Acrofish keeps plumbing the archives. I don't think I've even seen this picture before. This is what I looked like in the late eighties, happily sitting inside the hallowed halls of 924 Gilman, punk mecca and weekend hangout place for many years. I don't know why Chris was grabbing his butt.
Gilman St. is still there. I've been there a few times over the last decade or so, but it's not quite the same. For one thing, I'm now old enough to have fathered most of the new crowd, and most of the bands I used to see have long since broken up or divided themselves, amoeba-like, into other bands. The new bands just ain't as cool. Sometimes you can't go back. Still, I have many good memories of the place, whether it was the actual music (mostly punk, with the occasional metal, indie rock, or experimental band thrown in to liven things up) or playing leap-frog or wallowing in the trash flung into the audience by early Gilman house-band Isocracy. In exchange for free entry, I even volunteered there a few times, working the door or stage managing.
Check out the current state of Gilman St. here. I scrolled through the calendar and only recognized a handful of band names. Some of them are still at it, I see...
Sometime later, Acrofish would get tired of the smelly denim jacket I was wearing in this picture and tear it into little pieces. I safety-pinned it back together and continued to wear it anyway. It eventually disintegrated for good when I finally tried to wash it.
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