Being a fat 14 year old is a rough business. Being old and fat is more excused, mostly because being old is a drag and people don't blame you for indulging in food and drink. But a fat 14 year old? You really have no excuses. Imagine a fat puppy. It's pathetic, isn't it? You really have to go out of your way to be a fat puppy. I know that I certainly went out of my way to be a fat 14 year old.
On one of my less fat days, I decided to walk from my mother's workplace (in downtown Gainesville) to Chapter 11, a local record/book shop. It was quite a jaunt, at least a few miles. I was wearing Fisherman's sandals, a most curious piece of footwear for anyone, let alone a 14 year old. The leather cut into my feet badly, and I remember being mostly uncomfortable on my walk. The heat, the grit, the honking cars, the exhaust from said cars, and my pudgy, not-used-to-walking feet. Despite the physical discomfort, I do remember taking in my surroundings more than I ever had before and feeling all the better for it. I noticed that there was a little green lot parallel to the Quinlan Art Center. I remember thinking that I could have a protest there quite easily, and all the traffic that passed by would view and tidily digest my message with no problems. How convenient! Most importantly, this was the first time that I noticed that discomfort didn't always have to be a bad thing. There are few activities more honest than walking, after all.
But to speed closer to the point, we'll go straight to Chapter 11. I remember browsing the racks, furiously wondering what album I should purchase. I was already finding much of my favorite music being classified as "punk," (more an ethos than a genre, as I would later find out) and I knew that Fugazi's name came up continuously. It's an odd name, really. A bit of Vietnam Vet slang, a subtle rudeness: Fucked Up, Got Ambushed, Zipped In. I didn't know that at the time, of course. In any event, after walking through the CD racks (all the while wringing my hands), I decided upon Fugazi's 13 Songs. I walked to the back of Corner Drugs, sat in their bushes, and proceeded to listen to my new album (I brought a CD player, of course). I was baffled. Not necessarily in a good way, understand. The liner notes were strangely minimal, with only a few pictures of the band; one of them sitting in Heathrow airport, another in a diner, and the above photo. The rest of the notes were mostly lyrics, all of which seemed to confront me on all of my insecurities. On a more musical note, I couldn't comprehend why this band kept taking little detours, staving off the big "Rock Moment" with all manners of rhythmic weirdness and guitar chatter. They certainly had their fair share of explosive moments, but they didn't indulge in them as much as the bands I was then listening to. I shelved the album for a moment, no doubt walking back to the Misfits or At The Drive-In.
A year or so later, I chanced upon the above photograph again while looking for something new to listen to. The pure kinetic energy of it rubbed off on me. We can't be sure what Guy Picciotto is doing, but his dervish-like movements come through even in a still image. I could talk about how much else this photograph secretly influenced me: the Marshall amp, the Jack Purcells, the stripped, bare aesthetic. But I'll keep those thoughts for another posting. Needless to say, the photograph triggered something. I looked down at my rounded edges with newfound determination, and soon thereafter I began a tiny little workout regimen that helped me shake off 40 or 50 pounds. It wasn't until a little bit later that Fugazi's music hit me. But the photograph wasn't a bad start.
