. Cathy Dennis and Rick Astley].

This, of course, was at a time back in the prehistoric days of 1994 when the basis for most of MTV's programming was still music. "Real World" cast members were still somewhat normal and boring people, "Beavis and Butthead" were still on the air, Jon Stewart was hosting a fledgling talk show, and Laguna Beach wasn't even a location mentioned on "MTV Sports". Kurt Loder and the aforementioned Miss Soren covered the goings-on every week on "Week In Rock". Some music videos were made with artistic integrity [i.e. Pearl Jam's "Jeremy"] while others were just as absurd as they are today, but they seemed awesome at the time [i.e. Guns 'n' Roses' "November Rain" and Aerosmith's "Crazy"].

A night out with Kennedy would come to a close as we watched videotaped reruns of "My So-Called Life", a show I am not afraid to admit that I watched. Claire Danes was so pretty, but don't tell Kennedy I said that. Afterall, Claire Danes wasn't the girl who introduced me to Green Day; Kennedy was.