I remember the longest line of cocaine I ever saw....

I was living with Theresa. People would ask me, when they'd found out I'd moved in with her, how I could stand living with her...she was always talking fifty miles over the speed limit, she was intense and loud, her hands were always moving and fidgeting and pulling on her long red hair....and I'd reply that I didn't need a TV, I could just sit back and watch T. I got a kick out of her and her vibrating energy.

One day her old boyfriend, Seppo, got back from a fishing trip. This translates to "loaded with money and needs to burn it". He came over with Kelly, a quirky young punk-rocker we all knew, and a big bag of cocaine. We closed the curtains, put on Led Zeppelin II, cracked some beer and began to party, just the four of us.

The party itself is rather unmemorable; we didn't terrorize the neighbours, we didn't bust a hole in the wall. We just hung out listening to loud music. The reason I tell this story is because of this one image in my mind. Seppo, T. and I are all sitting on her bed, looking at records and liner notes in the dusty dimness. We look up, and Kelly is quietly sitting on the floor. He has taken the full length mirror off our wall, and has proceeded to cut the longest line of cocaine I have ever seen, snaking from one end of the mirror to the other and back again three times. We have no idea how long this has taken him. I can see him quietly bending over the mirror making little tiny chops...he looks up as he realizes we are watching him, and kind of giggles. "I just wanted to do one more line."

The line must have been 15 feet long! Silly boy.

I thought to myself at that moment..."This should be a scene in a movie. My life is like a movie."

I remember going to see Jason and the Scorchers....

If you know me at all, you know that I have a penchant for roots-type music...rockabilly, old-timey, bluegrass...I love it. Even when I was a dyed-black punk rocker, I loved it. One of the bands that I would play on my show at CiTR was the cowpunk group, Jason and the Scorchers. They could really rip their way through a Hank Williams tune! When I heard that they were coming to town, I was very excited! My friend, Li'l Debbie, and I agreed to go together. We both wore lots of black, lots of leather, fishnet stockings with black boots, red lipstick, thick black eyeliner, sheriff badges...everything cowboy and punk that we could think of! We looked great!

As we walked into 86 Street, excited to see who else was there that we knew, every eye turned to look at us--we were the only freaks there, and we stuck out like leather-clad thumbs. Apparently we were the only cowpunks in Vancouver!! The club was packed, but not with scenesters like us...with people who looked like they actually listened to country music radio, people with feathered hair and flannel plaid shirts and big belt buckles and tight Wranglers...it looked like a cowboy bar in Alberta, for Pete's sake!!! We headed straight for the front of the stage, not really feeling up to mingling.

When the band hit the stage, it was guns a-blazing! The guitar player, Warner E. Hodges, planted himself right in front of us and played the whole show just for us, it seemed. He was probably wondering where all the cowpunks were, too! After the show, it was a matter of mere moments before Li'l Debbie and I were asked by Warner if we wanted to come back-stage. Well, yes! Introductions all 'round, beer from the band's supply...we couldn't have felt more cool.

Warner had us one at each hip for the rest of the evening. He was a gentleman, didn't try anything untoward...I think he was just lonely and bored and wanted somebody to talk to. The band was heading out that night, so we rode back to the hotel where they had been staying to send them off. Warner, with one arm around each of us, declared he wanted to buy us a drink. The three of us walked into the sleepy hotel bar, pretending it was an old-time saloon, and loudly ordered the barkeep to give us three shots of Jack Daniels and "keep 'em comin'!". It was fun, goofing around in the presence of the bored business men, talking with southern drawls about barroom brawls. When Jason stuck his head in the bar and hollered that it was time to leave, Warner gave us each a kiss on the cheek and disappeared into the tour bus.

I've thought about that kiss on the cheek. I've thought about what a gift a little kiss can be, how it communicates so much in such a short time...it says "Thank you" and "You were worth spending time with" and "You are beautiful" and "Good bye forever". Li'l Debbie and I staggered out of that bar feeling like the two most beautiful women in the world. It was a good night.

Thanks to papaherman for sparking this latest memory!

I remember enjoying a free concert that I thought I would hate....

I often scored free tickets at the college radio station where I had a show. Usually these tickets were for shows I was excited about, but I ended up with two free tickets to see George Jones, Loretta Lynn, and Conway Twitty--a show I was most definitely NOT planning on seeing. My boyfriend, Earl, and I decided it would be worth going, if only for the aspect of cultural adventure.

We dressed up as if we were going to the best punk gig ever. Earl leaned over to me as we took our seats and whispered, "It looks like everyone here shops from the Sears catalogue!" I giggled. It was true! Brown dress slacks, plaid short-sleeved shirts, polyester everywhere! Earl and I were out of our element, sticking out like a black-leather thumb. We were also about ten years younger than everyone else.

George Jones was up first. I had never heard of him before, but he was a good enough showman. We weren't overly impressed, but he didn't suck, either.

Then Loretta Lynn hit the stage. Earl and I were both dumbfounded. She was incredible!! We figured she would know her way around a stage, having been in show business for so long, but we didn't expect her to be so incredibly fabulous! After one song we became loyal subjects of the Queen of Country, Loretta Lynn, and she held us captive until her very last song.

Thankfully Conway Twitty was last. He was horrible, talking to the women in the front row like a dirty old man, putting out his hand for them to kiss, which they did. It was embarrassing. Before his second song was over, we fled.

We both liked Loretta Lynn so much that we were unashamed to tell all our country-music-hating friends how awesome she was.

I remember getting choked by Gene Kiniski.....

The band, D.O.A., was shooting a music video at the Town Pump, and the call had gone out to their friends and associates to come be the crowd for the shoot that day. My friends and I got all punked out, too fun a chance to miss!

The cameras were all set up, and we were told how it was going to go: the band would pretend to play on stage, we'd jump around like maniacs, Gene Kiniski would run in with a briefcase (he was representing the corporate pigs, I guess!) and start causing mayhem, and then Joey would jump off stage and kick the crap out of Gene. Sounds great!

The cameras began rolling and we began jumping around to the music. Gene ran in, and I was in shock. I'd heard of the wrestling legend before, of course, but he was so BIG! He saw my dumbfounded look and headed straight for me, wrapped his big mitts around my neck, and then proceeded to choke me, cartoon-style. The director made him choke me a couple of times so they could get a good shot of it. Gene was awesome! As soon as the cameras would take a break, he'd laugh and say "You look like you are havin' fun!", but as soon as the director would yell "Action", he'd turn into this wild-eyed madman and go straight for my throat!

I've watched the video a few times, and I don't think that shot made it. Too bad. I'd like to watch my head shaking back and forth as Mr. Gene Kiniski throttles me. I think it would be good for those days when I'm getting too high an opinion of myself...might take me down a peg or two to see what a wimp I really am!

I remember spending a day with two people who were more punk rock than I'd ever be....

It was a sunny Vancouver day, and there was an outdoor music festival at Stanley Park. I arrived and saw a couple I'd met a few days earlier on a blanket in a good spot, and they called me over. They had been there for awhile already, and were quite drunk. They offered me the vodka bottle, very generous of them, I thought! We were being loud and belligerent, but so was everybody. It didn't seem like we were sticking out too much. At one point, the guy picked up an empty jar and threw up into it...I was struck by how casually he did this. Then I was struck by how clear the liquid was. And then he shrugged and said, "No point in wasting good booze!" and proceeded to drink...well...you know. The stuff in the jar. I had never seen anything so punk rock in my whole life!

His girlfriend just hit him, then grabbed my hand. "Come on, I gotta go to the bathroom." We stumbled our way through the crowds towards the Women's Washroom. There was a huge line snaking out of the door and around the corner. "Forget this, let's use the Guy's can," she said as she pulled me along. We burst through the door, and I remember all the surprised faces of the men at their business. "Don't mind us! There's a line-up a mile long over at the girl's can..." She was so confident!! Holy cow! I pretended to swagger along with her, but I was actually embarrassed.

There have been times in my life where I have experienced that strange feeling of attraction and repulsion mixing like oil and vinegar, like a lava lamp. This was one of those times. The whole memory is so surreal, like a scene out of "Sid and Nancy"... I didn't see that couple much after that. They kind of faded out of my realm of reality, but they reign in my mind as the punk rock King and Queen. I never quite managed to attain that level of separation from my morals, no matter how hard I tried.

I remember my first "punk rock" gig.

I think it was my friend, Sandi, who suggested we go see The Enigmas, GoForThree, and Slow do a gig at the Commodore. I was very excited, nervous about what to wear, how to behave, all of that stuff. We got duded up and drove into Vancouver.

The Commodore, as I learned later, is a beautiful, fabulous place to see bands play, and this night was no exception. The place was about full, and every person was so different from who I was usually surrounded with at my Christian college campus, it was like a sparkling adventure. Spiky black hair, the smell of sweaty leather, the boots, the eyeliner!! It was probably 1984, but I'm not sure of the year.

The first band, GoForThree (or however that's written) weren't very exciting. The next band, Slow, was amazing, really energetic and creative. The final band of the night was the Enigmas, a garage-type band.

Sandi took me by the hand and dragged me right up to the front when Slow started, and we stayed there, squished up against the stage as the slam-dancing (that's what "moshing" used to be called, kids) raged at our backs. The press of bodies against us, the "accidental" groping, began to be overwhelming, so we hopped up on stage and sat cross-legged to watch the music. Nobody stopped us! We had a fabulous view of Paul Mackenzie, the lead singer, going through his mad gyrations and contortions. As the show really heated up, he grabbed a knife and pretended to disembowel himself--he must of had a bag of raw liver taped to his stomach--and it spilled out all over the stage. Sandi and I figured this was punk rock, so we grabbed it and started hurling it at the rest of the crowd. Really, there was no other course of action even worth considering! You would have done the same thing.

I remember looking over the sweaty, young crowd, looking at the mad bands, and thinking "This is where I belong! This makes sense to me." By 1987, I played the Commodore, opening for the Scramblers. As I stood on stage for the sound check, I vividly remembered the gig a few years before where I had decided this was where I should be. And there I was. It was quite unfulfilling, actually. Maybe I should have brought raw liver, maybe that would have helped.

I remember the first time I dyed my hair.

I was 20, hanging out on Granville Street with a bunch of street punks. I was quite attracted to a 16 year old guy named Adam--he reminded me of Sid Vicious. It didn't strike me as strange at the time that I wanted to go out with a boy instead of a man...I didn't know who I was, and he seemed so confident about his identity. It was quite alluring! So when he suggested I dye my hair black, I jumped at it. Anything to break ties with who I used to be.

One problem...I grew up in a house without hair-dye. I had never seen anyone dye their hair. Adam and his friend, Kale, said they'd help me. Oh boy!! Two for real punk rockers....fur-coat-hating, metal-stud wearing, tattooed vegetarian punk rockers were going to dye my hair!!! I couldn't wait. We went back to Adam's apartment and Kale, who turned out to be surprisingly gentle considering his large girth, took care of the dyeing process. I remember looking up into Kale's eyes as he rinsed the dye out in the bathroom sink. I was so happy. I felt so daring! I was going to look so unique!

It was 18 years before I grew out all the many and various colours I put into my hair. Now it is North American mousy brown with a generous sprinkling of kinky grey. I like it! I look intelligent. I look distinguished. I know for certain that nobody else on the planet has hair quite like mine. And I had thought uniqueness could be bought in a box from the drug store...I'm glad I figured that one out.

I remember watching my first music videos.

It was in the early '80's, when there was a show on Canadian television called "Friday Night Videos". Mom and Dad, my sister, everybody was asleep but me, and I was staying up to watch the late movie. The video show was on first, however, and I was captivated as I sat on our brown couch in our small living room with the green carpet over the old peach linoleum.

Only one video sticks in my mind from that night. There was a guy standing on a sort of pedestal, and he was dressed all in shiny black vinyl or leather, sort of a biker outfit but shiny, and he had a policeman's hat low on his head. He had big black sideburns and a pencil-thin moustache. There was a woman by his feet in a sleazy dress, sort of writhing and trying to climb up his leg through most of the song, and he was ignoring her. The guy was singing "Shoot it up, Smack Jack, shoot it up, Smack Jack, it's a drag with a monkey on your back, Smack Jack..." in a gravelly voice, and every time he would sing a word with a short "a" (smack, jack, drag, etc.) he would open his mouth and stick his tongue out almost to his chin.

I was entranced! I was confused! I had never seen anything like this in my whole life! It wasn't until the song was over and they showed who it was that I realized the singer was a woman, Nina Hagen. My mind was blown wide open. The thought running through my head was "There is a whole world out there that I know absolutely nothing about!". And then the video sort of faded from my memory as time passed. They certainly never played it on Friday Night Videos again!

Many years later, after I'd left home, I saw "NunSexMonkRock" for sale at a used record store. I bought it, ran home, put it on my record player, and there was Nina Hagen, singing "Smack Jack" for me again. I could see myself sitting on the couch watching it, remembering the feeling: revulsion and attraction swirling together, like a lava lamp. I had thought I had forgotten the video, but the world it had introduced to me had lain in my thoughts like an undercurrent, slowly pulling me towards experiences that reproduced the same feeling. I wanted purple hair (this was way before you could buy purple hair dye in any drug store!), I wanted to look shocking, I wanted to not understand everything that was put before me.

Maybe I can blame everything on Nina Hagen!! I'll bet she would't mind. Actually, I'd rather thank her. Wanting to not understand everything has been a great freedom for me.

Nov. 15, 2006--Note: Thanks to YouTube, I have been able to rewatch this video for the first time in over 20 years. I have put a link to it, but have not changed the memory as written here. I am amazed at how close my memory is to the actual video, and interested to see which parts chose to stick in my mind.

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.

2002-08-29 - 7:47 a.m.

I remember being at a gig at Club Soda in Vancouver, back in the late 80's. The band playing was Death Sentence. I was drunk, very drunk, and I remember sitting on the floor by the toilet in the bathroom, resting my head on the cool seat. The song the band was playing at that very moment was "Dawn of the Dead". The lyrics: "Dawn of the Dead, I'll do anything for drugs these days. My whole welfare checque, I spent it on f***ing DA...Dawn of the Dead, Dawn of the dead..." I remember laughing, thinking what a perfect song that was as a soundtrack for my life at that moment.