Ah, Youth

Rarely does a myspace page have enough impact to take my breath away. Flash? Slideshows? Meh. However, through the usual mindless click-throughs of other people's myspace friends lists, I found this one, and it sucked all the oxygen from me and from the room in which I happen to be sitting.

Those heady mid-'80s days of punk mayhem. The gathering of rag-tag gutter punks, fashion punks, death punks, skinheads and suburban poseurs for concerts at the Rainbow, the Aztlan, the Cricket, or in the case of bands like hometown faves Uberfall, actually playing in someone's garage. The legendary characters who arose like Tom Headbanger and Denver Dan. I would pick up the latest records and tapes from Wax Trax, scrape together enough money for a late-night meal at Mary & Lou's cafe, and — having finally saving enough money from my stupid cocktail waitressing job at the stupid yuppie Hawaiian coke-whore hangout where I worked — buy a coveted quelque chose at my favorite vintage store, Rudely Decadent.

I had this scary motherfucker Russian boyfriend at the time who hated everyone and despised social interaction with anyone besides me and his Clockwork Orange-channelling friend, plus a couple of party-hearty girlfriends who were way more into gay New Wave than I was — I'm pretty sure that their insistence on dragging me to Norman's all the time to dance like little giddy goth dervishes kept me safe from the fate that befell so many girls in my Denver punk circle: drugs, disease, death.

It's heartening to see so many still alive and kickin', some even rocking the same look they had in 1984. Right on! It occurs to me that I haven't changed all that much myself. Same old Trouble, now part of the establishment.

Back in the day (groan!) I wrote a little ditty about Denver called "Yuppie Cowtown". It's sung to the tune of "Jimmy Crack Corn" and I'm telling ya -- it is brilliant.

In honor of the 1978-1988 Denver Punk Scene I shall wear my Death Cult t-shirt to karaoke tonight and sing a "Wood Beez" shout-out to my long-lost friend Gretchen, she of the Aqua Net abuse and boundless love for gay men. And for Lisa, who dated a Warlock Pincher, for Pete's breakfast burritos sake, a rousing rendition of "Love Cats". Although it's available for karaoke singer assassination, I will sing no Nick Cave, no Joy Division and no Ramones. That's just plain wrong.

Any of you WoT readers sprung from local punk scenes? Tell me about it!