May 2, 1982

There’s so much to write about, I don’t know where to start! Yesterday Debbie and I took a bus to Anna’s house. We stopped on the way to change in a gas station bathroom. We went to this gig at a place called Contempo, which was really scummy. The Subhumans, Social Distortion, Youth Brigade and Saccharin Trust were playing. I pinned my hair up the best I could and Debbie did my make-up. I wore a white t-shirt with X on it, a kilt over blue jeans, a black old 1950s plaid jacket, a chain for a belt, and chains and a rosary around my neck. My mom would be so pissed if she knew I wore a rosary.

We went with about 14 punks, as well as I could count. The ones I can name areCurly, Noel, Chris, Glen, Lisa, Joe and Eric, Debbie brought vodka and everyone in the van drank it all. I only got a slight buzz. We took 2 cars and I don’t even know where we were, what city.

When we first got there I was a little worried because this cop saw my hair and goes, “I smell hair burning tonight.” What an asshole. Punks aren’t out to hurt eachother. It’s society and excessive government they’re against. The only thing is they’re all on the defensive because they take so much shit, they’re always ready for it so you have to watch your mouth. You have to be careful not to sound insulting commenting on someone’s hair or clothes.

Debbie drank too much and passed out. I had to help her to the bathroom to get sick and later practically carried her out to the car. A bunch of people were selling speed in the bathroom. Almost everybody was wired on it. I have never seen so much white powder being snorted in my life. One chick asked me if I had a syringe she could borrow. God only knows what she was taking.

It was cool when they were slamming. Some guys had little brother punks they brought and would put them on their shoulders and have chicken fights. I met one guy named “Slam” and they called his little brother “Mini-slam”. I met one cute little kid named “Barfo’ or maybe “Stinko”, I don’t remember. He looked about 12. I talked to Joe a lot, he’s a surfpunk and lives by me. Noel was writing “Circle One” on my t-shirt, practically sitting on my lap.

It’s weird walking down the street dressed punk. People are like violent towards you, like shouting, “Punk sucks!” Or they look at you like you’re crazy. That’s good, because the whole idea of punk is removing yourself from society, be blatant, get noticed. Hippies didn’t get action by being peaceful, so maybe punks will by not being peaceful. Punks are even called “dead hippies” sometimes. Or people say, “The hippies aren’t peaceful anymore.” Punks are anti-war, anti-nuclear bombing and shit. They try to get action by showing people how bad things are, by throwing it in their faces. I can’t stand how laid-back surfers are now. They’re half-asleep and never do anything. They’re too peaceful, to the point of blending into the background. But when you’re punk, when you look at people staring at you, there’s fear. I’m not kidding, punks scare them. We threaten them. I guess all prejudice comes from not understanding. I can’t go to gigs with long hair. All my punk friends want me to cut it. It’s like an initiation. I’m just afraid later I’ll regret it.