Fleet week friend-making
Oct. 14th, 2003 08:56 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gordonzolaAh, the Blue Angels. Non-Bay Area folks have probably noticed that all of us have written about them this week. They are inescapable. When they fly overhead it’s so loud you have to stop everything and let them pass. Inside or outside. In the car or on foot. On the phone, listening to music or cutting cheese. Probably even during sex but I didn’t have the opportunity to find that out.
I try not to be too cynical, really, but I can’t help feeling that beyond the tourist dollars there’s an implicit warning to the citizens of the Bay Area. "Look you freaks, we can take you anytime we want. And don’t forget it." And yes, I do feel it’s just a matter of time before one of those planes or pilots malfunctions and takes out a city block. Let’s just hope it’s Pacific Heights and not The Mission.
I had my first experience with fleet week when I was a teen-ager. I had just shaved my head for the first time so it must have been about 1982. I had a punk rock attitude but hadn’t quite made the full fashion transition. Mind you, shaving one’s head in 1982, even in the Bay Area, was an invitation to get called "faggot" and having shit thrown at you from cars.
Me and some friends were terrorizing tourists at Fisherman’s Wharf*, something we did periodically. Usually we’d hide in the wax museums and jump out at them when they least expected it. We used to climb up to the rafters in the "Haunted Goldmine"** and jump down behind people until they got wise and put razor wire up there. Though honestly, our shining moment was when we borrowed someone’s motorboat, drove close to shore, and mortared tourists with water balloons from a funnelator*** until the Coast Guard showed up.
Anyways, this time we knew right away that we shouldn’t fuck around with people because everyone at Fisherman’s Wharf was military. The Angels were flying overhead. Everyone, including us, was drunk and many seemed to be looking for fights. I was super paranoid, standing out in my crowd at that time and narrowly escaping a fight at the movie theater the night before because some metal kids didn’t like my haircut.**** Some punk friends in fact, had been attacked the previous night on Broadway outside a show. Luckily the guy in the band Bad Posture, who was like 6’7" and sported a foot high mohawk, came by and scared off the non-punk thugs.
We decide to flee before Bad Things happened. But, too many Meister Braus had taken their toll. "I’ve gotta piss," I said, all 15 year old butch-like, and headed into a crappy restaurant bathroom. Moments later, I heard someone open the door and come up behind me. I assumed it was one of my friends there for the same reason. But when I looked over I saw that it was two sailors. They reeked more of booze than I did. I took that they had bad attitudes as a given.
Cultural revolutions are violent times and that was certainly true of the Reagan ‘80s. Stand out and get beat down. Jumping freaks in a bathroom was a favorite trick of Reagan-ite bullies though, come to think of it, it was probably a time-honored tactic passed down from fathers who beat up hippies to sons who beat up punks and fags. At the Denny’s where my friend worked, she warned us about going to the bathroom alone after a Robert Smith-looking kid got beaten unconscious there.*****
The sailors came up on either side of me and I quickly tried to finish peeing. Zipping up and trying to get away, the guy on my right stopped me. "Hey!" he said. I didn’t realize you could slur a one-word sentence before that moment.
"So, what ship are you with?" he asked, all-friendly-like.
I pointed to the Bay. "Uh, that one over there," I replied and hurried out of the bathroom. Luckily they were drunk and that confused them just enough so that I could escape before they started wondering why I had such short hair if I wasn’t in the military.
*For non-locals, SF brilliantly planned a tourist area within the city where, aside from assorted tourist-workers, no locals ever set foot unless accompanied by out-of-town guests. Sure, it used to be a working pier, but those times are long gone. I must admit though, moving the Musee Mechanique there is tempting me.
**Cheapest wax museum there at the time.
***Big funnel with surgical tubing on both sides making it a super long distance sling shot, basically.
****This is before the big punk/metal crossover. Still punk’s biggest mistake ever, imho. Well, except for Christian hardcore and cry-baby emo, of course.
***** And because people always ask me, no he wasn’t Black. Because if he was, he wouldn’t have been in Denny’s at all. (scroll down just a little). Besides, he was beaten by Denny’s customers not as part of a management strategy. Or at least I’ve always assumed.
I try not to be too cynical, really, but I can’t help feeling that beyond the tourist dollars there’s an implicit warning to the citizens of the Bay Area. "Look you freaks, we can take you anytime we want. And don’t forget it." And yes, I do feel it’s just a matter of time before one of those planes or pilots malfunctions and takes out a city block. Let’s just hope it’s Pacific Heights and not The Mission.
I had my first experience with fleet week when I was a teen-ager. I had just shaved my head for the first time so it must have been about 1982. I had a punk rock attitude but hadn’t quite made the full fashion transition. Mind you, shaving one’s head in 1982, even in the Bay Area, was an invitation to get called "faggot" and having shit thrown at you from cars.
Me and some friends were terrorizing tourists at Fisherman’s Wharf*, something we did periodically. Usually we’d hide in the wax museums and jump out at them when they least expected it. We used to climb up to the rafters in the "Haunted Goldmine"** and jump down behind people until they got wise and put razor wire up there. Though honestly, our shining moment was when we borrowed someone’s motorboat, drove close to shore, and mortared tourists with water balloons from a funnelator*** until the Coast Guard showed up.
Anyways, this time we knew right away that we shouldn’t fuck around with people because everyone at Fisherman’s Wharf was military. The Angels were flying overhead. Everyone, including us, was drunk and many seemed to be looking for fights. I was super paranoid, standing out in my crowd at that time and narrowly escaping a fight at the movie theater the night before because some metal kids didn’t like my haircut.**** Some punk friends in fact, had been attacked the previous night on Broadway outside a show. Luckily the guy in the band Bad Posture, who was like 6’7" and sported a foot high mohawk, came by and scared off the non-punk thugs.
We decide to flee before Bad Things happened. But, too many Meister Braus had taken their toll. "I’ve gotta piss," I said, all 15 year old butch-like, and headed into a crappy restaurant bathroom. Moments later, I heard someone open the door and come up behind me. I assumed it was one of my friends there for the same reason. But when I looked over I saw that it was two sailors. They reeked more of booze than I did. I took that they had bad attitudes as a given.
Cultural revolutions are violent times and that was certainly true of the Reagan ‘80s. Stand out and get beat down. Jumping freaks in a bathroom was a favorite trick of Reagan-ite bullies though, come to think of it, it was probably a time-honored tactic passed down from fathers who beat up hippies to sons who beat up punks and fags. At the Denny’s where my friend worked, she warned us about going to the bathroom alone after a Robert Smith-looking kid got beaten unconscious there.*****
The sailors came up on either side of me and I quickly tried to finish peeing. Zipping up and trying to get away, the guy on my right stopped me. "Hey!" he said. I didn’t realize you could slur a one-word sentence before that moment.
"So, what ship are you with?" he asked, all-friendly-like.
I pointed to the Bay. "Uh, that one over there," I replied and hurried out of the bathroom. Luckily they were drunk and that confused them just enough so that I could escape before they started wondering why I had such short hair if I wasn’t in the military.
*For non-locals, SF brilliantly planned a tourist area within the city where, aside from assorted tourist-workers, no locals ever set foot unless accompanied by out-of-town guests. Sure, it used to be a working pier, but those times are long gone. I must admit though, moving the Musee Mechanique there is tempting me.
**Cheapest wax museum there at the time.
***Big funnel with surgical tubing on both sides making it a super long distance sling shot, basically.
****This is before the big punk/metal crossover. Still punk’s biggest mistake ever, imho. Well, except for Christian hardcore and cry-baby emo, of course.
***** And because people always ask me, no he wasn’t Black. Because if he was, he wouldn’t have been in Denny’s at all. (scroll down just a little). Besides, he was beaten by Denny’s customers not as part of a management strategy. Or at least I’ve always assumed.
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no subject
Date: 2003-10-14 09:02 am (UTC)You continue to tell the best stories ever.
no subject
Date: 2003-10-14 05:48 pm (UTC)and thanks.
no subject
Date: 2003-10-15 06:37 am (UTC)Happy birthday!
no subject
Date: 2003-10-15 03:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-14 09:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-14 05:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-14 09:39 am (UTC)I can only recall getting in one actual fight with tourists, though we certainly offered provocation often enough. While it's not exactly a bastion of haute couture now, in the 80s Panama City was so incredibly redneck that it was really wise for those of us with anything approaching a punk or alternative look to travel in packs.
The one tourist fight I recall happened only, I think, because the rednecks that started it with my friends underestimated how many of us there were.
no subject
Date: 2003-10-14 05:54 pm (UTC)"You beat us up when we're alone
come back later and then you're gone
now you're tucked away in your bed
and I've got stitches in my head
cuz you didn't like my looks
cuz I'm not in fashion books
admit it you had some fun
just remember, I'm not the only one
The justice system is slow it's true
so we'll have to take care of you
your only safety is suicide
face it buddy, it's the end of the ride"
no subject
Date: 2003-10-14 06:15 pm (UTC)It almost makes me want to reminisce about getting in fights and stuff, but that would probably bore everyone to tears. Heck, I'd probably get bored trying to finish the post.
no subject
Date: 2003-10-14 11:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-14 11:33 am (UTC)I'd really like to see a black guy who looked like Robert Smith. Seriously. I think I'd fall in love.
no subject
Date: 2003-10-14 01:21 pm (UTC)OMG, that's fucking awesome! I'm pretty sure that shit would get you deported to Guantanamo today, though.
So I was wondering, and maybe you know. When these drunk-ass sailors come streaming through the streets in uniform, is that because they are required to, or they don't have any other clothes, or because the chicks dig it? Cause I'd assume they'd want to wear normal clothes on their night off...
Also, when they're barely propped up against a wall slurring "hey baby" to each and every woman who walks by, does that trick ever work?
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Date: 2003-10-14 01:45 pm (UTC)According to my-brother-the-sailor, the chicks do in fact dig it.
no subject
Date: 2003-10-14 05:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-14 05:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-15 05:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-14 01:58 pm (UTC)My troubles with punk identity versus the world could easily be summed up by the Vandals' song "Urban Struggle", because it's all about the nightclub I went to here in beautiful Orange County.
no subject
Date: 2003-10-14 05:57 pm (UTC)"Those goddamn punks are crazy though
and meaner than a bull in a rodeo"
ahhhh, a punk rocker's ode to himself is always special.
no subject
Date: 2003-10-14 02:20 pm (UTC)Hey the haunted goldmine is GONE! It's been replaced by something more expensive. I snuck in under the ticket window years ago and ran around hiding and dodging the staff and security guard but of course we got busted when the exit led to the tourist trap shop.
So the musee mechanique is really there now? Sadness. Even Fort Mason is preferable to the Wharf.
no subject
Date: 2003-10-14 05:59 pm (UTC)we used to get extremely wasted, go down to Broadway and make fun of sailors.
yes, teenagers do crazy things. how did we survive?
WHEEEEEEEEE! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
Date: 2003-10-15 02:47 pm (UTC)hey you know those huge hillside concrete slides in noe valley? we used to get super drunk and then slide down them on cardboard headfirst into the gravel. aw, that sounds fun even now actually!
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Date: 2003-10-14 06:12 pm (UTC)I live in the flight path of the Blue Angels when they come to Seattle - they buzz so low across the neighborhood the windows rattle. I usually leave town for a few days.
no subject
Date: 2003-10-14 06:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-14 06:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-15 07:11 am (UTC)XOXOXO
no subject
Date: 2003-10-15 03:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-15 05:01 pm (UTC)Happy birthday sir!
no subject
Date: 2003-10-15 05:09 pm (UTC)but thanks!
no subject
Date: 2003-10-16 03:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-16 05:17 am (UTC)only a few hours belated...not bad!