Why Real Sacto Punks hate me

There was a picture here, of the rock star who punched me in the face. Look in the comments section and you'll see that she requested I remove the pic and I agreed to do so.

That's right, they do. And if you don't you're just a poser.

I've always had an odd relationship with the punk scene. It was as close as I'd found to a scene where I fit, but I didn't quite fit. Maybe that's the beauty of the scene, maybe nobody fit, but I felt like I especially didn't fit. Hell, probably everyone felt like that too.

I wished that I had the courage to not care about the future that many of these folks had. I needed a decent place to call home. That was one thing I could never let go of. Meanwhile these cats were living in squats or apartments with too many tenants, one step up from a squat. They were traveling the country in old beat up vans, playing music, hitchhiking, train hopping, and I must mention the music again. It started to get really freakin' good.

I found a job that sent me traveling, I had me a band, but I always felt I was doing it all halfway. So it was with great respect and admiration and maybe even a bit of insecurity and envy that I attended punk shows and parties.

Some friends of mine were playing in a band they dubbed "the funk band" while they searched for a proper name. The band eventually became !!! (pronounced Chk, Chk, Chk or Pow Pow Pow or however the hell else you want to say it.) I was trippin' around with the animation festival and trying to keep my own business (cleaning fish tanks) alive so I hadn't gotten out to see them even though my roommate at the time Allen Wilson was playing horn for them. I felt bad about this, plus I'd been hearing that they were just AMAZING, so finally I went down to see them at The Loft, a cool mostly under the radar sort of place that operated behind a bookstore.

The Loft was a great place. I'd seen some insane shows there and durring the day it was utilized as a record store and rehearsal space. They took donations at the door and it was a real community oriented scene.

The funk band hit the stage. I was feeling good, drinking some beers and catching a buzz. My friend Rick Edwards ended up next to me and we were dancing and having a good time. Rick pointed out that Allen looked like Dopey of the Seven Dwarves with his sweatshirt hood up, pushing his ears foward. I laughed and Rick and I both started cheering for Dopey.

This girl I didn't recognize made her way over to me. "You better shut the fuck up." she warned.

"What the fucks your problem?" my reply.

"That's my friend you're talking shit to."

She pointed at Nick Offer, I think. "I'm talking shit to Allen, he's my roommate, I'm allowed to talk shit to him. And he fuckin' looks like Dopey."

I was hopin' she'd realize the mistake and we'd be friends, honestly. Many of my best friendships have started this way. She didn't seem to want my friendship.

"You need to shut your mouth." and she walked away.

I followed, when I should have let it go. "Hey, we have the same friends, we're here digging their band. Why do you have to give me shit? I'm Keith by the way." and I put out my hand.

She looked at my hand and gave me a cold dismiss.

"Fine. Then fuck off." I said to her back.

"What? What are you gonna do?" she asked.

"I aint gonna do nothing. I tried to be friendly, you want to act like a bitch, so I said fuck off, and I hope you do."

"If you're gonna say fuck off, it means you're ready to do something."

"What? If I say fuck off it just means fuck off, so please, fuck off."

She did not fuck off, she instead punched me in the face, and she could hit too. I grabbed both her wrists and held them away. I kept my knees ready to defend my self. People swept in including some skinhead guy who got in my face, "She's a chick, dude!"

"Yeah, she's hitting me!"

We were seperated and I went outside. Pam, a good friend of mine who was heavily involved with the loft came out and asked me what happened. She got both mine and the girl's story. It turns out the girl's name was Phyllis. Of course Phyllis had me starting it and even taking the first punch.

Friends who came to see what was up told me that Phyllis had a nasty habit of punching guys. Pam came back with Phyllis. I was cool with trying to resolve things but I couldn't get past this girl's out and out lies. I didn't hit first, I didn't hit at all. The big skinhead guy sat between us as we talked to Pam like some kind of security guard.

"Look, Pam, you've known me for years. Have I ever been one to start swinging, on anyone? I hear this girl gets in fights all the time."

Pam tried to be real PC and say there were two sides and we should just let it go.

"No! Fuck that. I'm not letting it go. She can't just punch me in the face and have me walk away from it. Kick her out of here, something. I can't just let her get away with punching me in the face."

"Keith, let it go." Pam told me. I wasn't ready to let it go. Being punched in the face had me furious and her sitting there lying about it and making me look like a liar was boiling my blood, so I got a bright idea. "If we can't police ourselves maybe I'll just call the real police and charge her with assault."

"Don't call the police Keith." Pam was trying to keep me cool but it was too late, I headed toward the payphone across the street. Phyllis ran after me.

"Hey man, if you call the police I'm going to jail. I've got warrants."

"You just sat there and lied after punching me in face and you're asking me to give a shit about you? Fuck you!" She didn't punch me this time, she just split.

As I walked to the phone I knew what I was doing was stupid, but now I had made the threat and set in my motion, I couldn't stop myself as I felt my fingers dialing. I didn't mention the name of the club just the intersection I was now at. The cops showed up, two female cops and I told them it had happened in the alley. I didn' t mention The Loft but of course I didn't have to, what else was happening in the alley?

I walked to my girlfriends house and as I walked in the front door I started crying. I told her the whole story and how stupid I felt and how hated I'd now be. Allen aka Dopey and his girlfriend Sara were minutes behind me. They came into Bryna's house and asked if I was okay. Not why I called the cops, just was I okay. They were real friends. I told them both I was sorry.

Over the next few weeks I found out who my friends were. Nick never spoke to me again. Still hasn't. Mind you we weren't bossom buddies or anything before, but we'd always gotten along real well and I had considered him my friend. Not everyone was as gracious as Allen and Sara, my friend Chris asked me why the hell I'd called the pigs and told me I was and idiot, but he was still my friend. Scott S who ran the Loft has no love for me at all. That's fine. I don't blame him really. We were never friends and I threatened his baby. I'd hate me too.

Sure, if I had it to do over again I'd do it different. Maybe I'd have punched her back. Maybe I'd have said screw it, so I got punched, hell I get hurt worse just bouncing around at most shows. Maybe I'd have not been so mouthy with her to begin with, leaving the ironing things out and clearing up the misunderstanding until later when I was more sober and she was less agro.

I went to see Outhud a while later. Nick and Phyllis were in this band and they were/are amazing. I watched from outside on the sidewalk. They say success is the best revenge. Well, these cats definately out succeeded me. Outhud and !!! tour the world making incredible music and getting much love for it. It hurt to watch but the music was so good I stayed glued to that sidewalk.

Much later, my friend Mike died. He was a member of the funk band way back when and a regular around the loft. I had a lot of anxiety about going to his memorial and seeing a-lot of the loft folks but I'm glad I did. I can put it all in perspective now. I'm okay with some folks hating me. I'm okay with knowing that I've been an idiot before. And the so called friends that I lost, who needs 'em.