I was back in cold rainy Corvallis, but I felt great. I was surrounded by people who loved me, my family and friends, a good job, cute place to live, and a radio show that I lived for. Plus I had started writing again for my friends' fanzine Flaccid. Life was settling back into a comfortable predictable flow of late nights drinking, talking with friends, listening to music, and afternoons filled with running the coffee shop. I felt safe for the first time in a year. Plus I had tons of new music to listen to, and was making new friends and contacts with bands that were capturing my imagination.
I started a pen-pal relationship with Mark from Tar, a Chicago based band that had released a record on Amphetamine Reptile Records. I was able to share my deepest secrets with this fellow I had never met, but from listening to his songs knew he would understand what was going on with me. I had been toying with starting a record label called Sweet Sexy Suicide. I even drew up the logo (which I still have). I had no idea how one put out records, but I was obsessed with the idea. I had contemplated the darker side of life and emotions, and had had many friends take their own lives. It was not something I would have got to for myself, but after my experiences in San Francisco, I understood that despair and darkness that could lead one to that path. Somehow, combining those ideas into a record label seemed to make sense. Of course, I never got that far, but it was fun to write about to Mark.
Bands continued to come through town, but since there was no club to play at, house parties were the way to go. Coffin Break, Gas Huffer, Beat Happening, Fastbacks, Vomit Launch.... I can't really remember them all, but I do remember it was the way we all got together and got to see some of the new bands we were spinning on the air. We'd all chip in for a keg of beer, and pass the hat to get gas money for the bands. I remember letting Coffin Break crash at my house, and waking up with them on the couch, not really remembering how we all got back to my place. But it was fun and a great way to let off steam. For a brief time, some practice spaces opened up on 2nd street in an old warehouse, and a few of us from the radio station orgainzed to put on shows there, but that never really got off the ground.
Finally, the space above the biker bar The Peacock on 2nd street opened up for us to put on some shows. It was called the Top of The Cock, and one of the girls from KBVR, Deb Dubas, arranged for Screeching Weasel to come play. The place was packed with kids, and all of us from the station were there to help her and to see the band. I had my hand in a cast, having been hit and knocked off my bicycle a few days earlier by another bicyclist.
The place was jumping up and down and the band was really working the crowd. There was some dude there who was giving a kid shit, pushing him around and not in a fun way, but in a totally aggressive bullying sort of way. I stepped between him and the kid and politely told him to knock it off, that we didn't need any trouble here or they wouldn't let us put on another show. Instead of backing off and being cool, the guy pushed me, and threatened to hit me! Then he tried to reach over me and punch the kid. Here I am, 5' 2" tall, broken hand, completely taken by surprise at his reaction, pushing on him to keep him from landing a punch on the kid.
Thankfully, a bunch of my friends saw what was happeneing and dragged the guy off of me, and kicked him out. To tell you the truth, I don't remember the rest of the show. I guess it all worked out ok, because we were allowed to schedule some more shows. I came to the realization that I really liked going to punk shows as long as everyone was cool and just having fun. As soon as attitude got involved, I checked out.
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