I Wonder What Cool Is

I was a very abnormal teenager.
I bet Peter Piper couldn’t pick a peck of pubescent people
Who still blubber bubbling tears every time they see Bambi
But I did.
I guess I have a soft spot inside for heartfelt, animated catastrophe.
And I did stuff that other kids did that was normal.
I can’t really think of an example right now.
Gimme an hour or two and I’ll have one for you.
But the day my parents put seventeen candles on my birthday cake
Was the same day I said to myself, “Start making friends.
Stop practicing your Power Rangers powers on your puppy.”
And with that, I decided to make a change.
So I thought, “What’s new? What’s hip? What’s fashionable?”
And then I thought, “Who says hip anymore? Really.
That is so 35 years ago.
I want friends, not a pretty pair of parachute pants. Psshh.
I mean, come on, let’s get for seriously serious right about now.
What could I be that would let others see that they don’t know me.
I am not nerdy. I’m red H-O-T! Baby!
I could be a musician. I could play the guitar.
Those guys get chicks with each strum of their picks.
They’re too cool for school—some don’t even make it through school.
You know, ‘cause they’re too cool for it.
No tests and a social life?
Now that’s a class I could get an A in. I can see it now.
Or I could rap.
I’d be so hot you’d drop me.
I’d leave you in the dust of the duplicity
Which is the simplicity of my rhythmicity.
I’d make gold records, then make ‘em into chains
Live happily ever after with constant neck pains.
And so here I go. Take it slow. Watch my flow.
But you know, I don’t have to make music.
I could be a super sports superstar. That’d be super.
Those guys get chicks from the size of their...muscles.
They’re just so big.
I bet I’d be a scoring machine.
I’d hit all my home runs from the 50-yard line
Dribble my nine iron through any defender
And score my goals while jumping over hurdles...in a pool.
I’d be too legit and physically fit to quit.
Yeah, I’d be the bomb.
And I’d throw ‘em too
‘Cause I’d be the next John Elway.
I’d do it all.
I wonder what that’d be like—
Maybe that’s not the best option for me.
Maybe I shouldn’t play guitar, rap or play sports.
I don’t even wanna do that stuff anyway.
Why is all this stuff so important?
Why do I always get asked all these questions
About what sports I play
Or how many friends I have
Or what my love life is like.
Is that what life is about?
I don’t think so.
I’m happy with who I am.
And that’s all that matters.