Challenge Check-In #1

I am choosing to do Challenge #2A which is Gothic music production. I will write about Kurt Cobain because he is an icon in the music industry and displays multiple elements of the Gothic in his music, lyrical content, personal life, and attitude/personality. I plan on breaking apart Kurt's songs to analyze his lyrics and researching more about his life. I chose music production because music is central to my identity so learning more about music is a wonderful opportunity. I picked Kurt Cobain specifically because he's greatly impacted my taste for music many years ago and still remains an eminent figure in the world even after his death.

Blogpost #2B


         Tenth grade marked the beginning of my coffee addiction. I would enjoy a large glass of coffee with milk every morning to start my day. I also relished the occasional cup of Cappuccino, Cafe Mocha, Espresso Macchiato, etc. Although drinking coffee with milk became a daily routine, I did not know how to make coffee. We had a regular brewer at home that required the simple 3-step procedure. Every time I attempted to make myself coffee, it would either be too strong or too watery. So yes, my mommy would make Pietro his coffee. Until one day I decided to study the practice of coffee brewing. To tell you the truth, my mother just ordered me to learn… so I obeyed her. 

          Pietro’s task of the year: make some damn good coffee. I was determined. Every day before school, I’d try. My mood at the time could have been described with inspiration and motivation. My mother showed me one last time how to perfect it! The bad thing was that I had to deal with weeks of drinking appalling coffee in the morning due to a little mistake in the process. After about 2 months, yes, 2 months, I began to taste my mom’s coffee in my own creation. “Wow” I thought, “this is indubitably worth the 2-month period of drinking sad coffee.”

          The next week my mom bought a Nespresso machine. It didn’t require the skill I had just learned- the skill that cost me weeks of consuming disappointing coffee. The new machine was much better than my mom’s coffee. Today if you ask me to make coffee, I’ll turn to you and say, “how do you do that?”

                                                   

    This symbolizes my objective. I wanted to get past the annoying and painful stage (trial and error) to achieve the brilliance that was my first own great cup of coffee.

 

This symbolizes the Nespresso machine. Some see it as a reward, and some see it as a waste of my time. Although it completely erased my memory of how to use a normal coffee brewer, I take it as a reward for trying my best.

My mother frowned at me when I asked her again. I remember her exact words vividly: “you’re no longer an infant, Pietro.” I was no longer an infant. That punched me hard on the center of my brain; those words finally woke me up.

It was already the 3^rd grade and all the kids in my class had them in different models, colors, and sizes. Jordan and Mitch would ask me why I didn’t have one of my own. By then I had already made up over 15 excuses. I considered myself a master at convincing people by telling them that mine were “lost” somewhere inside my house… They were such fools.

In reality, I was the fool.

I didn’t own what seemed to be the number one fad in school simply because I hadn’t learned how to operate one. Among these fads included Yu-Gi-Oh cards and rolling backpacks, but owning each of those wasn’t enough to hide the humiliation for my inability to conform correctly.

This was all my fault.

My parents tried teaching me for years how to adopt this one practice but I was stubborn. I wanted to remain an infant because it was easy. After numerous weeks of trying to teach me and receiving in return my disreputable obnoxiousness, they told me I wouldn’t get one until the fourth grade.

I was stuck with Velcro shoes for another whole year.

Jordan and Mitch constantly talked about their green-laced Nike’s and how great it felt to be “grown up.” I was left out; I paid the price.

When the year finally came to an end, I obtained my very own pair of shoes with laces. No more Velcro; no more shame in P.E. class, no more being left out. But one thing was missing.

I walked up to her and asked if she could tie them for me- what my parents had been trying to teach me for years. My mother frowned at me when I asked her again. “You’re no longer an infant,” she said.

I kneeled down, grabbed both ends of the lace, and tied them.

Looking back, I was still, unquestionably, the fool.