Suburban Panic!

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Who says you’re not a rock star?

May 18th, 2005 by Oskar Kennedy

My friend Sara (who you all should meet because she’s awesome) just turned 28 this weekend, and she’s starting to feel the creeping onset of adult obsolescence. I guess she figured I’d know how to handle it, since I’ve been almost thirty for what seems like half my life. I think I helped her feel better, and I thought I would share it in case any of you are wondering if it’s still possible to be cool if you’re not rich and famous by your mid-twenties.

Subject: so, it turns out i’m not a rock star

so, this past saturday i
turned 28 years old.
everything was going quite well. i got to hang out
with katey for an ENTIRE weekend. i got a new wiffle
ball set. it was just about perfect.

then it hit me…

i was no longer 27, i was 28. morrison, hendrix,
joplin, kurt cobain – none of these people ever lived
to see their 28th birthday yet here i was. up until
this point in my life, i had considered myself one of
the club. i lived hard and was content to die young.
but somehow i had awoken the same as any other day.

that’s when i realized the following things:

1. my hair no longer stands up straight

2. i am sporting my natural hair color

3. i can’t remember the last time i had a hangover

and to top it all off…

4. i’m a freaking doctors wife.

i am so not cool. was i ever cool?

This was my answer:

Think about it like this. Cool isn’t an innate property. Like any other personality or character trait, it’s a product of a subconscious agreement between the person who exhibits the behavior, and the people who observe it. In other words, you can’t be cool in a vacuum. There have to be people around to believe that you’re cool.

Now, let’s go through your list. Who really thinks those people are cool anymore? I mean yeah, they all had a huge effect on rock music at some point, but who really sits around spontaneously saying “wow, man, I really love (insert dead musician here)?” Mostly it’s aging hipsters, who vaguely remember that fleeting moment when they were at the forefront of the social scene. Or, it’s teenage poseurs, who seem to believe that they’re the only people who’ve ever felt their frustrations mirrored in popular songs. There are also lots of rock critics, but they have their heads jammed so far up their collective ass that I’m pretty sure they can’t hear anyway.

Point it, nobody worth knowing spends a lot of time being impressed by dead entertainers. You might think about them with fleeting fondness, but if you sit around pining for them, chances are you’re a big loser.

Who thinks you’re cool? I think you’re cool, and I’m the freaking awesomest person I know. Let’s agree to agree that you’re great. If you want to dye your hair or get drunk, I’ll bring the peroxide and the tequila. Otherwise, just keep on being cool, and I’ll keep on thinking you’re awesome. Deal?

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└ Tags: aging, awesome, cool, friend, rock star

My Racist Friend

September 4th, 2008 by Waldorf Van Buren

Recently I was shocked, appalled, and otherwise taken aback by comments from a friend. I’ve known this guy, whom I’ll call Richie, since Tenth grade, which is roughly twenty years. We were visiting the Ocean City (New Jersey) boardwalk and letting our collective kids (bunch of communist children) ride the rides in the swamp of germs and bullies. It wasn’t the actual visit or the rides or the communication during most of our visit that alarmed me, but a simple walk to the car to feed the meters for another fun hour.

While walking back with “Richie” and, uh, “Ken”, “Richie” started talking about politics. “Richie” is quite the typical redneck, softball playing, beer-swilling citizen of the town I grew up in, deep in the southern part of New Jersey (the other ass as I like to call it). He’s a proud Republican. Why? All the trite reasons – he thinks Democrats will raise his taxes, take away his guns, and let races other than white rule over his home. He used to be a gun owner until it was taken away by the police due to an illegal discharge. This was when he was a Police Officer, as well. He is also a Paramedic, who believes that “AIDS babies and Retards” should be killed, because they serve no purpose.

(more…)

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└ Tags: Democrat, foot-in-mouth disease, friend, idiot, McCain, Obama, Racism, Republican, society

In Memoriam: Waldorf Van Buren

January 8th, 2010 by Oskar Kennedy

His name wasn’t Waldorf, obviously. It was Brett Fauver. And if you only knew him from his work here at Suburban Panic, then you only knew a very small facet of his life. Brett was a writer, an actor and a director, a graphic designer. He was also a husband, and father to three wonderful boys. And for the better part of a decade and a half, Brett was my friend.

I won’t try to sum up our entire friendship in this small space. We were sometimes rivals, sometimes collaborators. We shared an apartment at one point, and we disagreed as often as we saw eye to eye. He made me laugh as consistently as anyone ever has, and he challenged me in ways that I didn’t always realize until many years later.

Brett and I did share one conviction that I’m sure of, and that was the belief that this life, this existence, is the most important. Brett believed that the love of his wife and sons, the fellowship of his friends and the joy that he brought to people through his work in the theater, was far more precious and valuable than any possible reward he might receive after this life was over.

He had the type of cancer known as Hodgkins disease for about seven years. Through two bone marrow transplants, half a dozen remissions and recurrences, Brett never stopped fighting, and he never stopped planning for the work he wanted to do when he finally beat the disease, as he always expected to. He was always putting together his next big project, and even when his schemes were derailed by his illness, he never allowed anyone to believe that it was permanent. He was determined to make the most of the life he had, and I can say with some certainty that, while his life’s work was far shorter than it should have been, its effect in terms of the lives it touched was immeasurable.

It is a small thing, but an important one, I think, that we’re clear about how he died. It was not the cancer that killed him. Brett was undergoing chemotherapy, preparing his body for a planned third bone marrow transplant. When his immune system was at its nadir, beaten down by the treatment, he got an infection. It rapidly overwhelmed his weakened body, and ultimately took his life.

In the end, he was felled by an outside invader, and not the uncontrolled growth of his own cells. He was determined not to let cancer beat him, and he succeeded. While he died because of the cancer, and the treatments he needed in order to try to fight it, he didn’t die from the cancer. Again, it is a small distinction. But it would be, I think, an important one to him.

I often think of each life as a trajectory, like a comet falling through space. As we pass other objects, our paths are altered, sometimes subtly, sometimes radically. My path had occasion to cross Brett’s many times over the years, and I like to think that the changes he made to my orbit were almost all for the better. I will miss you, my friend, and I will always remember your passion, your energy and your determination. Thank you for everything. If there is a world waiting for us after this one, I’m sure you’re already changing the blocking.

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└ Tags: cancer, friend, memorial, obituary, Waldorf Van Buren

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