Tales of a Punk Rock Nothing

by Abram Shalom Himelstein

  The thing about mix tapes, and the way that they’re like relationships, is that I get to put all the genuinely pretty/interesting parts at the beginning, on the surface, to draw you in, to get you to want to be closer. And once I have you interested, attracted, wanting to know all of me, I show you the more human sides, the less pretty and the more petty. And then I feel cooler and better and more loved because you see all (whatever that means) of me and still love and like and are attracted to me. I try to explain the interesting things that I’m thinking and then hope that you’ll still want me even when you know all the depressing shit that comprises large portions of my brain. Some good poetry about some bitter shit. A cut off the new Marchenko album, then here comes a crusty Dylan song.

  The next song, “Masters of War,” is a, um, folk song, but super important. This is the song that Bob Dylan played on Saturday Night Live the weekend the war started. Of course he was so drunk, or something, that you couldn’t understand a word he was singing and it kind of sounded like he was gargling, actually. But I just kept thinking of all the people around our parents’ age who used to listen to this stuff and actually believe in it, thinking of them seeing it on SNL and remembering how they used to feel about this song and what it used to mean to them and thinking about what soulless yuppies they’ve all become. Meanwhile the world has gotten worse, and George Bush got elected, and we were about to start bombing the hell out of another little country far away for our economic interests. Thinking about all those people who saw that and were maybe touched just a little bit, maybe.

  Iggy Pop’s “I Wanna Be Your Dog.” I mean sometimes…

  And some Phil Ochs crawled out of my parents record bin.”Love Me I’m a Liberal.” “Ten degrees to the left of center in good times/ Ten degrees to the right of center when it affects them personally.” I used to sit in my room and listen to Phil Ochs and come out and ask my parents to explain all the references in his songs. And then they told me that he killed himself and I haven’t listened much lately, but this one song wanted to go here.

  “It’s Tricky” by Run DMC-I just hope that every time you listen to this tape you’ll hear this song and know that I can rhyme your ass into the ground, and wherever you are, however many years from now, you better be ready to do battle.

  Soul Side’s “Clifton Wall.” It’s funny that we were almost too shy to go up and talk to them after they played that night, and now I’m going to be living in a house with Ed from Marchenko.

  Too much talk.

  I like your new way of saying, “I was laughin’.”

  L-word,

  Elliot

  Tired, but want to write, to record a little. Don’t want this to be another failed journal that turns into my math notebook. At least it won’t be a math notebook soon. I guess a journal’s like flossing. Have to make it a habit, so I just do it every night, like my prayers down on bended knee.

  Today I moved out of Wilson. Mom was crying, Dad was flustered. Normal. Hannah cracked funny jokes. Also normal. I got in a car with Colin and Jay. Apples on the tree were ripening and I was glad that I wouldn’t be there to rake up the rotten ones.

  Positive Change: a house full of punk rockers, but totally suburban looking. No graffiti, you can’t tell from the outside. Colin and Jay and I got here at 11:30 and Mike was grumpy about us arriving so late. I guess we should have called. We moved the stuff into my room, and then walked to the 7/11 at the corner. I kept waiting for things to start, for me to meet people and have a job, but everyone was asleep and Colin and Jay just wanted to go to sleep. And I should be sleeping, but I can’t, wondering how it’s going to be. And hoping that Colin and Jay don’t hang out too long, cause I want to look around and meet people alone.

  Went out to Taco Bell with Adda, Sean, Jordana. Jordana didn’t eat anything. What am I supposed to write? I need a job. Already worried about money, which sucks. There are six 7/11s within walking distance from our house.

  Weird to live in a family house with a family of people I don’t know yet. Cooking dinner, paying rent, not in my parents’ house. This is me, not in college, everyone, especially me, surprised to see me with such an unmapped future. No college-dormhousemom-cafeteria-meal-plan.

  Dear Diary,

  Got a job at Dupont Natural Foods. Saturday Adda and Sean gave me a tour of the city. We took the Metro to Dupont Circle in DC. Mass transit is awesome. Supposedly the trains here are so clean that they’ve been used in movies as scenes where people go to heaven. Stopped by Dupont Foods where Sean works, filled out an application, got called, start in a week. Glad I don’t have to flip burgers or something. It should be a pretty cool job. Also cool that I still have a week off. Time to relax, get situated, explore the city.

  Atomic Records in Georgetown. Awesome.

  Eros Auto Association 7”. Kicks ass. Saw first picture of Tina on the back of her record. Now I know what the regular dweller of this room looks like. I found out from a record cover. Fucking weird.

  Can’t wait to tape Adda’s records.

  Carnival Plague plays on Thursday. With other bands that Sean and Adda say are really good.

  Wish I was at home for Maureen’s send off.

  Sat around the house and listened to records. I think I’m looking forward of going to work. Tried to call Maureen but it was busy, probably good, it will be cheaper to call later anyway. Think I’ll go swing in the park.

  Me, Adda, Sean, Ed, Christa and Marian made a big spaghetti dinner and went to the show. El Pollo Negro: big times three, half the smoke of Smiley’s, lots of people listening to rock music, Jane’s Addiction on the sound system in between bands, I only know five people, but at least I like everyone I know.

  Big mast statues over the bar, walls are purple, floor: huge and checkerboard. Little spotlights everywhere that cut through the smoke and illuminate spots on the checkerboard when it’s empty and the heads of the crowd when it’s full of people.

  Even though it’s a bar, anyone can get in.

  Animal Farm was awesome. They were all wearing paper mache pig heads and fishnet stockings. The slam pit was friendly, swirling bodies, other people in big animal heads who got subjugated and beaten by the band, and a big banner that said “Some Animals Are More Equal Than Others.”

  Carnival Plague: Spazzy singer looking inbred and dressed up like an 80’s new-waver. Hippie bassist, metal guitars, woman drummer who pounded the shit out of it. Rad. Adda said Tim, the singer, is Tina’s boyfriend. “Sometimes.”

  By the end of the show I could have wrung half a cup of sweat out of my shirt.

  Stayed up talking with Jordana at home. She’s so cool and foxy. Do housemates?

  And this is me writing in a journal, a parting gift from my parents (with one hundred dollars inside). Which brings me to the question: Why am I writing this? Who’s going to read it? Older me? Someone I trust who’s rummaging through my personal stuff? Grandchildren? Stealer of a backpack examining the goods?

  Whatever. Whoever you are, hopefully you’ll see something that doesn’t suck.

  Jordana and Sean and me did Food Not Bombs.Went around and got expired stuff from all the health food places (and Aaron robin hooded some good stuff from Dupont Nat. Foods). Mike and us three and Liz, Jason, and Nicole all made a big Soup with the vegetables, and sandwiches with the bread and ate health-food donuts while we cooked.

  Handed everything out in Lafayette Park. Vegetarian food for free, homeless people and punks and hippies all came. Jordana and Sean are in charge of doing this every Saturday.

  Food to the people. Thinking a lot about how much food gets thrown out around me every day. And all day at work I’m surrounded by food.

  “There’s starving children in…” But 40,000 die everyday. Like destroying food to end the great depression. So that “everyone” can eat again. Except the people who forever almost starve until they actually do.

  Michael came in today after the lunch rush, he was bossing everyone around:

  “Elliot,
could you straighten up the soda case? Everyone, while I have your attention, I just want to remind you that you can have one soda on your break, but you have to pay for juice or anything else.”

  Sean was all smiles and zeal, and went to work.

  “No problem, Michael! I’m gonna clean up the snack department, okay?” Susan was at the counter looking annoyed, and then Michael took her into the back to talk to her about something, “Elliot, could you take a break from the soda case and watch the counter for a second?”

  “No problem, Michael.” Maybe I could just run around and get nothing done all day. Sean started acting like he was dancing in a musical, straightening up the snack displays. He was exaggerating all of his movements and making a big production of sticking one of each snack into his jeans pockets.

  Then Michael and Susan came out of the backroom, and Sean kept vigorously tidying up the shelves, and shot Michael a big smile. Michael looked all proud and then he left. It turns out he was telling Susan that she needs to “seem happier in the store, especially around the customers.”

  Sean brought home lots of vegan chocolate bars for everyone. I wonder if Susan will get fired, it seems like she could get on Michael’s good side pretty easily, if she just tried a little. It sucks that Sean is Mr. Employee-of-the-Month while he steals lots of shit. But Michael sucks harder.

  Tired, but I want to write before I sleep, while it’s fresh. Jordana told me tonight that she was molested when she was six/seven. I had no idea what to say. “That really sucks,” or “I’m so sorry.” All responses sounded wrong in my head. I stayed silent for a while, then asked her how much she thought about it. She said that she thought about it a lot when she first remembered it, but that now she only thinks about it when things remind her, like I had by telling the story of my first grade girlfriend. And for a second I felt shitty about bringing up first grade, but then she seemed just kind of regular, and not upset. Then we played the spitting game, and I got nailed on the eyebrow by her first (and obviously juiciest) lugie.

  Back at the house, and the image of some hairybacked cretin touching a young Jordana has me creeped-out. But it probably wasn’t some hairyback, it was probably someone at church or school or uncle or baby-sitter. And then I think about Maureen, and visualize her uncle doing that shit to her. And I worry about Hannah, and wonder which is the asshole that might try and pull fucked-up shit with her. And I wonder if the assholes don’t have sisters or don’t think about them as being like their sisters. But then that’s fucked up, because if every girl is like your sister then which ones are you supposed to want to get it on with?

  The images of Jordana and Maureen and Hannah won’t let me get to sleep, and the usual sleeping pill of masturbation is way out of the question.

  That riot grrrl zine makes me think that it’s worse than one in four.

  On the Metro today, something like this:

  Sean:Sucks that Michael is such a dick to Susan.

  Me: It seems like if she’d just try to be a little more enthusiastic when he’s around that he’d lay off her…

  Sean: No way, he just gets off on having the power to tell people how to behave. Besides, why should she be enthusiastic?

  Me: Because people don’t want to come into a store where everyone is in a bad mood, and Michael wants people to enjoy shopping there, and since he’s the boss, we should act friendly so that he’ll be happy…

  Sean: Whatever, just cause he’s the boss doesn’t mean he’s better than us or something. This job is totally without purpose, other than to make money for his lazy ass. If you’re not going to enforce “profit-sharing” by giving yourself big “discounts,” you might as well scare away all the obnoxious customers. Lower profits discourage other people from wasting their lives on such useless endeavors.

  The rest of the way home I felt like such a kissass. The kid that wants to please the teacher, angry that the other kids aren’t acting quiet enough to earn the piece of candy for the class. Super lame. Wilson sucked, but at least I got to be the rebel, not the goodie-goodie.

  Food Not Bombs tonight. Super depressing. Old lady on the bench, got kicked out of her house, hard to tell if it happened two months ago or ten years ago. Didn’t know what to do. “I just got to find this piece of paper. Then they’ll give me my key.” And not sure if she’s on the streets because she’s crazy, or crazy from being on the streets. Not sure what to do either way. I was thinking about how there’s nothing short of bringing her back to the house that I could do, facing the fact that I wasn’t willing to do that. I looked up at the White House, like a postcard picture in the spotlights. I saw a huge rat in the flowers, galloping away like a fucking dog.

  Everyone is out tonight. Jordana and Christa went to a women’s coffeehouse meeting thing. Not sure where Sean and Mike and Ed are. Read an old issue of Riot Grrrl that had Christa and Jordana’s writing.

  Things I need to do

  1. Write more. (A zine?)

  2. Go to shows alone. Or invite other people to do shit, not wait to find out what the house is doing.

  3. Kiss someone. 87 and 1/2 days. Can’t even read Riot Grrrl without getting horny. Oy yoy yoy.

  Michael’s such a dick. Today he came in and was snacking on all the bulk foods. Susan was trying to look really happy and it was just really painful.“Smile and the world smiles back,” he said to her. Sean made a puke face behind his back and Susan just kept smiling. Her face looked broken. I wasn’t sure if she was going to cry or spit. When Susan got off, we were all hanging out by the register.

  Susan: “It should be illegal to schedule a place like this.”

  Sean: “What, making people work here for more than 40 hours a lifetime?”

  Susan: “No, setting it up so that we all work seven and half hour shifts and can’t get a lunch break or insurance or whatever cause we’re not fultime.”

  Sean: “It’s a health food store, just eat a lot of food, you won’t get sick.”

  Susan: “Michael’s already on my ass enough, he’d probably fire me.”

  Sean was dropping a jar of garlic-stuffed olives into Susan’s backpack while she was looking at me. Three seconds later, Michael came back in, “Come on guys, there’s always something to do around here, no reason to be sitting around. I’ll be in back getting ready to close.”

  Close call.

  Feels shitty, making plans to become a lousy employee. At Wilson Video I wouldn’t even take home the new releases because I wanted to keep the selection good for customers. But on the other hand, I could take home any other video for free with Mr. Roberts’ blessing. Country mouse in the big city.

  Long Distance, thank g-d.

  Me: I’m going to shows, have a job, doing Food Not Bombs, cool friends, people are making their own magazines…

  Them: Well, make sure to keep up with the writing and reading “so you won’t be out of practice when you get to college.”

  Oy, yoy, yoy.

  I thought statements from family therapists were supposed to be along the lines of “I hear what you are saying, and I support you in your efforts to become the person you want to become.” At least Mom’s capable of leaving her work at the office.

  I thought your motto was “Tune in, turn on, drop out.” Oh wait, maybe that policy has been revised to “Don’t do what you want, go to college.”

  He looks to be about 18, wearing clothes that pretend to be picked without a thought as to fashion. Not quite tall, but posture that looks like he’s used to ducking or accustomed to teachers and parents reminding him to sit and stand straight. He’s got fast eyes, like he’s new to this world, which he is. The kind of kid who finds a joke that pleases the crowd and keeps with it far beyond funny, as if to remind himself and the group that he has been capable of funny.

  They’re going bowling, and he seems confused, because bowling is old and familiar terrain, but these kids hate, loathe his old and familiar terrain. So did Elliot, that’s why he sought these new friends. But now they’re going
bowling, and it was the old Elliot that was the bowler. The new Elliot laughs out loud at the idea of bowling team. But these kids love to wear the shoes, and now they all have bowling names. Gilda and Bubba and Flamer are having a blast playing this goofy game, drinking soda, they even make a bet on the final score. Then the old Elliot comes to bowl, and the old Elliot wins the game by an easy 80 pins. And Christa (“Gilda” when she wears bowling shoes) is the big loser, so must karaoke at the Waffle House to the song of Elliot’s choice (the old or the new, whichever shows up). And though he’s realized that he’s the dumb kid that’s been invited to hang out only to be the butt of all the other’s jokes, he doesn’t see an even semi-graceful exit, and isn’t hurt enough to look for revenge. So he acts as though he doesn’t know, still hoping to win them over.

  At the Waffle House he picks “Elvis Trilogy” and acts like Christa (Gilda) is really going to get up and sing along in the middle of the restaurant. He’s trying to keep the lame trophy. And then seals his victory when the third part of “Elvis Trilogy” turns out to be “Dixie.” “I wish I were in the land of cotton/ Old times there are not forgotten.” He stops himself short of blushing, when he realizes that his eating partners haven’t taken exception to the lyrics. During the rest of the meal, he’s able to soothe his bruised ego by reminding himself that these kids don’t even understand the racism of the song’s words. It helps a little, but in the back of his mind he knows that they probably just weren’t listening, probably just trying to pretend that the whole thing wasn’t happening, that he wasn’t there at all, ruining their night on the town.

  And then, for a curtain call, he miscalculates his part of the bill, so it looks like he is trying to leave an 18 cent tip.

  The shittiest minutes of my DC.