![]() ![]() Sure, some dabbled in punk, but they preferred to retreat to their parents’ quasi mansions to throw pseudoparties with other brats, less interested in the Vandals and more interested in knowing where the vodka was being kept. ![]() With the “new kid” sheen dulled and no friends to count, I fell back on the only support system I had: punk rock.īy sophomore year of high school, I had become accustomed to the North Shore brats. When they tried to talk to me, I would have an internal parts breakdown, unable to compute the complex theories of “flirt,” “talk,” or “Just say something, man!” So I stuttered my way toward week two of middle school, organically shifting from intriguing and potentially kissable to fully weird and ignorable. Real-life girls! Now, this was frightening because I feared the opposite sex greatly. Was he cool? Was he smart? Was he suave? Was he good at rollerblading? I was none of these, but I tried to live in this moment of pseudo-popularity for as long as it would last. No one wanted to fart on me while proclaiming, “Gas chamber!”įor one hot minute I was not an outcast but an interesting curiosity: the new kid. And for the first time in my life, I was surrounded by other Jews. We now lived a stone’s throw from a real, major city, a place with no shortage of culture. It took me less than a week to realize that Winnetka, where my family moved when I was in sixth grade, was a significant upgrade from small-town Ohio. ![]()
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