Punk Rock Girl

Just you and me eating fudge banana swirl. Just you and me, we'll travel round the world. Just you and me punk rock girl

When I listen to music there's a few very specific categories a song can fall into. It will a) remind me about a very specific person, b) remind me about a very specific event, c) invoke a particular feeling, d) make me wish this song reminded someone else of me, or e) evoke no particular response. Category (d) is either somewhat selfish, wishful thinking, or just plain bizarre on some level. I equate it to some girls having a song already chosen for their wedding, perhaps hoping that one day this song will remind their future fiancee of their love.

The other night at B-Dubs over a festive meal of boneless wings and chicken quesadillas, "Punk Rock Girl" by the Dead Milkmen came over the speakers. This song falls into category (d) under the more specific classification of "wishful thinking". I'm hardly punk-rock, let alone apt to commit grand theft: auto, declare a state of anarchy at a pizza joint, or lecture record store employees about their selection (unless it is lacking the illustrious LBC, of course), and yet I would always secretly hope that if the Boy heard this song, he would think me awesome enough to be comparable to the Punk Rock Girl of this song. Whilst munching upon a moderately spicy boneless wing, I was informed that "Punk Rock Girl" makes said Boy think of me.

I was giddy beyond mere words, let me tell you.

And yet, with this illumination, my sense of self-identity became just a touch more blurry as I contemplated the fact that I am reminiscent of a fictional punk-rock girl whom I feel bears no resemblance to myself. The more I find myself placed into clear descriptors (Punk Rock Girl, captain of "team nice", sudden speech phenom) the more confused I get, since I see no markings of said classifications within myself. I used to be very sure of who I was, where I stood with everything, my opinions on just about every subject, and how I presented myself to the world, but suddenly my inner self is in conflict with my (seemingly dynamic) outer self. I'm perplexed and a little lost, to be honest.

Maybe this is just the backdraft of being so busy that I haven't had a day free of obligations since September 11th. When my activities and schedule begin to define me, the less tangible aspects begin to fade in importance. Intriguing theory, CB.

We'll dress like Minnie Pearl,
Cathi