A Christmas Punk
Bah humbug!
Christmas is a beautiful time of year. Decorated trees, blankets of snow, and presents.
That being said, I left the tree in storage, live in a warm climate, and observed a no-gift policy this year.
My holiday spirit was curbed between the insanity of the Covid19 pandemic, a brewing Civil War in the United States, and other life stresses.
As a matter of fact, the only thing I want for Christmas is peace and quiet.
However, while working from home, my concentration was interrupted by a horn.
Not the sound of a temporary alarm from an emergency vehicle whizzing by. This trumpet was unusually loud…and PERSISTENT.
I also heard a clarinet and tuba. The wind section was complemented by drums, cymbals, and a violin.
The entire orchestra erupted a few feet from my door, with no intention of passing through.
Irritation boiled inside of me. I felt like Jack Nicholson in As Good as it Gets after his concentration was broken by a knock at the door.
“Son-of-a-Bitch!”
Photo by Camy Aquino from Pexels
I flipped on my porch light and opened the door. Sure enough, a traveling orchestra was sprawled out across my lawn.
The moment the musicians saw me, they broke out into song. Happy to award me a front-row seat at their impromptu concert.
The moment should have sparked joy, but it flared annoyance. I forced a fake smile as I struggled to hold my last work thought.
The juxtaposition of my growing irritation with their jolly fa-la-la-la-la made my head throb.
I slowly closed my door in a rather passive-aggressive manner.
One singer was alerted to my lack of Christmas music appreciation and halted the band. I froze since my escape was made.
“Good evening, would you like to donate—” she started to ask.
“No…” I awkwardly said.
Ebenezer Scrooge felt that Christmas was a financial scam, using emotional tactics to lure away his hard-earned money.
With crooners randomly showing up unannounced on my front lawn, he may have had a point.
After I closed the door, the band played next door. My neighbor’s dog, Rio, freaked out. Rio tried to scare them away, but they persisted.
Instead of an orchestra, it was now the battle of the bands. Charity’s Tune vs. The Howl.
I get that many love Christmas music. I’m just not one of those people. Same with Christmas movies.
My family loves A Christmas Story and National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. Whereas my Christmas movie of choice is Die Hard.
I sat back down at my computer. Stared at the screen in an attempt to regain my concentration.
Sometimes I get caught up in a shitstorm when I work too hard. A wildfire of endless brainstorming, faltering, and back to the drawing board.
It’s easy to get caught in a cycle of inner turmoil. So much so that I forget an external world exists.
I suppose all work and no play make Bethany a dull girl. So, the proverb goes.
I needed to break away. Fortunately, Scary Mary swooped in to save the day.
“I’m going to a punk show with friends. Might have an extra ticket,” she offered.
A flash of memories sparked in my mind. Baby doll dresses, wife beaters, flannel, baggy jeans, chain wallets, and Doc Martens. Long before today’s Doc Martens fad. Though truthfully, I never stopped wearing them.
At that time, I listened to east coast hardcore music and was part of the underground scene. Generally performed at small, local venues.
I always jumped into the center of the mosh pit—one of the most dangerous places at a concert.
A violent space of kicks, punches, body slams, and headbanging. When I wasn’t moshing, I was stage diving or crowd surfing.
My interest in hardcore music paved the way for punk. Reconnecting with this type of music was what the rebel in me needed.
“So, if you’re interested, it’s The Vandals.”
“Who?” I asked.
“80s staple of the OC punk scene.”
Since I was a child of the 80s, who grew up on the east coast, I had absolutely no idea who The Vandals were but down to join, regardless.
My closet used to be stocked with punk gear. Chains. Studs. Pleather. Mesh. Fishnets.
Sadly, that inventory has depleted over the years. I settled for all black with Doc Marten boots, respectably.
The show was at the House of Blues. Proof of vaccination was required. Or a negative rapid test, which was readily available by the security gate.
Scary Mary’s friends were already inside. Our friend Leo also joined. The crowd was a variety of black lipstick, mohawks, plaid, and rock tees.
The concert-goers were what I remembered, except for one minor detail. Everyone was my age or older. The twenty-somethings were around but in the minority.
While I recently explored my mid-life crisis ala stripper pole class, I was all set with revisiting moshing, stage diving, and crowd surfing.
While fun at the time, the thought of a million hands handling me now feels deeply unsettling for various reasons. #covid #metoo #concretefloor
Scary Mary’s friends landed a great spot. The stage was literally in arm’s reach, away from the crowd, and had a railing to place drinks and coats.
Ah, the things I appreciate in my forties. One friend brought earplugs.
“I got them from him,” Jen gestured to the security guard in front of us.
Nothing says street cred like asking for a pair of earplugs at a punk show.
Considering we were a few feet from a massive stage speaker designed to fill the entire venue, I practically begged. The security guard was kind enough to offer me a pair.
The lead singer, Dave Quackenbush, opened the show. I recognized a few tunes from my Google search 6 hours earlier. My Girlfriend’s Dead. Ape Drape. Flowers are Pretty.
They had a shocking amount of Christmas songs. Initially, I thought it was a punk show that happened to perform during Christmas time. Apparently, it was the 26th Annual Christmas Formal.
The encore offered two cover songs. Don’t Stop Me Now and So Long, Farewell. But to my surprise, their hit song, Oi to the World, resonated with me. I blinked.
“Hey, I know who these guys are!” I finally realized at the umpteenth hour.
Dave Quackenbush, Lead Singer, The Vandals
Warren Fitzgerald, Guitarist, The Vandals
The guitar player, Warren Fitzgerald, busted open several pinatas. He threw all sorts of band paraphernalia into the crowd.
He kicked up a rampage as he barreled towards our end of the stage. He tossed a bunch of goodies in the air, including a band t-shirt—which I caught!
After the show, Scary Mary and Leo waited in line to buy merchandise.
“I’m gonna hang back if you ladies want to take off,” Leo said. “The drummer is supposed to come out, and I’m dying to meet him.”
Leo has been a fan of The Vandals since the 90s. He was also lucky to land Josh Freese’s solo album. Apparently, Josh only brought 10 copies to the show. Or so, I heard from the artist himself.
Both Josh and the bassist, Joe Escalante, greeted fans. Leo was thrilled to get his record signed. I presented my t-shirt (from the 25th-anniversary show) and got both signatures. When in Rome.
Meaning, I received an invitation last minute to watch a show from the best spot in the house. And caught a free t-shirt, only to meet 2 out of the 4 band members, who both signed it. Not bad for a 6-hour fan.
Josh Freese, Drummer, The Vandals
Joe Escalante, Bassist, The Vandals
The night felt like a Christmas miracle. An unusual and happy event that took place close to Christmas Day. A divine intervention where I went from feeling “bah humbug” to “God bless us, everyone!”
While I was not visited by three spirits per se, I was intrigued by three random moments that led up to the concert. Consequential details that may appear meaningless but were mini warnings to me.
I carry my vaccination card in my purse, but my bag got wet at home. After I dumped everything out, I forgot to grab the card on the way out. On the way, I worried about missing the show since the card was needed to get inside. Previously, other venues only accepted hard copies. Fortunately, they took a digital version.
After I parked, my car door refused to close. I was fearful that it broke. I began to wonder how I’d drive home safely, plus the time and cost of the repair. Fortunately, the plastic part of the seatbelt got jammed and was easy to dislodge.
At dinner, I grabbed a napkin from a dispenser, but the whole thing fell apart. I was concerned that I might be liable and wondered if I had to replace it. The manager laughed and reassembled it.
Image by A Christmas Carol from WallpaperAccess
No matter how insignificant, these little things were instances of breaking something one way or another.
Reacting to fear rather than seeing how the situation played out. A metaphor for my life.
Little trivial nothings, if not heeded, may build into something much bigger, and unwanted, if I don’t change my ways.
Upon realization, I disappeared before the show started. I needed a moment to myself.
Like Ebenezer Scrooge, I had to let go of the past, keep perspective on the present, and embrace the future.
It’s so easy to lose perspective and forget where I stand in the present day. To acknowledge the moment, here and now.
A vital need to move forward into the future of my desire.
While I cannot control the outcome, the good news is it only takes a moment for me to turn it all around.
Besides, I might just have an epic night.
Happy Holidays!
“If God came down on Christmas Day, I know exactly what He’d say, Oi to the punks and Oi to the skins. And Oi to the world and everybody wins!”
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