At his point in my life I knew I was a degenerate, but I was not, a bad ass. I idolized the idea of being a degenerate. I wanted to embrace it so badly. I wanted to be a crazy druggy with crazy stories. I wanted to run from the police and set things ablaze. Yet, I played dungeons and dragons and said, ‘ablaze’ as opposed to ‘on fire.’ I remember one time when a cable guy was hooking up my modem and asked if I had a surge protector. I handed it to the pot bellied tech and said, “I foresaw such a need arising.” He look at me like I was the world’s most monumentally pretentious a-hole. I don’t mean the kind of rebel-without-a-cause-dunk-my-hairy-sack-in-your-beer-for-a-laugh kind of ass. No, his looked clearly said you-god-damn-hipster-a-hole. I badly wanted to be the love child of Ari Shaffir and Opie Winston, but in reality I was more like a depressed stoner Kevin Arnold, Cory Matthews hybrid. Despite my best efforts, I was only a part-time degen, and I knew it.Read More
If memoir is an apple falling to the earth, then an essay is gravity.