Teen Angst? Naaah . . . A Quasi-autobiography
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
The events in these stories are real. Some names have been changed so I don’t get yelled at.
Ned Vizzini writes about the weird, funny, and sometimes mortifying moments that made up his teen years. With wit, irony, and honesty, Teen Angst? Naaah . . . invites you into his world of school, parents, street people, rock bands, friends, fame, camp, sex (sort of), Cancun (almost), prom, beer, Nintendo, the cool (and almost cool), and more. A Holden Caulfield for Generation Y, Ned Vizzini is an original voice to be reckoned with, read, and enjoyed.
wood cabinets, which I had to clean very quickly to avoid decapitation by Carlo. My boss started asking me about my love life on day two. “You have a girlfriend?” Carlo said while I painted with the roller. “Yes,” I lied. If I said no, I’d probably get yelled at. “Well, that’s nice,” he mused. “I hope she is a beautiful flower. Like my wife, a beautiful flower.” Carlo had two classifications for the women of the world: “fake women” and “beautiful flowers.” When we sat on the brownstone’s
high school, living on the street. But if I was apologetic and nice, maybe I’d come out okay. I looked at the cops. Damn, they looked like cops. Both were Italian; one, a pudgy guy in his forties; the other, young and jumpy. They had brown hair and mustaches. They were in plainclothes. At some point, they must have produced badges, but they didn’t need to. They were movie cops, perfect for the part. “C’mere,” the young, jumpy one said. He was standing in front of an open chrome door, one of
call out on Alex’s porch. “Excuse me, ah, hello, my name’s Ned, and I was wondering if I could use that, your cell phone, for a second.” “Hi!” she said. She had such a happy little hi. It had a lot to do with my falling in love with her later on. “Um, hello.” “Are you a friend of Alex’s?” she asked. “Since grade school.” “Oh! Well here, sure. The buttons work like this …” She drew herself close and showed me. She was a gorgeous girl, and we talked for a while. Afterward, as I walked off
Stadium, and Brooklyn is where I live. Hope that helps. *This was the same camp that’s detailed on this page–this page. *Also during this time, I wrote a very bad short story about an old man named Arnold Adams, who didn’t need women or family or anything, and lives on his porch shooting at passing cars. It’s around somewhere. **Don’t tell me you don’t know what flubbery means. It’s that look old people get when their neck hangs down, and their arms hang down, and they appear to be melting in
nice to me?” I held her for a long time to calm her down. “You’re not a slut; I’m just an idiot,” I said over and over. Now, four months later, at her prom, Judith was beginning to suspect my virginity, because after the initial condom fiasco, I never talked about sex. I did an about-face; I felt so bad about being high-pressure that I became no-pressure, never discussing it, never bringing it up. It scared the hell out of me. I didn’t know what was going to happen at the prom, but if we had