I suppose I should explain that I went to kind of a different high school. IMSA was chock full of progressive-enough liberals, the overflow of cornfed academics trying to make a living in the tundra of
I was 15, and other than RENT, we had Go Fish, arguably less polished and accessible, Bar Girls (ick), My Own Private Idaho (don’t get me started), and a few other texts to keep us satiated. But basically, the soundtrack of my mid-high school experience was you-know-what. I only ever saw the show once—in
Watching RENT, the movie, watching those morons dump flaming trash onto the street and show up to PWA meetings with a motion picture camera, I feel ashamed I ever fell for this stuff in the first place. I feel used, but I also am lucky for having figured it out in the end at all. Jonathan Larson, you can never make it up to me, what you have perpetrated on my body. I’d kill you a thousand times and wake you the fuck up and kill you again if I could. You make me feel dirty. “One Song Glory” still breaks my heart.