I remember performing at the Channel One Klub, in the band (I use the term loosely) "the Jezebel Spirit". My friend, Jezebel Black, had got the gig, drawn posters and put them up all over town before informing me that I was going to be part of her show. She wanted me to play guitar, even though I informed her repeatedly that I couldn't play guitar, didn't own one. It didn't matter. I had big hair and a bad attitude, and that did matter. She wrangled our friend, Chris, into playing keyboards, so we had at least one experienced musician on board. We recorded a percussion track by banging on metal pots and plastic tubs. I was worried that we were really going to suck!

The night of the show, the club was packed! The posters had done their work. I remember that when I expressed some nervousness, Jezebel just said, "You don't HAVE to play...just stand there, hit the strings once in awhile, and look bored." We played three songs. In the first song another friend, Jim, came out dressed like a priest and pretended to try to exorcise Jezebel, but she bit his neck and pretended to kill him, fake blood spilling from her mouth. I just looked as disinterested as I could. The other two songs were more of the same, Jezebel screaming and writhing around on the stage. It became easier and easier to look bored!

When we were done, nobody clapped. They all just quietly got up and walked out. Nobody asked for their money back, but nobody came up to us and said, "Wow, amazing show!" either. They just left. It was very strange. I felt somehow humiliated and exhilerated at the same time. Quite the confusion, ashamed to show my face and yet wanting to show it to everyone....

I remember sitting at a table in the Arts Club, discovering that I was not as in control of my life as I thought I was. The Arts Club was the cool place to go see bands. I used to watch all the confident, crusty scenesters swaggering in the door, hanging around outside smoking....I wanted to go in, but I was too scared to go in by myself. It took months, but I finally wiggled my way into the "in" crowd, and the Arts Club became one of my favourite haunts. I saw some great bands there, The Gruesomes, The Enigmas, The Scramblers, Death Sentence, S.N.F.U.......punk rock at it's finest! I felt like I had arrived.

One evening in particular, I was sitting at a table with some new acquaintances. We were making our introductions, when the one girl looked at me..."Oh, I remember you. I've met you before!" I was sure I didn't remember her, and told her so. "Oh, yeah, I've met you...you were in the alley behind the Luv Affair, on your hands and knees, howling at the moon like a dog...it was so funny!!!" I didn't know what to say. I had absolutely no memory of that embarassing event. Not even a fuzzy one. I thought I had at least a fuzzy recollection of my worst moments. I was wrong. My mind started whirling...what else had I done in plain view of the Vancouver punk scene? Was everybody laughing at me behind my back? Was that why I was invited to the cool parties now? I slunk out of the bar and walked home, before I got too drunk to do anything like that again. At least for that night.

Part of me still wonders if she made up the story to one-up me. Maybe she was feeling insecure and had to make me look bad so she would feel good. But I doubt it.