April
kicks ass? Well, she kicked mine!
Richard Meltzer says rock'n'roll
is a fight waiting to happen.
I say, "Hey, I said that!" Richard
Meltzer says what's a nice girl
like me want to be hanging out
at rock shows for? I say, "Nice
girl?"
You all seem to have me pegged
as a "nice" midwestern preacher's
daughter walking on the wild side.
Well, I am, but preacher's daughters
are notorious rabble-rousers,
ya know. And just cuz I'm "smart"
and got this little giggly high-pitched
Marilyn voice doesn't mean that
inside I'm not Mike fucking Tyson.
Geez.
I got beat up again. That's, what,
five times in five months? Yup.
Officer Friendly calls me his
little punching bag friend. Hippie
stripper says I'm just trying
to be closer to an abusive ex-boyfriend.
I say people just keep pissing
me off!
This time I wound up in the emergency
room. Drove myself there in lieu
of seeing the Melvins post-Mudhoney
to get my lip stitched up and
my grossly swollen face x-rayed.
Some smelly little skater chick
beat the crap out of me when I
asked her sternly to stop pushing
her ass into my hip bone over
and over again. Folks say I should
learn how to street fight, but
I don't hit chicks. Ever. Ex-boyfriends
I'll work over now and then, but
never chicks.
So I've been rockin' this black
eye for ten days now. It is really,
REALLY black. The lid is ash black
like superfab smoky eyeliner and
the rest is purple. Blondie says,
"It looks like Mac! It's gorgeous!"
Most people say nothing. You can
tell they really want to ask,
but I act as if nothing is horribly
wrong with my face and they respond
in kind. Until I walk down lower
west Burnside.
"Holy shit gurl you betta find
that motha-fuckah and kick his
motha-fuckin' ass! Gurl!"
The bums all wanna know how I
got it. Usually I like to say,
"I got beat up by a CHICK!!!"
Like how-humiliating-is-that?
Mexicans do drive-bys and point
out the obvious: "Wow you got
knocked out!" The yuppies turn
and stare. I think they want me
to cover it up. But why should
I? I got nothing to hide. Hiding
a black eye indicates someone
inflicted humiliation on you.
Not me! I was, uh, proud, sorta.
Especially when I heard that it
was MUDHONEY who got the rumor
mill churning, telling Mike H.
that I kicked the crap out of
HER. Plus it really is quite lovely.
The purple brings out the green
in my eyes, and looks spectacular
if I wear a little lavender sweater.
I wear pigtails often, and folks
say I look like a Jim Goad cover
girl. One night I wore a prom
dress and classy boots and a silky
black bob wig. And a black eye.
I'm having a motherfucking blast.
I'm gonna miss it when it's gone.
It's a great conversation starter,
too, and Lord knows I love a great
conversation.
At work all I have to do is put
industrial strength foundation
on the bottom (that Revlon Color-Stay
shit is like plastic) and then
match my left eye to my right
with various purple and black
shadows. If I feel I need to impress
a regular with my Mike Tyson-ness,
I point out that one eye is naturally
TOTALLY FUCKED. The girls call
me Scarface and Bruiser and I
blush like I'm twelve.
Maybe this is taking my tomboy
thing too far. I always dreamed
of winning the Heisman Trophy,
not the trophy husband. This bruiser
Viva was always just under my
skin. You can see her now, melting
down the right side of my face.
Of course violence is Not Cool
and if someone you love is beating
the shit out of you it eviscerates
you and never ever heals. But
I don't love this little skater
tramp--whose name, by the way,
is April--and rock'n'roll is a
fight waiting to happen. I haven't
been in a rock'n'roll fight since
Zen Guerrilla in 1998. Feels like
an auspicious time to announce
the return to the stage this month
of Portland's bruiser band par
excellence, COCO COBRA &
THE KILLERS, playing with
the supergreat Electric Six on
4/27 at Dante's.
