January 23, 2012
So it was the summer between high school and college and I was a full on drug and punk freak.
Things were going OK- I had my college plans (far far far away from home) and I had a bit of money through my gas station job. I was going to go to party in the neighborhood and meet my "girlfriend" ("girlfriend" with the quotes because I hadn't fornicated with her. I had met her at a Ramones concert and made out with her- whats better then locking lips during "She's The One"!!!). I still remember the taste of Benzoil Peroxide on her zit covered cheeks and the faint smell of vinegar. To a 17 year old,,, it was a heady bouquet.
So, young Nazz had a pocketful of white cross hits of speed and blotter acid and hurriedly gobbled a bunch en route to the soiree- which was in walking distance of my folks house. I left about 3 pm or so- saying I'd be gone for a couple of hours. The party begins, the drugs kick in and I am hanging out on some swings in a playground with the girlfriend. "Nazz- I wanna break up" she utters. And in THAT MOMENT the drugs kicked in, my brain boiled over and my heart broke. The old triple play.
She left me there on the swings, as I tried to stuff all the sense back into my mind. Didn't work. Nope not at all. So now, with the insult and surprise of getting the "Dear John" oration, I had to figure out what to do for the next 12 hours or so until the dope wore off.
Soooo, I went back to the party. After all... hey had weed and booze.
Now, the attendees of the party and I shared exactly one thing in common- we were human beings. Actually 2, if you count that we all did drugs. But that was about it- they were all college folks, mostly gay and into the theater. I was a dirty high school punk who made fun of their Jackson Browne records and drank all their liquor.
But, having little choice- I stuck around, all the while watching my mind melt from the outside and my soul melt from the inside- of course everyone knew that I was a: just used as an emotional tampon and b: tripping balls and in an extremely sensitive state; so they did what they could.
Like: "Nazz whatever you do, if you go into the bathroom do not look into the mirror."
Which ... I ... immediately ... did ... of ... course!
After about 30 minutes someone noticed I had been gone a long time and pulled me out of the mirror- where I had effectively climbed through my dilated pupils and into the psychedelic tunnel of horrors that my mind had decided to construct for me. By the time they knocked down the door, I was foaming at the mouth and screaming that I was like Mr. Spock and no one would ever love me.
At this point it made the most sense to get me to go for a walk- so a couple of baby sitter types (300 lb asian chicks) allowed me to walk 4 miles barefoot and set up shop in a graveyard, overlooking the Long Island Sound (think Jimmy on the White Cliffs of Dover in Quadrophenia). So adding things up, it made perfect sense to in my twisted mind to try to dive from a 150 foot rocky cliff into the water. Which, I was forcibly stopped from doing, as a pair of 300 lb asian women can output a lot of torque on a 140 lb raving lunatic.
Eventually I settled down around dawn shirtless and shoeless, and the aforementioned Asian lifesavers got me home. Whereas my mom opened the door and threw a right hook to my jaw.
I never got those sneakers back.