New Millennium Boyz
ExcerptNew Millennium Boyz is in stores September 12th via Permuted Press
The chaotic pattern that appears on the screen when you point a video camera at a TV is all I’m thinking about as I stare into the car’s rear-view mirror. The Texas song “Say What You Want” is fading out on the radio. We’re parked in front of the duck pond. Lu passes me a cig. Shane is in a Roxy Music shirt in the backseat drinking Mountain Dew.
I tap Lu. “Do you know about this new thing, affluenza? It’s a theory that teenagers who grow up wealthy are totally numbed out by the violence and immorality of the world around them.”
Shane laughs. “Okay, so now having the free time to participate in satanic animal torture is a luxury of the upper class?”
Lu chimes in. “You need to stop watching Parents Bullshitting. This info is useless. Come on, high-class suburban psychosis? Next.”
“Everyone thinks that to be a rich kid, you have to go to private school, but does anyone ever think that our parents put us in public school so we can be less obnoxious and more cultured? I think going to this school humbles and grounds me.”
Lu nods. “I want to make something of myself on my own, even if it means working at a grocery store and blending in. I don’t want that dependency and control.”
“My dad could buy me a Prada raincoat right now and maybe I’d feel powerful for a second, but I think it’s more powerful to not be excessive. It’s way cooler.”
Shane turns to me. “My grandfather calls being flashy nouveau riche.”
“Shane, not everyone can say their grandfather is the founder of Avery paper. You’re going to get a trust fund when you turn eighteen. You’re going to be fine.”
“Lu, you know all your cool older friends who live in cheap apartments downtown and protest gentrification with their ‘Starbucks is evil!’ chants would be horrified if they knew the kind of family you come from.”
“That’s crossing a line.”
“That’s interesting. You don’t like being reminded that you aren’t the only one in this circle who wears a few masks?”
Lu plugs his ears. “I’m not listening.”
Shane pulls out the new issue of Spin. “The Miseducation of FIONA APPLE.”
I tap Lu’s shoulder. “You’re going to want to see this.”
Lu looks back and bangs the steering wheel. “Why couldn’t we have left her where she belongs—in the last decade? Fiona Apple must be stopped. I hate that cunt!”
Shane laughs. “You never read the article where she was talking about how she knows that she’s going to die young? Isn’t that me?”
“That’s all a lie. It’s a character she’s creating for the media.”
I grab Lu’s headrest. “MTV News had a clip of her performing the other night. She’s got a new album out.”
“She’s just the girl in class who writes lowercase poetry and is trying so hard to be deep but is just a pretentious bitch. I mean, she ditched Manson at a red carpet event. Unforgivable.” Lu leans over, grabs the mag out of Shane’s hand, spits on Fiona’s face, then throws it back to him.
“Oh man, what the fuck! I just got that in the mail.”
I laugh. “We all knew that it was going to get wet at some point today. I bet you wish there was a scratch ’n sniff of Apple’s pussy in there.”
“Ugly-hot man. She’s hard to resist.”
“You need to go to fionaappleshoulddie.tripod.com. It’s this amazing site where everyone writes all of the great ways that she should die. The Mad TV tape I have of them making fun of her ‘Sleep to Dream’ video is spot on.”
“Shane! Your dick would kill her. That’s how tiny she is.”
Shane holds up the mag and points to an ad. “What’s Helmut Lang?”
“I don’t fucking know!”
Lu scoffs. “The spoiled girl stunt that she pulled at the VMAs was so desperate. We know this world is bullshit, Fiona. There was this gross clip I saw where she was complaining about being exploited, looking for sympathy.”
I shake my head. “Exploited? All girls are victims who want attention. It must be so hard crawling around on MTV in your underwear. It’s not like every other teenager in this country doesn’t want that opportunity.”
Shane bangs his head on the window and drags his fingers across the trim. “I have that clip on tape. That was so raw. She really spoke from the heart. Her Unplugged is so good. The Jimi Hendrix cover? Outstanding. You guys just don’t get real music.”
Lu lights another cig. “If your whole personality is defined by the fact that you got raped when you were twelve, then you’re very boring.”
I laugh. “Whenever a chick calls Loveline and starts going on about her emotional distress problems? Boner kill.”
“I bet her label made up that story to sell records. Apple talks about the rape on Stern, her sob story shocks everyone, then she mentions the song about the incident, and boom, you’re hooked. The miserable pouty bitch burns your pockets.”
I nod. “Jewel and Fiona should star in Vagisil: The Live Musical sponsored by Lilith Fair, starring women who don’t shave their legs.”
“Alanis Morissette and Tori Amos can join them.”
Shane raises his voice. “Something you two idiots share is being so negative about everything because you need to reinforce your fragile self-images. Two hateful, directionless cynics who think they’re above everyone isn’t exactly groundbreaking.”
I tap his knee. “Thank you, Shane. Thank you for your weak-ass input. We really needed that.”
“Glad to help.” Shane shows us a picture of Christina Ricci. “What do you think of her?”
“Isn’t she a compulsive liar who tells reporters she blows her brother?”
Lu laughs. “She and I should get married.”
“By the way, Lu, what the fuck did you want to tell me about that you couldn’t tell me in the halls earlier?”
“I sold the tape!”
“Which one?”
“The snuff movie we made during Xmas break. It’s so Richard Kern, so Kembra Pfahler vibes. It belongs in an art gallery.”
“America’s Scariest Home Videos. What was the listing?”
“‘Tape of two shirtless underage boys. Lots of real blood (not fake!) Industrial soundtrack. Forty dollars. Comes hidden in a Bambi case. Underfed and Underage Pacific Northwest Fresh Teen Meat Vampires Vol. 1.’”
I laugh. “And now, your feature presentation... So how the fuck did you meet this guy?”
“AOL chat room. Selling snuff tapes on the internet to old daddies is my new hobby. You would shit if you met this guy. He seemed so normal, like a regular suburban sports dad.”
“Friends don’t let net-head friends start a black-market snuff tape business on the internet.”
Lu smiles. “Creating your own video ring online is the most revolutionary thing you can do in 2000.”
“Why?”
“Blood and gore are sacred images. You never get to see them unless something is wrong, but violence is always lurking underneath, even when you can’t see it. I don’t want you to freak out, but the guy who bought the tape said that he recognized you from somewhere. He had this bracelet with this weird symbol on it.”
I pause. “How on earth could this stranger see a photo of me?”
“Well, I put a picture of us hanging out on my website.”
“Are you kidding me? You posted photos of me to cyberspace without asking? That’s a huge violation.”
“Take a chill pill. God, I’m so tired of your paranoia.”
“Well, he’s lying. There’s no way he knows me. He’s fucking lying, Lu.”
Alex Kazemi is a novelist. He lives in Vancouver ,BC.