Old Punk Rockers Never Die

Old punk rockers never die...they either sell out and become mainstream or, as in my case, just get older. I'm 43 years old and I'm about to hop the train for one of those good old school road trips. Why is it old school...because it is.

I remember me and the original #teambro (1), the Rastifarian Youth Organization (RYO) taking the bus from Santa Rosa to San Francisco (The Golden Gate transit) for $2.50 each way. I dunno know how many times and how many shows and for how many years, but it was the standard road trip: enuff money to get into the venue and for beer and weed and that is it. Food was not an option. The difference for this particular trip, now in 2012, is that I don't have any weed (dammmmmm).

Years ago I made a promise to myself that when evah go to see a show that is outta town I'm going to 1) have plenty of money to spend on food, beer and weed and 2) have enuff money to get a hotel and be comfortable so we don't drive home (2hrs) drunk; or if we are together at the time, "runk". At that time my thought was "I'm too old to not do these things." I guess I'm not.

One time in the late 80's, and it might have even been in the super early 90's, I went to the City to see Echo and the Bunnymen. It was awesome. They played Lips Like Sugar and that 'moon' song (I forgot what it is called). My friend that I was going to meet there flaked so I was by myself, well, except for the 5,000 of my closest fellow black eyeliner, black turtle neck, pegged pants, thrift store oversized sport coat wearing, skinny black tie friends.

I gave my extra ticket to a girl in a group of girls that lived in the City. We danced that hi-energy dancing style, the kind that is in the video The Reflex by Duran Duran and that Bruce Springsteen song (I forgot that one also), and I recall that I was pleasantly happy because my eyeliner didn't smear and I made out with that teenage 80's hottie (we exchanged addresses later and if I recall correctly, I wrote her a love letter or two.).

After the show was over I headed to the bus station, but dagnabit, the next bus didn't leave until hours and hours later the next morning. In fact it was closed until the next bus left (WTF). So I wandered the streets of San Francisco to kill time. I was only 19-ish so I couldn't go to a bar, and if I could, I was too scared to try (that Chris was shy and timid, not like Kriss right now). I was brave enuff to try and buy some beer at small-ish liquor stores, but the hardened and street smart proprietors all knew a fresh faced 19 y/o when they saw one...denied. I went to the good 'ol punk rock standard back up plan and asked bums to get me some beer, but I was scared of them and there was only one of me (again, old Chris was timid and shy)...denied.

There was a 24 hour Jack in the Box on Market St. so I went there. I was trying to not look at the clock because I knew that I had hours and hours to kill so I just stared out the big window and watched the nite-time traffic roll by. While I was sitting there a super hot and slutty looking Asian women came in and strolled past me and it was so slow I was like "WTF." She looked at me the way an experienced woman looks at a fresh faced 19 y/o as if saying "mmm, fresh meat." I was all, like WTF and a little weirded out. What could a beautiful woman like this want from lil old me.

Her promenade continued and she walked the length of the Jack in the Box passing me two times. We were the only ones in there, I guess the employees we in the back or something, until a well and over dressed black man came in. He strolled by me also and he also gave me the look of "fresh meat" but it wasn't inviting like hers. He seemed pissed or mad or something and went up to the Asian hottie and said, "Fuck this, this is bullshit, bitch. Theyz ain't no money in here." Without saying anything else, they both left together.

That is the nite I slept in the bathroom of a Jack in the Box sitting on the toilet and that is one of the reasons why, years ago, I decided to travel in comfort, ya know, with plans and money. Like I said earlier...I'm still punk rock. I still go to shows with little money or plans. The difference this time...I'm gonna sleep at my brothers pad.

Wish me luck.

(1) We have always had the team concept with me and my friends. In the 80's we called ourselves the Rastifarian Youth Organization (we were not Rastas, we just smoked a lot of pot). Later we called ourselves The Revolution, later Team Blarp and inbetween probably many other names. currently...we are #teambro.

Walking Downtown

Yesterday at the #cutegirlrestaurant I volunteered to "ask" a bum to leave the front of the restaurant. The very nice girls at the restaurant attempted to do it first and were very nice to him "sir, these chairs are for customers only, if you would like to order something we would be glad to help you." Scummy dirt face grabbed a menu and went outside...to continue talking to himself and deff not reading the menu. I've never been altruistic to bums...I have always had a job (and i take my Prozac). "I work for my beer a cigarettes."

I took it upon myself to do something. "Hey, get the fuck outta here." He became angry at me and started yelling. "I'll tell you something..." I cut him off,"Shut the fuck up, I don't want to debate with you." It only made him angrier and he didn't leave. I went back inside.

"F" was already on the phone with the nonemergency police. All the customers stopped eating their breakfast and watched...and watched. I had made the situation worse, but because everyone is so nice here (unlike myself), they didn't trip. After about 15 minutes, scummy dirt face walked away, before the police arrived, and last I saw him he was walking down the street screaming heading downtown.

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My self imposed sabbatical is both relaxing and nerve racking at the same time. I just can't work right now. If I could I would, right. Afterall that is what I've always done. It is really super weirdo to not have anything to do all day. It seems the only thing to do (when I'm not drinking) is watch the colors of the leaves change (even tho it's hella cold outside) and then fall to their decomposing winter-y death. If it seems like a time consuming endeavor, it is; but seemingly right now...I have nothing but time. Strange, strange times indeed.

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I've been doing a lot of walking. I can walk from home all the way to Old Sacramento, watch the super-killer ice cold Lake Tahoe water as it journeys to the Bay Area. Funny thing, as soon as I get there, I leave. There are scattered dirty scum face bums there that also have nothing but time to kill. They are watching the water also. Some try and start a conversation and/or bum a smoke, but I just blow them off. Some look contemplative and some have dead eyes as they look at the dark water swirling and churning to the Bay, carriyng with it debris that sometimes looks like life. I used to love sitting by the river, watching water go under the bridge, but I can't stand it now. After mere moments I put my backpack on and walk some more.

A holiday shopper with child walks by and the kid says "look at those homeless people mommy." "Be quiet (insert name of child here), "but the kid is not quiet and keeps pointing in our direction. I know he's not talking about me...my face is clean.

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All the leads are turning to NOT. Now I'm hitting up friends of friends. If it comes down to it, I'll send an SOS out on Twitter. I would totally rely on strangers right now for help, totally (I'm not there yet, tho). One peep I FB'd wanted to help, but couldn't, then mentioned that I had been a jerk to her several times in the past, but she forgives me. I didn't write her back.

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"Dude.""Hey, was' up "S".

"Heading down to the protest. Wanna come."

"I got nothing going on."

We get into his jalopy and I meet his peeps. He is fresh faced and passionate and talks about his involvement with the #OWS movement. The others in the car are equally passionate and soon everyone is talking at the same time, except for me.

I was a teenage puckrocker and even when I started dressing like a New Waver, then hippie, then raver...etc...I still held punk rock sensibilities in my heart. The difference between then and now is that the 80's was a "me generation." It was not until circumstances this year where I have been forced to get a valid I.D.. If I didn't have to do that, then I'd be totally off the grid still: no bank account, no bills in my name, nothing in my name, no phone, no attachments, no nothing.

All this talk of 99% bores me. We used to rage about this shit in the 80's and nothing has changed. In fact, it seems that it has only gotten worse and worse. I'm at least 20 years older than everyone in the car. I want to get out, but that would mean more walking and these shoes I got for free are uncomfortable. These kids are kinda stinky, not bum stinky but 20 something stinky, like, I slept in these clothes last night in my parents house and I chose to not take a shower today stinky. We pull up to the park and they scan for the police and their peeps. We get a really good parking space and get out.

"Thanks for the ride."

"We're all in it together, bro."

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There are all kinds of people here: old, young, rich, poor. There are also many dirty stinky faced bums, drinking outta bags and rerolling cigarette buts they have collected on their journeys. Dam, I wanna fucking beer and cigarette. I guess I'm no better than anyone else. I walk thru the crowd(s).

They are doing that microphone thing where one person says something, and then everyone else repeats it. I want to get up there and say, "Kriss needs a beer and a cigarette (KRISS NEEDS A  BEER AND A CIGARETTE.), but even I wouldn't do something like that...sober. There are drummers, people holding signs and a media presence. I over hear many things, "I've worked hard all my life...I couldn't keep up with those payments...this isn't fair....what am I going to do..." A mother holds her child (looks like 3y/o to me) as she talks to a reporter, "What is my baby going to do? What kind of future will she have." The reporter furiously scribbles notes on a pad.

I really wanted a cigarette so I just asked the first person I saw smoking. "Hey dude, can I get one of those." It was stinky bum face from the restaurant earlier. He didn't recognize me and very casually gave me a smoke. I could see that he only had one left for himself. I probably would not give my second to last cigarette to a stranger, or even a friend-I'm an asshole like that.

"Thanks, bro."

It was delicious but I only smoked half of it. I put it out with my fingers and wiped my face. "S" emerged from the crowd. He was strong looking and still as fresh faced and youthful as he was in the car. As he passed me on the way to his destination, "Kriss, you have ash or something on your face."

Now my face is dirty also. Fuck.