What Are We Gonna Do With All This Trash?: What Makes You Popular?

October 18, 2006

What Makes You Popular?

Ok, so I've had a few years of experience observing several groups of subjects (mostly 4th graders) and I've come to an intersting conclusion. We had a real evacuation today at school because someone smelled gas. While we were standing outside and hanging out, one of my colleagues asked me who the popular kids were. It became a pretty in-depth conversation into the culture of popularity. What makes a kid popular? A popular kid never wears pants that are too short. A popular boy's hair is shaggy and unkempt. He wears crocs and his dad is usually the coach of some sports team that his kid is on. A popular girl wears "Life is Good" shirts and is on the Girl Scouts and plays soccer. Is there such a thing as "popular" at so young an age? YES! Unfortunately, the pressures and stresses of "popularity" hit children at a very young age. I am afraid to say this . . . but by 4th grade, the popular kids have already been crowned and jeweled. Now my theories about popularity do not apply outside of elementary school. But in elementary schools, if your parents volunteer at the school, in the classroom, on field trips, you're popular. If your mom organizes class parties, you're popular. If your mom rides the bus with you on some two hour long ride to St. Mary's City, you're popular. Now, if your mom does not come to Back to School Night or to Open House, you have no chance of sitting with Cool Cal at lunch. If your mom buys you pants that are too short (but don't qualify for capris), you're not going to be invited to Pretty Penny's birthday party. The cool moms of the cool kids get coffee together in the mornings on their way to volunteer at school. So, the lesson is this: if you want your kids to be cool and popular and the envy of all the short-panted dorks, volunteer at your kids's school. Get involved. Give your pup a chance.

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A History Of Trash

Trash, at first, was a pretty cool guy. You know, he’d come over with some beers, and you’d hang out and have a couple of laughs. Maybe Trash brought some weed with him, and you guys tried to sync up Dark Side Of The Moon with The Wizard Of Oz until you remembered you lost your VHS copy of that movie sometime in college and that you fucking hate Pink Floyd. Good times were had, nonetheless.

But then, you don’t know what changed, but Trash started to overstay his welcome. He’d just linger for hours, never taking the hint you wanted him to leave, no matter how many times you yawned obnoxiously or mentioned how early you had to get up tomorrow. Trash just didn’t get it. You were getting older. You didn’t have the time anymore to stay up until 3 a.m. to talk about the Port season of “The Wire” or how much you miss Jawbox. Eventually, you just stopped taking Trash’s phone calls and no longer replied to his group e-mails about sneaking into abandoned mental hospitals.

Last time you saw Trash, he was smoking alone outside a local dive bar, looking down at his decaying and mismatched shoes. You hoped he had been doing well. You hoped he had not been hurt by the disintegration of your friendship. And if he had, you wanted to comfort him. You wanted to tell him that even though people move on with their lives, it doesn’t mean they stop caring. You wanted him to see in your eyes a sincere appreciation for the time you shared, because all the relationships in our lives help make us who we are, and even if you weren’t the best of friends anymore, you wanted him to know that there would always be a piece of Trash in your heart.

But instead, you looked away and crossed the street. You were with your new girlfriend, and you really didn’t want to have to explain Trash to her. She’d never understand.