Blog Party - Gerard Way Out Of My Chemical Romance
To keep their feet rooted on the ground, a lot of famous people have hobbies or second jobs. Many start their own record label like Pete Wentz, some like to paint, or write food features for a newspaper, like Alex Franz does. So, what sort of thing does Gerard Way Out Of My Chemical Romance* like to do when his Black Parading is all finished? Well, here's an excerpt from a blog which offers some clues...
February 22nd: Of course, it's this time of year I hate the most. I can deal with the spring, there's not a wooden object in the world which doesn't remember the thrill of that sudden rush of sap to the branches that comes in the springtime...summer is fine so long as there's children around to take me down and put me in their fort in the garden from time to time...and once we're into autumn - or 'fall', as I should really call it - then the blossom in my wooden heart starts to bloom, fruit grows and falls and we're heading towards the peak of my year...my DESTINY...
But it's these early months that I really hate. January, February...cold months with the stale odour of defeat about them. A lost and frozen wasteland in which all that is good and joyous about the world gets taken down, packed away in battered cardboard boxes and put in the loft. Then all that remains is a houseful of stark, echoey, booming rooms, all draught and shadow..at one with the void.
It would be alright if I had something to look forward to. I mean, there's really only one festival which makes good use of my special talents and once that's over, I'm shelved again. It's not like people feel the need to crack open a brazil or mash an almond at Easter, is it? May Day seems to be about dew, as far as I can tell, with no room for anything as substantial as the crisp crack of hazel shell under the intense pressure of my mighty jaws.
Then there's all of those 'hard to define' public holidays. I ask you, Whitsun...what is it FOR? If someone really put the effort into it, maybe the Whitsun bank holiday could become associated with something truly wonderful, like the the sudden snap and crunch of an obstinate walnut shell after half a minute or so of constant frustration squeeze. That would make the New Year lull almost worth it, the thought of being brought back down to wreak havoc upon a bowlful of nature's finest snackfood, a few scant months after the last time. How that would cheer my sanded soul.
And then there is that painted jade, the August Bank Holiday. As I mentioned, there is something to be said for being taken from my shelf and given a job to do, such as lookout duty in a sandcastle, or to be the primitive torture device should a child wish to interrogate one of their own soldiers, or friends, now I come to think of it. But when it comes to my REAL purpose, the application of pressure on a stubborn shell, well, August is as much of a washout as any other time, except the humans do occasionally put crushed nuts on their ice-creams. But do they ask me to do the crushing for them? They do not.
Now Christmas, that's MY time! I doubt there's anyone reading this that truly knows the full glory of feeling a fresh macadamia give way beneath your teeth, while still holding fragments of all the other nuts you have smashed open in the last hour. It's the closest a wooden man can come to Godliness, which is why it is apt that such a feeling should be associated with a similarly holy time of year for the humans.
Of course, Christmas isn't without its own share of dark times. One year, my owners put the traditional bowl of nuts out, and right on the top, insolently quiet, was a METAL NUT-CRACKER. And there it stayed for two full days. I had to watch in silence as drunken uncles, sullen teens, bored dads and flushed aunties used this...this...ABOMINATION to crack the very nuts which I had been LATHED for. THE HUMILIATION!
Thankfully one of the children grabbed it and hit his sister across the head with it, and that meant it had to be hidden in a drawer and there it stayed, forgotten for the rest of the festive period. By the following year everything was back to normal.
And then there was the year the family bought peanuts instead of their usual healthy selection bag. Peanuts which anyone - man, woman, child - can peel with their bare fingers. I ask you, it is hardly festive if mere AMATEURS are doing the work of a PROFESSIONAL, is it?
But, even with all these problems, Christmas is still the time when I feel most alive. And now it's finished for another year, I'm just going to have to wait it out until the family want nuts again.
(sigh) Yes, there is only one time of yeah which I truly love, and this isn't it...
*OK, OK, so it's not really him and we're pretending he's a wooden nutcracker just for fun, so sue me...actually, please don't. I'm ever so nice really!