Auburn, NY -- 1991/92
It wasn't really a crack house, but as you can tell from the interior decoration, it wasn't the fucking Playboy Mansion either. This was the communal punk/hardcore hangout in the little ass town I grew up in. A town whose total population is less than a weak attendance at a Yankees game on any given day. A town where you could sit on your porch and recognize nine tenths of the cars/people that drive or walk by. A town that drove me to drink, literally (see above photo).
At the time this photo was taken, I assume to be the ripe age of 14/15 years old. I don't have much of a memory and I don't know if I can attribute that to the drugs and booze frizzing my mind at such an early age, or the rock my brother (pictured behind me) dropped on my head from a tree at our camp years prior. I do recall smoking a bowl only moments after this photo was taken, puking up hot dogs all over the house, and getting kicked out. I walked home in the snow, half in the bag with vomit, Old Milwaukee, and Mary Jane on my breathe. Walking in the back door and avoiding conversation with my Dad was my main objective. I accomplished that, climbed the stairs to my room and crashed.
I look at this photo and wonder what would have happened to me if I hadn't found the things I did. If I hadn't heard Minor Threat, 7 Seconds, Subhumans, or Crass. If I didn't borrow that "Break Down The Walls" tape (and kept it) during gym class in 6th grade from the jock who was trying to get into skateboarding. If I didn't buy an Insted and Shudder To Think tape on that school trip to DC at some record shop in 7th grade. If I didn't catch Vision and Journeyman at The Lost Horizon that following summer.
I'd probably still be sitting on that mattress, wearing the same grungy-ass Zubaz pants with hot dog puke and warm Old Milwaukee beer stains on my flannel. Only I'd have a full grown beard and a bandana to complete the mirror image of Mike Judge entirely.
"Those days are gone, man... but they're not forgot."