Read Online It's Okay to Laugh by Nora McInerny Purmort - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Nora McInerny Purmort
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clowns wielding chainsaws and drenching a sold-out crowd using giant water guns that pulled soda from actual barrels, and a sea of smiling faces experiencing complete and total joy.
Juggalos refer to themselves as a family, and they really are, even if theyâre the kind of family that has experienced at least one stabbing during a holiday get-together. At most shows I go to, crowds of too-cool white kids stand staring at their cell phones or passive-aggressively shoving one another for standing too close/being too tall and blocking someoneâs view of the stage. The only people who dance are the drunkest ones, and the crowd seems to roll their eyes in unison, wishing they would just tone it down . The ICP show was for all ages, which meant that most of the crowd was sober, the 21+ area was actually almost empty, and there were straight-up children there. It also meant that someone brought his own raccoon? Before their heroes took the stage, the crowd chanted, âFa-mi-ly! Fa-mi-ly! â And I cheered along because I knew it was going to be the only lyric that I knew and also because itâs hard for me to hear people chanting and not join in.
Juggalos high-fived one another and traded their signature âwhoop whoopâ to greet and acknowledge one another, and I just watched them like a rock-rap Jane Goodall, feeling my affection for them grow. Most parts of society nowadays are not comfortable with shirtless men in clown makeup, or women who have PSYCHOPATH tattooed across their throats, but for this one night, all of these Juggalos had found their place in the world, and it was the exact same venue where I came to watch Explosions in the Skyand Beach House and Chromeo, and stood awkwardly in the back, hoping I wasnât blocking anyoneâs view by wearing heels that made me six foot three.
I loved my ICP show for the same reason we loved seeing Caitlyn Jenner on the cover of Vanity Fair and the same reason my neighborhood Facebook group is obsessed with the whereabouts of a total stranger who spends every afternoon dancing with a boom box on the side of a busy street: It is rare and magical when you and your world can accept and love the same version of you.
I was hopeful, watching all of those Juggalos gleefully soaking up gallons of Faygo. Theyâd found their place in the world, theyâd found something to love that loved them back. Maybe I could, too.
Chapter 10
A Boy Is Why I Moved to New York, and a Boy Is Why I Left
I would never actually admit that to anyone, of course. Iâd tell you that I moved to New York because I had always dreamed of living there, that I was going to get a job working at a magazine and live in a stylish apartment and try my hardest to make sure a handsome, single ad exec didnât fall in love with me. âWait,â youâd say, âisnât that the plot of How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days ?â And Iâd admit that it was and tell you I moved to New York because thatâs where my long-distance boyfriend and I agreed to move after college.
Since fifteen, Iâd never not belonged to someone. Iâd set my sights on Jacob on the first day of high school, when I was six feet tall and 126 pounds, twenty of which were metal braces that made my big mouth and puffy lips even bigger and puffier.
That boy, I thought, as my motherâs Geo Prizm pulled in behind his fatherâs 1985 BMW, will be my first boyfriend.
It was a lofty goal, given my physical appearance, but I put in the work and made it happen just fourteen months later. âI made my dreams come true!â I wrote in my diary, very impressed with myself, even though our first kiss had ended with our teeth smashing together so hard I was sure Iâd chipped one. I was proud of myself for setting a goal and seeing it through. Iâd spent the early weeks of spring, when the Minnesota sun warms our city to a balmy fifty degrees, laying on a towel in the backyard,
Juggalos refer to themselves as a family, and they really are, even if theyâre the kind of family that has experienced at least one stabbing during a holiday get-together. At most shows I go to, crowds of too-cool white kids stand staring at their cell phones or passive-aggressively shoving one another for standing too close/being too tall and blocking someoneâs view of the stage. The only people who dance are the drunkest ones, and the crowd seems to roll their eyes in unison, wishing they would just tone it down . The ICP show was for all ages, which meant that most of the crowd was sober, the 21+ area was actually almost empty, and there were straight-up children there. It also meant that someone brought his own raccoon? Before their heroes took the stage, the crowd chanted, âFa-mi-ly! Fa-mi-ly! â And I cheered along because I knew it was going to be the only lyric that I knew and also because itâs hard for me to hear people chanting and not join in.
Juggalos high-fived one another and traded their signature âwhoop whoopâ to greet and acknowledge one another, and I just watched them like a rock-rap Jane Goodall, feeling my affection for them grow. Most parts of society nowadays are not comfortable with shirtless men in clown makeup, or women who have PSYCHOPATH tattooed across their throats, but for this one night, all of these Juggalos had found their place in the world, and it was the exact same venue where I came to watch Explosions in the Skyand Beach House and Chromeo, and stood awkwardly in the back, hoping I wasnât blocking anyoneâs view by wearing heels that made me six foot three.
I loved my ICP show for the same reason we loved seeing Caitlyn Jenner on the cover of Vanity Fair and the same reason my neighborhood Facebook group is obsessed with the whereabouts of a total stranger who spends every afternoon dancing with a boom box on the side of a busy street: It is rare and magical when you and your world can accept and love the same version of you.
I was hopeful, watching all of those Juggalos gleefully soaking up gallons of Faygo. Theyâd found their place in the world, theyâd found something to love that loved them back. Maybe I could, too.
Chapter 10
A Boy Is Why I Moved to New York, and a Boy Is Why I Left
I would never actually admit that to anyone, of course. Iâd tell you that I moved to New York because I had always dreamed of living there, that I was going to get a job working at a magazine and live in a stylish apartment and try my hardest to make sure a handsome, single ad exec didnât fall in love with me. âWait,â youâd say, âisnât that the plot of How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days ?â And Iâd admit that it was and tell you I moved to New York because thatâs where my long-distance boyfriend and I agreed to move after college.
Since fifteen, Iâd never not belonged to someone. Iâd set my sights on Jacob on the first day of high school, when I was six feet tall and 126 pounds, twenty of which were metal braces that made my big mouth and puffy lips even bigger and puffier.
That boy, I thought, as my motherâs Geo Prizm pulled in behind his fatherâs 1985 BMW, will be my first boyfriend.
It was a lofty goal, given my physical appearance, but I put in the work and made it happen just fourteen months later. âI made my dreams come true!â I wrote in my diary, very impressed with myself, even though our first kiss had ended with our teeth smashing together so hard I was sure Iâd chipped one. I was proud of myself for setting a goal and seeing it through. Iâd spent the early weeks of spring, when the Minnesota sun warms our city to a balmy fifty degrees, laying on a towel in the backyard,
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