1997: Blink 182, Dude Ranch

By Lina Abascal

I am from where movies take place. I was born in a town some people spend their whole lives planning to move to. Land of the Vans and taco trucks where echoes of Mark, Tom, and Travis blare from topless Jeeps on sunny street corners. But I didn’t ask for this. I was just thrust here, feeling eternally out of place in paradise. Before I can decide what my life might be like, I see what it should be on the screen. I can’t wait to be an adult. I want to star in my movie. I want to be the person I could be if I had pretty blonde hair and my boobs sprouted. Someone a song gets written about. If I had my own car and could go out late, sneaking around with whoever I wanted. I want the story I have projected onto everyone I see holding someone’s hand at the skatepark. That’s when things will really get good, I tell myself. 

The teen movies of the late ‘90s and early 2000s promised life would follow a formula. An earned ascent to coolness by a Nice Guy who played his cards right, encountering a few hilarious hiccups along the way. A not-yet-famous Blink 182 soundtracks the story of a similar Nice Guy on their sophomore—often mistaken for their first—album Dude Ranch (1997). Fifteen almost all one-word titled songs across 45 minutes about a guy you want to win. Not because he’s the best, but because he’s you or something close to it. Someone waiting to redeem their ticket for the story they were promised.

Dude Ranch sets the tone with “Pathetic”, where it is cemented that our dude believes he is destined for something better, that he’s different. Only to be called pathetic by a crush and to believe it. Equally whiny but tonally distinct Mark and Tom oscillate singing on the track imitating a conversation between our inner monologue and outward presentation. Mark is the version we believe can do better, Tom the lovable shithead; both with a lot to learn. On “Josie”, Mark manifests his dream girl: smart and independent (great), a designated driver who is never jealous (hmm), pretty and good who wants him despite it all. An admirable yet attainable win for our hero, so we believe. Tom begs both his mom and dad to let his childish actions slide on “Dick Lips”, feeling both hopeful and hopeless with “nothing to do” yet “nothing to lose”.  A pop punk bedside prayer, the album’s penultimate track “Lemmings” has an entitled, frustrated, Mark begging for “things to work out this time.” No matter what he’s heard or experienced, he still believes that “all is fair in love and war”. The storybook ending is coming, he doesn’t even need something extra special. He just wants what’s his, even if he chooses to just throw it away. It’s what he was promised; by whom it isn’t said. 

The band doesn’t make you wait for much. Not how they do now, over two decades later, as fans wait to hear the familiar riff of the one song Blink still closes their live shows with. That feeling in the pit of your stomach when you think something big is about to happen to you, that it’s finally your time. That’s the “Dammit” intro. The four chord scale gears you up to go somewhere, anywhere. To do something, anything. 

That fluttering feeling wasn’t just in my elementary school gut as I imagined what my future life would be. It was everywhere. Can’t Hardly Wait (1998) plays “Dammit” in a scene where the police break up a house party the summer after senior year. Rom-com adventure Bubble Boy (2001) plays it not once, not twice, but three times. This is what your life will be like. Watch it play out in an R-rated movie you sneak into the cart at Blockbuster. Everything reminds you of this. All the movies you’ll watch end the same way. All the songs you hear have the same I V vI IV progression. If you listen to enough whiny harmonies you may believe it: One day, you will be cool. Things will work out in the end. 

You grow up and come to understand that there are expectations, and there is reality. There are moments we wait for, retribution, clarity, the ultimate mic drop. The script we write in our head is more nuanced than the teen movie lines we’ve memorized. By now we know that no matter what he says on “Lemmings” all is not fair in love and war for the Nice Guy or for you. 

What would you do if you ever saw that one person again? What would you do if you saw them with someone else? We have the monologues ready in our heads for when we confront them in a dark bar, or even better when we walk right past them in silence. For our third act comeback. For our makeover montage. For something worth making a sequel over. Our own much awaited encore song. 

But instead—let’s say, just for example—you have a surprise run in at a movie sneak preview “Dammit” style. Just like your nightmares, they’re with someone else. This is the moment you’ve been waiting for. This will round out your story so you can get your happy ending. Everything you deserve and were promised. You are finally the person you’re supposed to be. You’re a grown up. 

But it doesn’t happen in slow motion. Not much happens at all. Maybe you smile, and they wave, and the night carries on. That’s all. It’s okay. When you recount the night to a friend, you can hear how boring it is. There are no power chords. There is no one-take house party scene. There is just you, not much different at all, wondering what you were waiting for. Realizing nothing just happens or is promised. 

Dammit. It’s nothing like the movies. Now I guess that is growing up.

Lina Abascal is a writer and two decade deep Blink 182 fan. Her work has appeared in VICE, The Fader, Playboy, McSweeney's and more. She is currently pursuing an MFA in fiction and working on a few projects. She lives with her dog Chiquita in Los Angeles, where she was born and raised.