do you remember?

Do you remember an East Odawa local named Keiran.? I think his dad was a prof at the college? He was a friend of Scott Sosa’s and Sylvester Chin’s--hung out with that whole East O. crew. I ran into him two summers ago, we were hanging out; catching up on some of those old characters from way back when . . . turns out Kieran is an old friend of my wife’s brother.
He told me Sosa was in grad school-- Poli Sci--and Al Vargas also went back to school down in New Orleans. Remember his younger bro, Eddie? Skinhead, wore oxblood-red Doc Martens? He hung out at Bowie’s Soup and Sandwich Shop quite a bit as well-- he was one of the main chefs at Adler's Restaurant up until a year or two ago.
Not a racist skinhead--more along the lines of a Minor Threat skin. Except the fact that he wasn’t straight-edge. Eddie was alright, I guess—I worked with him at Adler’s way back when—I remember he liked to leave strips of bacon on all the wait staff’s windshields. The vegetarians wait-trons had a real issue with that.
I still see Chin from time to time, still macking on college gals, just like before. He was all giddy about getting popped by a narco squad not too long back, until I told him where I worked. I think he went through San Fran or New York or Portland, but moved back to town.
Most of those cats did the NYC/San Fran thing, it seems like. Remember my buddy Matt Holloway---blond hair, wire rim round spectacles? He ended up working for some big Madison Ave. advertising firm. He's probably to blame for all that 80's music in those Volkswagen commercials. Keiran tells me Matt was living down in Greenwich until 9/11---he moved to Tennessee with his wife and entered grad school soon after that. Not sure what he's studying, but that dude was always five steps ahead of everyone else.
I tried the infosystems thing at the college---didn't work out very well. I liked the idea of computer code, seemed so cool and everything, but the practical application . . . well that just wasn't as fun.
I love to read, just kinda get lost in the process---- I'm not analytical enough to be able to really dissect any piece of literature as a whole. I just cling to bits and parts that catches my fancy. Deconstructionism seemed cool, but I never read the full text on how it was done! You see what I'm saying? I like the idea very much, but not enough to actually read the whole thing and to apply it to something.
I like the act of reading, writing, etc. . . but getting really into it just ruins it for me. Sitting in a library reading a book, the atmosphere is a big part of the whole thing. The book itself, on its own merits, isn't enough--- whatever commotion that's going on over at the reference stack is just as important. Not that I really want to know or care, just the whole milieu is what I want.
Should've been a trust fund kid, squandering my fortune in NYC or Paris or wherever, living a semi-bohemian existence. Not because of a strong sense of purpose or because it fits my world view or whatever. Just because its fun, or more fun than actually engaging fully. Not that I would ever know what that feels like.
I enjoy watching the show as a somewhat interested, but detached observer. The whole thing is hilarious. Finding humor in the everyday is really what has kept me going through this thing we call life. P-rock was cool because it poked fun at and made you question all sorts of social conventions and mores.
Good P-rock that is. It became commercialized, homogenized just like everything else. Now the kids can get their Ramones tees at the mall, have mom and dad drop them off at the VAN'S WARPED TOUR at the local arena/fair grounds, blah-blah-blah.
But when it was young and different and not so accepted, it was fun. Not mean, malicious, search-and-destroy fun, but just irrelevant fun. Anarchistic in the sense that it was free of rules, regulations, etc . . . it just was. Zen mind, original mind, free of concepts and borders and boundaries, etc. . . but Zen is Buddhist and Buddhism has a moralistic bent-- it isn't nihilistic. It certainly isn't destructive. The trickster spirit ala Bodhidharma---the laughing, fat Buddha.
You know what I'm saying? Do your remember rock and roll radio? Sometimes it feels like my memories are all I have left. I don’t even know how accurate any of them are—maybe they’re all lies I tell myself so I can sleep better at night.
Talking about Bowie’s reminded me of a skinhead girl that used to hang out there---remember? Her dad was a prof at State and they were originally from Ohio--- Ohio U.---what was the name of the town? Oxford?
Anyway, so she was a senior at East O. and I ended up giving her a bunch of poems for her creative writing class. She was cool to hang out with, I didn't really have any designs on her or anything, at least I didn't think so. She ended up telling me off---said she wasn't looking for a boyfriend, she had one back in Ohio, etc. . .
That kind of set me back for awhile. I suppose I was attracted to her. She had that whole shaved head except for the bangs thing happening. Not quite the whole devil lock thing that Danzig and the Misfits started, but close. Just another punk rock girl. Not even the cutest.
I was mad in love with this one girl that went to St. Stanislaus, whom I worked with at McDonald's in Middleton. I think Scott Riker and I ran into her that one time when we went to visit Nancy Boyd at Universal Mall. Tracy Binder worked at some other store---with Kat Nelson!!! Actually, those two knew each other through a mutual friend as well, because Kat and her sister Hannah both went to Indian Hills H.S. for a while and one of Tracy's best friends also went there.
Tracy introduced me to the whole P-Rock scene in Detroit. I went to the Graystone with her for the first few times--- the very first show I went to, I saw M.D.C. I was in love/lust, but had no idea how to even pursue that whole thing. Looking back, I now realize that she was giving me hints and so forth but I was pretty thick.
I'm still pretty oblivious, and really have always been that way. Ain' t that cute? Anyways, she finally got tired of waiting for me and found herself a boyfriend and I was just crushed. I was always the perfect gentleman. She probably figured I was gay. A girl had to practically rape me before I would get a clue--- " . . .oh, I think she likes me. . ." Now that I'm fat and bald, I kinda sort of get it. But it's a little late. What ever became of all those punk rock girls? Are they soccer moms somewheres?