FanNation

All of us have to come from someplace. Where we come from is not a choice. It is decided by our parents and our families. Sometimes these places are good places, some people choose to live out their lives in that exact same place. More often than not, however, as we grow and become individuals, these places prove too limiting, too ordinary, for one not to at least venture out and explore the world of possibilities around us. Once this step is taken, we either decide we prefer where we come from and return, or we decide we like better where we are going to.  When you come from Casper, Wyoming, however, the decision at this step is a no-brainer. Freedom and escape are only as far away as your 18^th birthday and a high school diploma. To stay is to die, and let your soul wither on the vine.

Casper is a town (it's funny Wikipedia refers to it as a city - there ain't nothing "city" about it) smack dab in the center of the state of Wyoming. Twenty years ago, when I left, the population was just under 50,000 people. Twenty years later, the population is still just under 50,000 people. You see, nothing really ever changes in Casper. Oh sure, now they have the Casper Ghosts (a stupid name by the way, I liked Casper Rockies much better) minor league baseball team, logically an affiliate of the Colorado Rockies. Back in the day, we had the Wyoming Wildcatters CBA franchise, though. My brother-in-law had season tickets, so many a night I would spend watching professional basketball. Just writing this I realize that was probably the genesis of my aversion to NCAA basketball and my preference for the NBA, even the NBDL over college basketball. That's a sidetrack, though, sorry.

One of the hardest things to deal with, as teenager growing up there, was the close-mindedness of the people there. Citizens there, in particular the adults, are a very narrow minded bunch. We are talking about free-minded people who freely chose to live in a god-forsaken town in the middle of nowhere. So yeah, I don't have a lot of respect for any adult who lives in Casper. Why don't you move to a real town? You are a sick individual to prefer living in that place. Of course, some adults don't choose to live in a place, they just sort of wind up there. Poor, poor, unlucky fellows they are. Due to circumstance some people are trapped there, and when you are an adult and trapped in a place like Casper, fleeing can be a very difficult proposition. Don't find yourself in this predicament, if you can help it. Ever hear the song "Hellhole" by Spinal Tap? That song always makes me think of Casper.

Fooling the adults was always a favorite past-time of mine growing up there. They thought my quiet demeanor and politeness meant I was a "good" kid, and nothing to worry about. They had no idea the Volcano of Hatred that I felt inside for them. This could have manifested itself in negative ways, if I had let it, as my teenage years progressed. But when I was 14, rescue came in the form of an electric guitar (a real one, not a video game) given to me for my birthday. It was there, and through the heavy metal music I embraced, that my rage, anger, and disgust at the world around me was able to be channeled into a medium that welcomed it as one of its own. My friends changed along with it, for heavy metal fans are like family, like a community - like how we all gravitate now to Fannation, a feeling of oneness with each other. It was my outlet, my salvation, and ultimately my excuse for escape. It gave me something to focus my creativity on, and I would find others around me who felt the same way I did.

One of the more vivid memories I have came in the 11^th grade. It was the day after Motley Crue had given a show at our local Events Center. I was not a big Motley Crue fan, they were a little too glam for me, but when you live in a place like Casper, and a show comes to town, you go, no matter if it's the Crue, Rick Springfield or Van Halen. A show was a show, and a chance to let off some steam and get away from the stifling leash of your parents for a night.  And the Crue really did put on a great "Show" at that point in their career. That's what impressed me about them, the showmanship. So after the show, I did what all us kids did at the time, I purchased my concert T-shirt, the badge of honor that I would wear to class the next day to proclaim to everybody, "Screw conformity, I went crazy last night".  Wearing my shirt, I go to English class the next day. I always enjoyed writing, so English class was not my worst subject, only I couldn't stand when they would focus on grammar and whatnot. I more enjoyed the "free-writing" segments we would be offered.  I was enrolled in the "advanced placement" English classes, but couldn't stand the other Egghead Poindexter kids in it, and returned to the regular English class that year. Anyway, the teacher of this class, a religious Nutjob named Mr.Yenni, spies my shirt.

So He has me come up, in front of the whole class, and proceeds to make fun of me and my shirt, prompting laughter from the my other classmates who just thought Mr. Yenni was like the best teacher on earth, cause he told jokes and brought in his 12 string guitar to play "Kum-ba-yah" to us and other crap like that. I never really hated him until that day, though. Maybe he was trying to give me a message. Like "If you listen to Motley Crue, everyone will make fun of you and you will eventually go to Hell". Needless to say, my hatred for him was overwhelming. Did I respond by destructive or chaotic vengeance? No. I did write one rather graphic song about disemboweling a minister  though, which my band thought was just the coolest lyrics they had ever heard. The rest of the semester I delighted in writing essays and poetry, where I would use symbolism and literary devices to skewer Mr. Yenni, the teacher I was turning them in to, and tell him what a piece of garbage jerk he was. The assignments kept coming back with a big "A" written on top. This was the funniest part of the whole thing to me. Here I would write an essay, not directly calling him an ass but using the tools taught to me by previous English teachers (this teacher taught me nothing but how to hate a teacher) to call him an ass. He rewarded me by not only giving me passing grades but by boosting my GPA with a 4.

So you may be stuck in a stupid small town in a similar situation. Just remember there are better ways out there to express yourself and your frustration, other than hurting or causing harm to another person or yourself. We never had the internet when I was young. My essays were read by my teacher and pretty much that's it. You have the opportunity to write something that will be seen by hundreds, perhaps thousands of people. You can even decorate your essay (blog) with images that either reinforce your subject matter, or merely serve as bait to get others to click on your work and maybe your writing will trickle down through their brains. Either way, it's a wonderful opportunity that you should take advantage of to the fullest. Speak your mind, Find your Voice, and above all else, Be Yourself. Now its up to you Bucmaster.