Try as I might, I can’t think of a way to provide a succinct intro into to what will, in the end, simply be another Top Ten List.
I talked to an old friend today–she’s been one of my favorite people in the world for 13 years now. We talked about all the things that people talk about when you’re good friends who only talk every six months. Ours is an effortless, eternal bond, sure to last until the ashes scatter. We weathered the Tween Years together, and emerged (mostly) unscathed, still able to talk easily and laugh freely, even if the frequency of our talks is rather…inconsistent…a mutual, Easy Breezy kinda thang. It matters not. While it was certainly not the focus of our conversation, a certain Top Ten List of High School Albums, posted on the blog of someone I was friends with, once, long ago, was called into play, not because of the music it contained, but because the list provided a framework to detail the Anatomy of a Friend Break-up, of which I was involved. Her post was certainly a nostalgia trigger, taking me back to the summer days between my junior and senior year of high school, a time I remember only in rough outlines—the people, the locales, and not much else, due to That Bender I went on for a year and a half. As such, I find myself unable to recall the events that led to the Mass Abandonment of this one girl, and I don’t know how that makes me feel. Her post made it quite clear that her wounds are still weeping, still sore to the touch, and I wonder if I ought to feel bad for the things I can’t remember. It had little to do with me; I was a main staple in her friend crop, but I was always periphery to the woman that she names as the primary culprit, the same woman I spoke with earlier today. What I do remember about my time with her is this: all the lies she told, the steady stream of inconsistencies, and the One-Up-manship that she could never put down when she was sixteen. I remember how we smoked cigarettes on the picnic table across from her house, and how I was always terrified of her parents. I remember that she was fanatical about music, and I remember that we believed we could create strange, dark magic when we were outside in the woods at night. I remember that she always had to bum a ride, and that she ashed her cigarettes in a bizarre way that made the ashes go anywhere but the ashtray. I remember beer caps giving away the parties we would throw when her parents were out of town, and how she was always grounded for something. I remember that her bedroom was small and hot, with itchy carpeting, and she had music posters on every inch of wall surface. I remember how we met (over a beer can bong) and how she would do a crazy shuffle dance when she was excited. I remember that she always wore her thick hair in a crazy, spiky ponytail, and that she was better at angst, real or false, than anyone I’ve ever know (it’s all about the eyebrows, FYI). I remember that in the beginning, her charms and humor swayed me, too, and that in the end, I didn’t have anything good to say about her. What’s really sticking in my craw here is that I feel vaguely guilty for not remembering something that I was a part of, that had a huge, lasting impact on someone else. You never know what sentence or gesture will change someone else’s world forever, but I would like to think that my general impact would be good. It bothers me that she has held onto something that was so insignificant to me that my brain dumped it in favor of directions to a really good burrito joint in Asheville. It bothers me to recognize, eleven years later, that I have forgotten her, that I really have to dig in my memory bank for details, any details at all, to signify to me that Amanda was someone I once considered A Best Friend. I wish I could remember the good things about her, but I don’t. I wish I could tell her I was sorry for the way things played out, but I’m not, not really. I wish I could drink a beer with her, legally for once, and remember what her laugh sounds like, but I don’t think that’s in the cards. I moved on from That Summer a long, looooong time, and it makes me feel awkward and embarrassed for her to know that she hasn’t. Then again, it happened to her and not me, so who am I to say what she ought to get over? That could be guilt talking, I know. But still. It was high school. We’re almost thirty. If I could see her face right now, for just ten seconds, I would smile and tell her to Just Let Go, because we were all assholes in high school. In homage to high school assholery, my Top Ten List of High School Albums.
1. Deee-Lite, Dewdrops in the Garden
Yes, it’s true, I was a “raver”. That was when raves were actually underground, and it was all about the dancing and the drugs. Elmo and pacifiers had NOT made the scene at this point. This album still has the power to make me dance in my car.
2. Beastie Boys, Ill Communication
Not the first Beastie album I loved, but this one definitely scored plenty of air time in my car on the way to school in the morning. Gets the blood pumping. “If it’s gonna be that kinda party, I’m gonna stick my dick in the mashed potatoes!”
3. The Fugees, Fu-Gee-La
This album, in my mind, marks the beginning of my friendship with The Romanian. She is still my good friend, and this album is still hot. The fucking Intros and Outros are a tab obnoxious, however.
4. Green Day, Dookie
I was 14, and all I wanted to do was rock. And get high. These guys provided the perfect backdrop for that stellar combo.
5. L7, Bricks Are Heavy
This album should, perhaps, hold the top spot on this list. I learned what it meant to feel like a feminist when I memorized this album. On my 16th birthday, I saw L7 in concert, ran into them in the crowd, and wound up getting hauled up on stage by the band to get my head shaved by the fiercest bitch on the planet, in my starry teen eyes. Donita Sparks. She wailed on the guitar, she screamed like a banshee, her hair was blue, and she rocked a gold tooth. Still the Best Birthday Ever.
6. Jeff Buckley, Grace
It’s still just as haunting and evocatively beautiful as it was when I heard it the first time. I cried so many bitter tears to this album in my teen years.
7. Bikini Kill, Bikini Kill
I was a Riot Grrl after I was a raver.
8. Hole, Live Through This
I listened to a lot of angry females sing between the years of 1992 and 1996.
9. The Pixies, Bossanova
While I loved the Pixies before I made it to high school, this album was a steady favorite throughout.
10. The Cure, Standing By The Sea
I appreciate a band that will make a greatest hits compilation while they are still marginally famous. Who needs to wait for obscurity? This album is a pleasing collection of all their best.
