Dear Fuckface;

It is no secret that I am, for all intensive purposes, a tall skinny pimple faced nerd. I'm old. I own a dumpy, odd smelling old house . I'm married. I teach, where Math is my favorite subject. I run a chess club. I like to garden. We have Kitaro records.

I still read the rags: MRR, Hit list, the occasional zine. I read about all these 'issues' in the scene, and everyone's experiences/conflicts with bands and zines and labels. The question that plagues me every time I suffer through these mountains of 'insight' and 'perspective' and 'rebuttal' is WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO YOU PEOPLE?!?!?! Punk Rock used to actually stand for something. It scared people, and more importantly, it was fun.

What alarms me the most is even at my advanced age, I still have a better time than this fourth generation of 'punk rock'. What did you fuckers do to our baby? I submit a sample of what we do with OUR spare time, so that maybe you can accent your pathetic lives by living vicariously through ours.

I scored a chance at free trip to D.C, and having never been there nabbed it immediately. In Chicago I relentlessly cajole the Dwarves merch guy to get me on the guest list in D.C., to which he obliged to cease my endless annoyance. After some 'mixed emotion' sightseeing , I hopped the train to some strange neighborhood for the show. Ghetto or not, there are some clean ass subway stations in our nation's capitol. Just don't try to take a picture of them, cuz nothing clears up a 'free country' argument faster than a Police Baton upside the dome.

The Dwarves are, as usual, meteoric. The crowd is east coast (read: jock skinheads). They deplore the greatest touring band alive and await, eagerly, The Dropkick Murphy's. I have few qualms with these guys, but by no means understand why the 'hooligan wannabee' dolts look upon them as gods. Suburban Maryland must be psuedo-Nationalistic Irish Hell. This is a crowd of people who vomited violently in agonizing remorse when 'House of Pain' failed to produce a long series of records. Now they've jumped the hip-hop ship and are polluting perfectly vile punk rock shows. My family was Sinn Fein and they would have blown these mutant pukes away for embarrassing the homeland. Bouncing Souls finishes and, having been to a titty bar with them on our wedding anniversary, I am in no way going to waste time watching these lame fucks.

Back in Chicago, Supersuckers/Nashville Pussy/Motorhead destroy. It is the last day of the school year; every scumbag I've known since 1983 is there, and it is weird. Motorhead plays 'God Save the Queen', and I realize that even the good bands are now feeding on each other's material. And does EVERY fucking band have to end with a cover? Write your own songs stupid fucks.

A very nerdy summer adventure is to camp in my in-law's front yard. Sleeping on the lawn still manages to be more fun than every blowjob you've ever had, combined. Booze, fire and explosives light the night sky. When my mother-in-law states-"you were up awful late last night," I am shocked. "You heard that?" The whole fucking county heard it. Patrick is such a weenie he can't handle the rough terrain of the front lawn and breaks into the house to pass out drunk on the couch. I'll be sure to hear about that at xmas.