Infinity on High

Dear Loser

Dear Loser

As I pulled my car into the parking lot of Sub Pop Records' office in Seattle with an Against Me! song blaring from my stereo system, something reminded me that I was a loser. I know that I'm a loser because Sub Pop told me so.

I pulled my guitar case out of my trunk, with the letter that I had received sixteen years earlier tucked away deep inside of it. My Doc Martens clicked across the pavement and I adjusted my leather jacket, hoping that the rest of the Wallbangers wouldn't have too much trouble getting here. I didn't see any of them yet, but I knew that they would come soon.

All of a sudden, Colin's sleek black car pulled into the parking lot. Ever since I first saw it at the Dropkick Murphys concert where we met, I had wished that I could have a car like that. It wasn't a perfect car - it did have its scratches and dents - but perhaps that was what made it perfect in my eyes. It was punk rock in an indescribable, irreplicable, amazing way.

"Hey Robin," Colin said. "Where are Joey and Leo?"

"They're coming," I said as I took a sip of my coffee.

"Thank goodness that traffic here is better than it was in Los Angeles," Colin said. "Remember that?"

"Of course I remember," I said. "We didn't move out of L.A. that long ago."

"Why are we here again?" Colin asked.

"That's kind of complicated," I said. "Are you sure that you want to hear it?"

"I'm sure," Colin said.

"The first reason is rather obvious," I said. "We're here because Leo is drumming on Mona Davis' new album. I'm honestly kind of excited to hear the album. She's one of my favorite artists."

"If that was really the case, then neither of us would be here at all," Colin said. "That's Leo's job, not yours."

"The second reason is a little more complicated," I said. "I'm here because I need to get revenge on Sub Pop for calling me a loser."

Colin laughed. "When did that happen?" he asked.

"When I was twelve," I said.

"You need to tell me the whole story here," Colin said.

I told him everything, and as I did, the confident twenty eight year old man standing in the parking lot dwindled away until I was a twelve year old child again, playing my first guitar in my bedroom. I played the same three chords over and over, waiting for a song to assemble itself. I hadn't quite mastered my instrument, but then again, Kurt Cobain wasn't the best guitarist in the world either. If he could get a record deal, then so could I.

Eventually, the idea of getting a record deal grew from a seed in my mind. I researched the recording process at my local library, and I told all of my friends that I was going to become a rock star once I managed to get myself signed to a label. I wrote dozens of songs, and selected only the best ones for my debut record. Finally, I brushed up on my guitar skills, and though I still wasn't perfect, I thought that I was good enough that I could get a record deal.

After months of hard work, I went up to my dad and asked if I could buy a better microphone and some recording equipment. "That's expensive, Robin," he said. "We don't have that kind of money."

I went back to the drawing board and searched for a cheaper mixing board. Once I found one that looked like it might work without being out of our price range, I asked my stepmother if I could buy it. "Please Mom?" I begged. "I need it for my EP."

"I didn't know that you were recording an EP," Mom said.

"How did you not know?" I asked. "I've been planning this for months."