Pearl Jam, Nirvana, Guns n Roses and Metallica dominated my early tastes. There was just something heartbreakingly beautiful to a tween girl�s heart and ears about a young man�s despair. Middle school just HAD to be a torturous time for everyone, I�m convinced. One incident sticks out in perfect relief for me. For whatever reason (I�m sure my skulking around not making eye-contact had something to do with it) my gym class in sixth grade (let�s pause for a moment and think about how awful that set of words is�) decided to nickname me IGOR. It just wouldn�t go away. In fact, it kept building to the crescendo of a day when a song was created and a seemingly unending rain of rocks showered upon me. Katie Young (a skinny, ugly girl in middle school) grasped my hand and we ran to the counselor�s office, her sympathy totally foreign to me. God only knows how a gym teacher could have allowed such a thing, but I know (despite almost sure exaggeration) it happened. I survived that year by allowing my desire for truthfulness to be overwhelmed by my desire for acceptance. I used to offer to let people cheat off me in science class; where I achieved a perfect 100% and became the object of (creepy) admiration for a Mr. Mansour.

The rest of middle school seemed to pass with (what now seem) minimal difficulties. I loved hard rock and metal then. This was probably because my brother and my best friend liked them. I�ve just admitted that a certain person was my best friend at the time; something I�ve never done before. �Closer� by Nine Inch Nails rocked my world, but I was unable to accept it then. I would chant the words with vigor, anger and what I thought was passion at the time�but would leave out the all-important �FUCK,� much to the amusement and chagrin of my friends at the time. A boy that I had a crush on signed my yearbook with a drawing of �Igor�. I gave him total shit about it and he apologized; the first time I can remember my sort of bitchy attitude taking hold and making someone feel shame.

An important thing to mention at this time would be that this whole time I was attending a VERY small sort of family church. My brother and cousin played guitar. We all sang. No one would have dreamt of telling me I couldn�t sing. In fact, I sang throughout elementary and middle school with confidence.

High school arrived. With it the attitude that although I knew I was smart, I just didn�t care that much�like my brother. You see, I saw us as twins, separated by eight years. He hated high school, therefore, so would I. If I had been capable of being a goth in 1993 would have donned terrible looking black hair and makeup. The truth was, despite myself, I cared. I couldn�t help but care about grades, morality and rightness. It was bred into me. I couldn�t help it. I tried to fight off everyone�s impression that I was a goodie goodie smart ass by wearing terrible clothing and striped stockings. I think this just convinced most students and teachers that I was an �Individual�. Musically, I began to accept the music my father had played my whole life: The Beatles and Led Zeppelin. I�d make poor quality tapes from his records and bring them with me to Newspaper. I tried to impress visitors to my house with my Dad�s well-used Beatles albums. Music seemed bigger and better than ever in this time of love.

Whilst in love, I still adhered to the Beatles, but found room in my heart for Radiohead, Alainis Morrisette, and (God, these fuckers linger in my soul), The Counting Crows). All of these seemed to speak directly to me. I had decided, for the most part that music from my Dad�s (I�d like to include my Mom, but she was way more Motown and Gospel than I willing to accept at the time) era was the only shit worth listening to seriously. In fact. I tore apart several bands in my high school newspaper, which I�m too afraid to retrieve from my trunk for fear that I�ll sound like a pompous idiot (well, I sound like that already, but I�m too drunk to do anything properly).