2001-08-09 - 7:17 a.m.

Okay, time for everyone to think about what they want their pseudonym to be in my stories! (And Luke is already taken.) If you dont think of one I will choose one for you!

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The what-am-I-doing voice has parked itself here permanently, but I�ve decided to ignore it. It�s a little demon that sits atop my left shoulder and mutters, �I told you so�� every time I have an experience. It gave up asking me direct questions when I vowed not to respond. I guess this is how faith works. You just ignore the questions until you learn to stop asking them so damn much.

I head out of the apartment to drive August around town, and I say to myself, yes, you will have a good time; you will meet people and have an experience. The demon sighs and mutters something under his breath. �Shut up,� I say. I will have none of that.

I catch up with Marius at his stand outside Wrigley Field. He�s selling his videos to the Cub fans who pour out of the stadium and onto the trains. If only he had a bit more Dave Matthews and a bit less Deicide, he�d be in business. But he�s not complaining. He shouts to me to park right up ahead.. It�s a no parking zone, as usual. Here we go again, the demon mutters. I ignore him and park there anyway.

Three hours later, I�m sitting outside Champs on the South Side. Some unknown metal band from Tennessee is playing. About a dozen people are sitting up close, banging their heads to the music. Other headbangers are sitting at the bar or milling between tables.

The rest are out here with me. Hanging out in the parking lot, bantering in groups about nothing. Favorite shows, favorite riffs, past exploits. Just being cool, having an easy good time outside their local hang-out. �Hey man, didn�t I see you at the Metallica show?� �I don�t know, man, I was pretty wasted�� It�s where they belong, where a guy with a concert T-shirt and long hair can wander up to some stranger and say hey, like they belong. It�s a crowd I poked my head into as a kid, looked around and said, no thanks. I had the music, the t-shirts, was even getting started on the hair. It seemed so ludicrous � couldn�t let myself be defined by my hair, my music. So I drifted into something else, let myself remain undefined.

And here I am at 25, still undefined, still a mystery to all, watching other people belong and feeling utterly bored. I wish I could recapture that metal spirit for a moment, feel those angry chords pulse through me. But it feels too silly. And I know it�s not just the hair, the t-shirts and the music that keeps me apart. It�s the people. I�m afraid of people, of crowds. I find nothing to say, no way to justify my presence, to make myself an asset to a crowd. So I wander away, wander in circles, inside and out, glancing in at the crowds and wondering if I could infiltrate but feeling like I never could, telling people with my body language that I belong over there, I�m just going somewhere else to be with my crowd, pretending that I�m headed somewhere or looking for somebody when really I�m just floating in nothing. And finally I just sit on the curb with my notebook and shell up, and wait for the band to be over. And my little demon sits glumly on my shoulder, head in hands, saying in his nasally voice, �I told you so.� I tell him to shut up.

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