Lessons in Punk, Cheesiness and IEDs

I listened to a punk rock icon talk about the good old days, I saw quite possibly the worst movie of my life and I met a guy whose body had been shattered by an IED in Iraq. I guess I'll start at the beginning.

Tesco Vee, former lead singer of the Meatmen and co-founder of the Touch and Go zine and later Touch and Go Records, both enormous influences on the early punk rock scene, came to Chop Suey to sign books and talk about his life experience. Learning that he had been an elementary school teacher at the time he was doing the zine and singing in the band was a little hard to reconcile, but, oh, the anecdotes he shared.

I liked him immediately when he described himself as "a music fan first and foremost." He recalled being an uber-record nerd who drive 200+ miles to the best record store in Michigan for the latest punk imports back in the late 70s. "We had a feeling of being in the know and our job was to write about it," he said, explaining the birth of the zine.

"I'm not bitter that a lot of my contemporaries are making multi-gazillions," he insisted. "I'm a 14-year old in a 55-year old's body. And I'm still having fun." My goal exactly.

Crossing the street to the Byrd Theater for the benefit tonight was a trip back to the 80s. I was less curious about the retro element of the film than its location, the Jefferson Hotel, back before its renovation.

Todd Schall-Vass introduced Rock and Roll Hotel by saying, "The Byrd has played host to many fine motion pictures. This probably won't be one of them." And let me assure you it definitely wasn't. "A bad movie for a good cause," was how he put it.

The corny story of an aspiring rock band (and I use the term loosely) who make it to the Rock and Roll Hotel to compete for first place was cheesy beyond belief. Judd Nelson has been in a lot of bad movies but this one was in a class by itself. Bad 80s dancing, clothing and music, a cast of mediocre actors and a script so contrived and dated as to be groan-inducing.

If you need convincing, during a scene where the female manger of a radio station justifies a switch from a rock format to adult contemporary, she says, "After listening to Twisted Sister, I found myself doing the dirty boogie with the Xerox man." Baaad.

But we weren't there for quality film making; we were there for nostalgia and to see our beloved Jefferson. From the first scene of the exterior of the hotel to the fireworks exploding inside, the audience cheered for our four diamond hotel. When the grand staircase appeared, the audience erupted in clapping and yelling.

And did I mention the benefit raised $10,000 for the Byrd Theater?

For those who'd paid a premium, there was a post-screening soiree at the Jefferson. Many people headed directly across the street to Secco afterwards, no doubt needing to blot out the memory of the 80s with multiple beverages. And while I felt the same, I didn't want to fight the crowds.

As it was, a guy stopped me outside the theater and solicited my thoughts on the movie. Did it have potential as a midnight movie a la Rocky Horror Picture Show? With some additional editing, couldn't it make it as a new release of an old film? I guess he'd been to the movie alone too, and wanted someone to discuss it with.

So I escaped to Rosie Connolly's for a drink and some quiet, except that I was immediately invited to leave my stool and join two guys on their side of the bar. One was a former teacher from Chicago, so we talked baseball, weather and bad writing and the other was the vet who'd graduated from VMI and done two tours of Iraq.

He has an artificial lung, one kidney, a chunk out of his butt and several other reconstructed organs, but, as he put it, "I'm not dead and that's good, right?" His attitude in general was amazingly upbeat and positive. He is the fist person I've ever met who's been to Iraq, much less had his body ripped apart by an IED.

None of which prevented him from trying to rub my back ("That's inappropriate" I told him), telling me I was gorgeous from a distance of less than a foot ("No, I'm really not. And you need to back up a little."), saying I had the best legs in the world ("Let's just say they're the best in the bar, shall we?") and asking if I'd go out with him ("I don't date," to which he responded, "Well, I can keep trying, can't I?" Actually, I'd prefer that you didn't.).

I found it somehow reassuring to know that even after eleven years in the military, two tours of duty and great trauma, he was still comfortable enough with himself to just act like a guy.

Further proof, as I was reminded today, that guys really can be such simple creatures.