Punk

A girl where I work came up to me the other day and said, “I heard you used to play in a punk band. Is that true?” (honestly, I have no idea where these rumours start). Now to me this is just not a yes or no type question, but I didn’t feel like getting into the whole, ‘I don’t worry about labels’ discussion so, simple answer, “yes.”

“Really,” she said. “What instrument did you play?”

(Here’s an old joke for free) “Well I always wanted to play guitar badly, so that’s what I did.”

“What, play guitar badly?”

“The worst. I had a Mann guitar and some crap amplifier, and it was so bad and we played so hard that I broke the pick-ups on the guitar." Ah hahaha she said, and walked away, which was good since I had been worried that we would next get into the ‘did you dress like a punk’ thing. For the record: were we a punk band? Well I don’t actually worry about labels (d’oh!). Did I dress like a punk? I dressed like me. It was right at the time and I wouldn’t change a thing.

Now maybe the way I dressed wasn’t “punk” in the traditional sense. Very few of those boys ever wore Hawaiian shirts, for example, or railway worker bib coveralls. I would never try to guess whether this was a lack of imagination or a lack of funds, but I suspect it was a lack of imagination. Too many goofs figured that ripped jeans, a ripped t-shirt, spiked hair and pimples made you a punk, but I never have believed in uniforms so bag that action.

I figured then as I do now that you have to live how you want to live. Your rights end where mine begin and vice-versa. If other people like how I am that’s fine and if they don’t, that’s fine too. Of course I still listen to loud music and old style punk is the best. I guess I’m still trying to piss off my parents and it’s not getting any easier. Good thing I like a challenge.

Anyway… Humouroceros.

DOA a couple of years ago. Photo taken from the pit and yeah, it hurt.
They have a disc coming out in August '08.
Rockin'!