You be you, I’ll be me

I can see through people. Not many people have this ability, but I certainly do. When people lie, I can tell. When people cover something up, I can tell there’s something more. When someone only pretends to like me, I can tell. When people are fake, it makes me sad. When people copy what I do and call it their own, it depresses me a little. What? Can they not come up with something on their own? If you feel that you need to lie, that’s okay with me. If you don’t mention a major detail of a story, fine, I won’t pry. Go ahead and keep pretending to like me. As long as it avoids stupid drama I’m fine. If talking about me keeps you entertained, that’s okay with me. If you feel the need to hide yourself and put up a false front, okay. I’ll be me, you be not you. It’s when someone copies me that really gets to me. I don’t care if it’s supposed to be flattering – it honestly gets very annoying. Be you, I’ll be me. Get your own ideas, create your own style…and leave me be. I’ve accepted that original thoughts are next to impossible (the world is so full of people – it is only to be assumed that someone has thought of something before me), but my style; my original way of life; the way I go about my business has to be my own. You be you (unless you’re fake), and I’ll be me. Subtract original thoughts, but add in a lot of confidence. Confidence is what I thrive on. To be like me you must have confidence. Well, do you?

It all started with a record player

A few weeks ago, I bought myself a record player. I was ecstatic to find it at such a good price, and was beaming as I walked out of the store with the box in my arms.

When we got home, I immediately took it into the Living Room and set it up. My parents taught me how to use it and to be careful not to jump around whilst listening to it. My mother and I ventured into the cave (our basement) to retrieve some of their old records to bring back some of the past. We carried armload after armload upstairs to the Living Room and left them in stacks all around the room. I left the ones I bought earlier that day (Coheed & Cambria and a Fueled By Ramen package that were extremely cheap) on the couch and my dad and I had a look-see to pick out what I should listen to first.

I thought my brothers would think it cool for me to have purchased a record player, but they avoided me like I had the plague. They seemed pretty pissed off and jealous that I got to one first and because my parents’ old one needs a new needle thing. Trevor especially because I bought Coheed & Cambria. Because he likes them, I’m not allowed to. Oh well.

My dad sat on the couch as I rifled through stack after stack, holding record after record up seeking his approval. All of the ones with his name written on them were the ones approved – all of the ones with Barbra Streisand on the cover were kept in a pile that I would not listen to. Sorry, mom.

I have discovered a whole new music taste thanks to my record player (though it does have a CD player, radio and iPod hookup included, I tend to listen to records on it more). I found out that I love the bands Sweet, REO Speedwagon (You Can Tune A Piano But You Can’t Tuna Fish), Joan Jett & The Black Hearts, The Knack, Boomtown Rats, Supertramp, Cheap Trick, Pink Floyd, London Town and some Pat Benatar. I still love Escape the Fate, Paramore, Tilly and the Wall, and all of the other bands I have always loved, but I am now broadening my music taste. It’s cool to think that my parents played these records once at the same age I am now. I wish I could go back and meet the teenage versions of them. My mom and I would be identical, and I bet my dad and I would have fun listening to music together – just like we do now.