Part III: The Spark

In the Fall of 1993 I started my first semester of college. College marked a freedom for me that I couldn't process at the time. Wait, what? I won't get into trouble if I cut this class? You're not going to tell my parents that I stopped going to my Scene Study class because the one and only girl in the class, who I happen to like, just un-enrolled from the class? Really?

This was freedom.

So much so, that after one year of this freedom, I almost failed out. I know, I know, community college and I almost fail out. I begged admissions to keep me in school because I really did not know what I would do with my life other wise. They reluctantly agreed to keep me enrolled but with a probationary status. They only allowed me to take two classes, which opened up a lot of free time.

In order to maintain quasi-independence, I needed a job. Something that commanded respect. Something that I could make a lot of money and feel a sense of pride as I worked toward an even brighter future in college. Something like... a mall job.

Yes, the prestige, the glamor, the beauty, the fucking $5.05 an hour for whoring myself to potential customers all behind a superficial smile. "Thanks and come again...or whatever, it doesn't really matter to me because I'm completely miserable at this god awful place and I think about a brighter future but can't quite see it through the sea of shirts I have to fold!"

Yeah, that good.

At this point in my life, I have already had a few jobs, but I think because of my new found status at Bergen Community College, a terrifying notion of being a "loser" was starting to settle in. Now, it doesn't make you a loser to fail in school or have a job that pays 5 bucks an hour (taxed, that is). However, in my mind, I was a loser for failing in school and having a job that paid 5 bucks an hour (again, fucking taxed). Thus is the mindset of an angst ridden, 18 year old boy.

It is now April, 1994 and Kurt Cobain has just died. I feel an overwhelming feeling of wanting to play music. Not like I did in Mrs. Crawford's music class, but really, really play.

First step:
Really learn how to play the guitar.

Actually, First step:
Obtain a guitar. Please note that the guitar with the built in speaker has since been destroyed due my inquisitive mind that thirsted for a knowledge of basic electronics. It wasn't a full sized guitar anyway, ok?

Cue, Edmond Bozan and his red Fender Squire. "It's a really good guitar because it is imported from Japan" was the pitch that Ed constantly delivered. He lent me that guitar (and an acoustic Yamaha) for a year before finally asking for it back. Never asked for a penny. For this, I am forever grateful to him. Also, I am a bit of an asshole because I used a black sharpie to make the acoustic "black because I thought it looked cool." I know, what a dick move. All I could say is I'm sorry Ed, hope your mom didn't "box your bloody ears" too much for that one.

Where were we? Oh, that's right...

Next step:
Learn to play. How do I go about doing this? Well, the $5 an hour didn't really afford me the privilege of getting legitimate lessons and there was no way in hell that my parents would even entertain the idea (especially in light of the guitar destruction incident). So, I go to the store and pick up a tablature book on, you guessed it, Nirvana's "Nevermind". Yes, the same album that I listened to every night as I was losing my mind in Croatia.

I have a feeling that I am going to romanticize the next part a bit, but hey, it's nostaglia, right?

Forward to September, 1994. I am still working at the "County Seat", an awful jeans and shirts store in the Garden State Plaza. Still making $5 an hour. It was the day of the MTV Music Awards and I can't remember whether I faked an illness while I was at work that day to go home early or if I just caught a repeat when I got home. Let's go with the romanticized version that I left early. I distinctly remember watching the surviving members of Nirvana honoring the death of Kurt Cobain and feeling very emotional. I also remember the incredible feelings of I want to write songs. I want to play in front of people and connect with them. I want to tour the world and receive awards.
I want to be rich and famous!

This is when I began to take this music thing a little more seriously.