I’m listening to a radio show that’s playing some extremely choice and very obscure early-80s Northern California punk music.
I am cringing, cringing, CRINGING. There was a silly novelty-record feeling to a lot of that music (even the Dead Kennedys were very goofy a lot of the time).
I’m not cringing from the sounds per se, but more from remembering what a little punker poser asshole I was in those days. Oh my god.
I was neither tough nor cool. Just a degenerate, disrespectful, petty criminal.
Ack. Flooded by memories. Let’s just move on, shall we?
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One response to “mortifying old days”
I want to start a gang of 40+ petty criminals…as long as we get to wear striped shirts and berets.