(On a side note here - Summerfest rocks. Growing up a few miles from Summerfest was awesome. For those of you not in the know, Summerfest is the world's largest music festival, I shit you not. Summerfest is 11-stages of non-stop music surrounded by beer tents and food stands that goes on for a week and a half every summer along the lakefront in Milwaukee. Artists that have graced the Summerfest grounds include: The Doors, The Jackson Five, Johnny Cash, R.E.M., Tom Petty, Weezer, The Allman Brothers, Stevie Ray Vaughan, Run DMC, Jimmy Buffet, Pearl Jam, Tina Turner, and Lauryn Hill, just to name a few. Growing up, $8 would get you in for the day. The price has sky rocketed to $15, but whatever. When I moved away from Milwaukee and had to shell out real money for a concert for the first time in my life, I was in complete and utter shock.)
Anyway, I was talking about Nirvana...
I used to love telling people that I met Cobain backstage at that concert, which is a total lie, but makes for a good story. But I realized that just seeing Nirvana in 
concert is a good story. I was already way into Nirvana by the time I saw them in concert. But it cemented my high school identity. Up until that concert, I fluctuated between a wannabe gangsta rapper and being the girl that stands timidly on the outskirts of mosh pits. Nirvana pretty much sealed the deal though. I still like to bust out with Eazy-E and Tupac in the car sometimes, but I stopped buying Cross Colours and using massive amounts of hair spray. Nirvana spoke to me. At least, it spoke to me a lot more than songs about life on the streets of Compton did. By sophomore year, I was going to concerts daily and dying my hair vibrant shades of red, blue, purple – pretty much anything except green. (I swam competitively for years and found out the hard way that too much chlorine turns blond hair green, so I have a pretty strong aversion to green hair.) Anyway, I liked the red best. And I am quite proud to say that I was the first white girl at Rufus King High School to rock ruby red hair. And I owe it all to my close, personal friend Kurt.
concert is a good story. I was already way into Nirvana by the time I saw them in concert. But it cemented my high school identity. Up until that concert, I fluctuated between a wannabe gangsta rapper and being the girl that stands timidly on the outskirts of mosh pits. Nirvana pretty much sealed the deal though. I still like to bust out with Eazy-E and Tupac in the car sometimes, but I stopped buying Cross Colours and using massive amounts of hair spray. Nirvana spoke to me. At least, it spoke to me a lot more than songs about life on the streets of Compton did. By sophomore year, I was going to concerts daily and dying my hair vibrant shades of red, blue, purple – pretty much anything except green. (I swam competitively for years and found out the hard way that too much chlorine turns blond hair green, so I have a pretty strong aversion to green hair.) Anyway, I liked the red best. And I am quite proud to say that I was the first white girl at Rufus King High School to rock ruby red hair. And I owe it all to my close, personal friend Kurt. 
3 comments:
My sister was obssessed with Cobain. I use to make fun of him so bad until the point she would start crying. Her room was a shrine. However, she was never allowed to dye her hair such a vivid shade of red, yikes. But I still do affectionatley refer to her as "K-Tard" from her days of idolizing Cobain.
K-Tard, I like it! That is effing hysterical. I make fun of my sister for being absolutely in love with Enrique Iglesias when she was younger. Now that is funny!
Enrique marrys a winning combination of sex appeal, a lovely singing voice, and what feels like insight into my soul. There is NOTHING funny about loving him.
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