Like any other girl growing in the suburbs, I had my own forms of escapism to aid in enduring an otherwise unremarkable, and for an awkward, not-so-attractive youngen, sometimes unbearable existence. I’m sure if my generation had experienced the internet as it is now, I would have been posting inappropriately revealing information on Facebook or doing some melodramatic blogging, but other than the occasional unsupervised AOL chat with a random stranger in a chatroom (because that was a good idea) the internet wasn’t much of a distraction at the time.

Instead, I read. A lot. True story: In the fifth grade, I got detention for reading a book (Brave New World by Aldous Huxley) under the table in math class (even my rebellion was incredibly nerdy).
That book changed my life (although it was a few years before I could fully understand it). And while I wish I could say that it was my time as a bass player in a well-respected Slits-esque band or my involvement in the DC hardcore scene that really shaped my musical taste, alas such is not the case. Aside from the time and space restraints (it was 1993, I lived in Torrance, CA), I was just never that cool. I had frizzy hair and a nervous laugh and strict parents. So I read.

I found this book at a used book shop when I was 11. I bought it because at the time, I spent a disproportionate amount of time locked in my room jumping on my bed listening to Nevermind (I was frizzy haired and nervous laughy AND angry). Lucky for me, it wasn’t a love letter to Nirvana, but rather a musical prologue, documenting all the bands that had laid the groundwork that eventually created Nirvana’s perfect storm of mainstream breakthrough and number one hits.

Thanks to Miss Gina Arnold (and my hefty $10 a week allowance) I was able to buy roughly one album every two weeks and over the course of year had in my greedy little hands Husker Du, Fugazi, The Feelies, and countless others, including a band that became one of my all time favorite escapes, The Replacements. So basically this entire long-winded verbose post is the thank you letter I never sent to Gina Arnold, architect of my childhood. So here’s to you, Gina, from the awkward, uncomfortable teenage girl who grew up to be an awkward, uncomfortable adult, comforted by music the whole way.

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