San Francisco: Rare Punk Films Tomorrow
If you missed Punk Jews at the CJM, and you still want to get your fix of rare, geographically-specific punk films, fret not, for tomorrow is your chance:
[From Punk Cocktail.]
Films: LOUDER FASTER SHORTER (featuring early SF punk bands!) and Punk Cocktail: Zurich Scene 1976–80.
Where: New People’s Cinema: 1746 Post St/Webster, SF
When: Saturday, October 19th, at 9:30 PM
Why: Because it’s better than sitting at home listening to my radio show.
Both V. Vale (my celebrity crush) and Swiss director Rene Uhlmann will be at the event for audience Q+A after the screenings.
[Sleepers.]
[Mutants.]
Thanks to Ferrara for the tip about this one!
Ribbon Around A Bomb 
I’m not a cop! Outside is a public fountain full of coins where the homeless wait for free handouts of food. within mere doorways businessmen and business women eat in tai, japanese, and chinese restuarants. The perfect view from which to watch a homeless vagrant methodically apprehended and handcuffed during lunch hour. Being the hypocrite that I am, I too eased past that typical noon arrest. My punk cocktail is a busted dozen cans of Budweiser beer in the fridge. I don’t drink at all. My last public endeaver into public drinking was on the campus of a college I attended. At the time touted as being one of the top five most expensive colleges in the country. My most memorable punk movie experiences was seeing “Times Square” the movie in Manhatten. I shared some substances with a scarlet haired punk girl in the seat next to me. She countered with a red fish net stocking clad foot on my damp sneaker. The film didn’t include most of the punk performers I anticipated, but Trini Alvarado and Robin were whimsical enough to match the excitement I felt passing through the red velvet curtains of that Times Square cinema to the strains of “Same Old Scene” by Roxy Music. I attended a show at Mabuhay Gardens in 1980. In 1995 I slept on the gritty, wet dirt of a San Francisco public park.in the drizzling rain. In 1980 I a was a sheltered college student from one of the most expensive colleges in the country. I had a teacher’s aide stint at the Presidio Hill School. In 1995 the gates of a police station closed me out to return to at least a wet concrete bench to sleep on near the park I had chosen. For the brother who sat down next to me on the bench I had chosen to recline on that I’m sorry for yelling at you. My singing the punk songs to myself in the warm stairway might have sounded inclusive. I just couldn’t handle having a brother put his hand on the crotch of my rain soaked pants in silence. The bands mentioned sound cool. I would like to see the Mutants and the Nuns in action, but I reside in Birmingham, Alabama, and I’ll probably just tune in to Ribbon Around A Bomb. I watched Afro Punk earlier today. It was good as usual. I felt most for the brother who died and never found the punk community he sought, ven having toured the world. The women of color were inspiring. The woman who dated people of any race and sewed her own shirts was great. The woman sporting the Bad Brains t-shirt brought back memories of my exciting, first Bad Brains show in Max’s Kansas City. Nothing but teenie weenie afros and straight(straightening comb)hair. On my way home from the post office some kid blurted out his admiration for the Bad Brains shirt I was wearing. At least the fifth who have done so in this area. A guy in a Tool t-shirt was so taken by it on day that he almost begged and conned me into exchanging it for the one on his back. I didn’t. On my route back from CVS pharmacy the other day, I spat in the direction of a squad car that was waiting at a traffic light almost a block away. They pulled into the lane along side the sidewalk I was walking. They stopped beside me and the brother on the passenger side, without a smile, proceeded to almost open the door and address my having spat(?). I kept walking and into the stream of characters and students who never commented nor came to my assistance. I understand that spitting is an offense worthy of a fine, but in the case of baseball players and football players during televised games it goes unnoticed. I wish we had a local station like Ribbon Around A Bomb. Last band I recall liking on the fm dials was the X Teens with “All Day Long” and the Muffs. Hopely my end of Ribbon Around A Bomb will come through tonight, and I won’t get fooled into dance song after dance song, which upsets me, because the reference to “Ghost World” which opens the show connects me to places where I was born but will never be. When kids could put on costumes and walk the dark evenings every Halloween and not care who had the shitty neighborhood, or where the rich people with the best candy lived. If the Red Aunts ever come to my area again I may stop trembling enough to open my door to them after a kick after one of their blazing renditions of “Sweet Enough”. I requested when they were here last, but …