Salutations, traveler of The Internets! Welcome to William's Bloody Hell, so named after our founder, Sir Bloody William.
He is seen in the likeness above in a rare, 19th century woodcut. This
image was rumoured to have been
commissioned after a bout of unpleasantness
in the White Chapel district of London. Do enjoy your stay and peruse our many, varied offerings, much of which cannot be found elsewhere!
:: Today's soundtrack: The Birthday Massacre "Horror Show" ::
Okay, so I let it out that my birthday is this month. So, along that line, there is a certain issue that haunts me annually when I tally up my years and realize how old I am. Every year that goes by reminds me that looming on the horizon like some unavoidable specter of death, my tenth high school reunion is sneaking up on me. It's not this year, but it's soon, and this freaks me out to no end.
To answer the question I'm sure you're all pondering: no, I'm NOT going. How can I NOT go, I'm positive you're thinking now. Well, I'll tell you. I can't think of anyone in my graduating class that I'm particularly fond of. If there were anybody I wanted to see, maybe I'd consider it, but there isn't so I won't.
I was one weird kid back then, mind. Not to say I'm entirely un-weird now, but it was way worse then. I'm not flattering myself or saying this in any egocentric way when I say that in high school I was one of those infamous "celebrity" types. I was that guy who always wore black. In the armpit of a rural-type state in the mid 1990s, trends took a while to catch on. Wearing black clothes every day was an oddity for some reason. So, I was a person that everyone recognized, but didn't know my name.
Complete strangers would dare each other to talk to me. Almost weekly I could count on some preppy-type to come up to me ask either what religion I was or if I worshipped Satan (surely a "normal" person wouldn't wear BLACK every day! Never!). I started to make a game of this. I'd threaten people with hexes and Satanic curses. It was amazing how seriously many people took all that. My favorite was when a girl told me "you know, if you don't believe in God, you'll go to Hell!" I found this to be hilarious.
They'd also ask me what sort of music I listened to, of all things. Naturally, this was all stuff they had never even heard of. The whole "alternative" scene had kicked into full gear, but they wouldn't know true "alternative" if it bit them in the arse (Alanis Moorissette is NOT alternative, I'm sorry). Luckily, I had a brother who had moved away for college at the time and he sent me home all sorts of mix tapes (remember mix TAPES??) and albums to these cool English bands which I really felt more at home with than the stuff being played on Mtv or the radio at the time. So, when I'd say "my favorite band is the Cure" for some reason this made me even MORE freakish.
This isn't to say I was totally alienated in school. Gosh, no. I found me a nice little niche with some underclassmen who took a liking to my freakishness. Naturally, the all black wearing goth boy would hang out with the punk guy who made 8 inch tall antennae with his hair and some Elmer's glue and the comic book/movie nerds. We had some lovely times staying out all hours trying to fudge some open mic poetry, didn't we? Oh, yes. And that time me and one friend tried to start a mosh pit at the battle of the bands, only it was just two of us jumping around and bashing into each other so it was pretty funny.
I guess what I'm saying is, my classmates weren't my friends. I have no interest as to what they look like or what they're doing now. If I really wanted to know, I'd have tried to look them up on my own by now. The people I really and truly enjoyed were mainly in the class below my own, and guess what? They're still my friends right now. I guess my point is that I don't really NEED the reunion to see my old chums. And if someone is really your friend, you wouldn't need it either because you'd have kept in contact anyway.
So the week of my reunion, I'll be closing the blinds,
locking the doors, keeping the lights out, flipping the coffee table onto its
side and pointing a shotgun at the door in case some old "friends" decide to
drop by to see if I still dress in black and worship Satan.
William (too much information man)
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