On Being Awkward…or how I became a “punk”

For as long as I can remember I haven’t fit in anywhere. I still don’t, really, and I probably never will. Part of this is due to the fact that I’m a girl interested in things guys tend to be interested in, rather than things most girls are into. Part of it’s that I’m quiet, and though I’m no longer a mute for all intents and purposes, like I was as a teenager, I’m still pretty awkward around people over the age of 12 (unfortunately most people seem to interpret these characteristics as aloofness/bitchiness). Part of it’s also just fate – my parents. My dad, a once illegal Mexican immigrant who came to this country at 16 with only a sixth grade education, somehow married my mom, a middle-class WASP suburbanite who graduated from Northwestern University. Such a union was bound to create interesting, if not mixed-up, children. Though I can’t speak for my siblings, I know I’m more mixed up than I am interesting. I’m not Mexican enough for the Mexicans or white enough for the whites. The fact that I speak Spanish fluently matters just as little as the fact that I can speak English – it’s strange, really. Throw in my “radical” beliefs like clean living, vegetarianism, atheism, etc., add an early marriage and you get the social pariah that is me.

Memories of “I Refuse”

By: Brian Peterson

1994 was a landmark year in my life.
I graduated from high school and started college, was playing in bands, met some great friends, and in some ways I was coming into my own.
But despite what was propelling me forward, most of the time I felt like I could hardly breathe.
I felt awkward, unsure of myself, and felt like I didn’t belong. I was confused about everything: humanity, God, family, the opposite sex, death, life. Every step led to disorientation. My emotions were a mess because I didn’t know what the hell I felt half the time.
Truth be told I felt this way for quite some time, but everything was intensifying. I was headed toward a crossroads with blinders on.
Hardcore was one of the things that guided me through this tough time. I could identify with the anger, the passion, the rage. I was pissed about a million things right in front of my eyes and a million things I couldn’t even articulate, much less understand.

Pet Sounds

An article by Alex Ferguson from IMUR Vol. 2

Sometimes experiences can grab you firmly and unexpectedly, shake you with complete force, spin you round and round into a dizzying state, and leave you in a place you never knew existed. For some, that feeling may have come physically from their first ride on a roller coaster or a speed bike. For others, maybe a visual grand cinematic experience or even the first physiological high of a favorite drug. For me though, I still remember the emotional rushing tidal wave of having first heard the Beach Boys’ Pet Sounds.

It was almost ten years ago when I first heard the album. I’d been a casual but vocal Beach Boys fan for years when I don’t remember it being the hip or trendy thing to be. But the songs were purely infectious and stirred the soul with joy. So naturally, the mind wanders and expands possibilities. And before long on a quiet college day, I took the antiquated action of driving to the local department store, plucking down almost 15 bucks, and coming back to my dorm room stereo to unwrap the mystery that was the Pet Sounds CD. And what a mystery it proved to be.

I can’t properly describe the type of instruments or notes that make a great song, nor am I interested in analyzing the meaning or merit of individual song lyrics. And I don’t often listen to or read what is considered to be popular, noteworthy, influential, or great music outside of what I hear through my own ears. For me, the musical experience is all about how the sound and feel of the music filters through your ears and into the core of my heart, for better or worse.