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Buy Invega no prescription, So it finally happened this summer, actually it happened a couple of times much to my shock and dismay. As I was driving home from work I decided to take a break from my alternating CD rotation of the Queers and the Hold Steady and flipped over to the radio and that's when it happened- I heard the Ramones and The Clash on the radio, El Paso, Texas. Washington, D.C. Seattle, Washington. Purchase Invega online, What’s the big deal with this. The Ramones and the Clash have been on the radio for ever they’re not exactly an underground phenomena anymore, kjøpe Invega online, bestill Invega online. Where can i find Invega online, Teens and preteens sport their T-shirts and their songs have been used in various commercials for the last few years. Hell my father in law even has a Ramones T-shirt.  Its not like some one just let the cat out of the bag about my favorite ohh soo obscure super cool band that only me and three of my hand picked friends are allowed to like, buy Invega no prescription. Nope what really has my head spinning is that I heard them being played on KLOS-the classic rock station, rx free Invega. Buy cheap Invega, Yet another nail in the coffin of my youthful rebellion. This revelation did not cause anger or resentment but rather confusion followed by the stark realization that Im getting old.



Now I’ve never been bothered by the fact that my once jet black hair is looking more like gray with a few black streaks-kind of like a scrawny version of Henry Rollins, Jacksonville, Florida, Columbus, Ohio. 125mg, 150mg, 200mg, 250mg, Or the fact that I still call CD’s albums or that I find my self constantly using the phrase “damn kids these days” without a hint of irony. Buy Invega no prescription, Or that my high school students were born the same year I graduated from high school. All of those things just rolled of my back because well quite frankly I’ve always been somewhat of an immature goof off and you’re only as old as you feel or act.I mean I love watching Spongebob and Phineas and Ferb as much as my preschool aged daughter does, Boston, Massachusetts. Charlotte, Carolina. Where can i buy Invega online, But this, this was different, where can i order Invega without prescription, Buy Invega online no prescription, this was two worlds colliding. This was the unfathomable coming to fruition, Invega price. Comprar en línea Invega, comprar Invega baratos, Its almost like discovering your mom is dating the high school principal, that is if your mom were single, Invega from canadian pharmacy. I’ve never been one to begrudge bands success and airplay, buy Invega no prescription. Boston, Massachusetts. Charlotte, Carolina, Far from it. I get stoked when music I love has a chance to be appreciated by a large audience, 400mg, 450mg, 500mg, 625mg. Buy Invega online cod, It means that we’re winning and for at least two odd minutes the purveyors of overproduced generic cheese are being kicked to the curb and our heros get their moment in the sun. What’s really got me worked up is the reality that all movements and music are cyclical, Invega coupon. Buy Invega no prescription, Eventually everything new gets replaced by something newer and fresher. Nashville-Davidson, Tennessee. Portland, Oregon, Its not rocket science just evolution I mean once upon a time Elvis was considered a devil tempting teenagers with lust and a gyrating pelvis until he wound up wearing a jumpsuit and singing the battle hymn of the republic to housewives in Vegas. Sir Paul McCartney and the rest of the Beatles were an affront to good taste with their scandalously long hair and lets not forget the Rolling Stones were once the most dangerous band in the world, buy Invega without a prescription. Online buy Invega without a prescription, So yeah maybe the music that we once thought would kill off the long winded and overblown crap of the seventies is now being played right next to it and that just might be a good thing because this means that OUR music is not a fad, its been built to last, reasons to buy Invega online. 5mg, 50mg, 75mg, 100mg, So maybe the fact that my favorite bands are being played on a classic rock station these days means I really am getting old but at least Im not going away. Some bands are like prehistoric creatures are meant to be extinct and some are like cockroaches with three chords and a leather jacket they just keep going and going waiting for the next fad to die off and emerge from the rumble, where can i find Invega online. Detroit, Michigan, San Jose, California, I'm with the cockroaches.

 

-Daniel N-

 

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Punk Rock Academy Fight Song – They have come for your uncool niece

Arrgh, This one hurts. There goes my street cred. Call the scene police. Forgive me Jello for I have Sinned.  As much as this column is a portal into the things that made me a punk it is also as you may have picked up on by now a confessional of some decidedly un-Punk moments but those are really the important ones aren’t they? So what is my big transgression this time? I sang out loud to a Journey song-in a bar. And damn it I will do it again. And so would a lot of you out there and guess what there’s nothing wrong with that.

The incident in question took place a few years ago at one of my favorite haunts, Alex’s Bar in Long Beach. Now Alex’s is a dyed in wool Punk rock dive with a portrait of Johnny Cash hanging over the bar and dia de los muertos artwork scattered throughout. This makes my alleged crime akin to wearing a Giants cap to Dodger stadium or maybe drawing a mustache on the Mona Lisa or ordering a Michelob Ultra- you just don’t do it. So any way it was a sweltering summer night and my buddy Mike A. and I had decided to go over to Alex’s for a pint or three and talk music, we were in band together(but that’s another column-see that’s called foreshadowing folks) and generally just be slacker degenerates. So a couple of drinks into the evening it happened. The jukebox started up and the familiar sounds of Don’t Stop Believin’ started pulsing out of the speaker. We had no choice we had to do it, maybe it was the booze or maybe just maybe we really liked that infernal tune. That’s right we stood up and started belting out the chorus at the top of our lungs and we didn’t care who was looking at us and what they were thinking. Because in the midst of our revelry two girls at the table next to us started snickering at us in their attempt to shame us and brand us as less than cool, objects of scorn and ridicule for the musical elite that we had betrayed by our outrageous display. How dare we taint the sanctity of this establishment with our unabashed enjoyment of Journey. The only possible course of action was to leave as quickly as possible and never show our faces there again, right? Wrong. Instead I took a long pull of my beer gently set it down on our table, walked over to our mockers and proceeded to inform them that A. the song was in the jukebox so obviously a lot of other people including the owner probably liked that song B. Somebody else in the bar had to have requested it and C. get over yourself and admit that you like the damn song and just have a good time. Maybe they were too shocked or maybe they knew that I was right and they were the ones who had indeed sent the their hard earned dollar on that selection but my tormentors were left speechless and I triumphantly  returned to my table and sank into my chair and enjoyed the refreshing taste of victory and the rest of my beer.

Sometimes in our pursuit of coolness, in our rush to go against normal conventions we get a bit full of ourselves and don’t allow ourselves to admit we like certain types of music because they might lower our hip quotient or put a dent in our status as anti-establishment crusaders. I myself am as guilty as anybody of often being a music snob and many a time have I publicly and quite mercilessly assailed peoples choices in song. Because really there is a lot of crap out there and certain things just deserve to be reviled-Im looking at you Michael Bolton, Limp Bizkit. But by the same token there are somethings that are just meant to be enjoyed because they are good songs that make us feel good and I don't mean in some ironic hipster oohh look at my sweet members only jacket kind of way. I mean liking something because you have always like it and everyone else be damned. Now it could have something to do with the popularity of Glee that it is safe to listen to Journey and crank out Don’t Stop Believin’ without fear of reprisal and embarrassment. It’s not bad or cheesy if its on a hit TV show right? But for me that song just takes me back to being a kid pure and simple-there is no irony or even bandwagon jumping attached to it. I’m thirty five and a married father of two I’m not afraid of the cool police anymore. Oh and one more thing that’s right I watch Glee- a show about a bunch of freaks and outcasts who use music to get over on the cool kids, hmm why does that sound so familiar?
 

-Daniel N-

 

 
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Punk Rock Academy Fight Song – Scratches and Needles

Everybody remembers their first time right? You know the awkward conversation, the nervous laughter, the slight feeling of dread, the incessant buzzing sound and in some cases a long drive home from Hollywood. Huh? What? Yeah that’s right we all remember our first tattoo. Because for a lot of us getting that first bit of ink under our skin is as much a rite of passage as well that other thing you thought I was talking about. For me it happened my freshman year in college I had forty bucks in my pocket from selling one of my textbooks and the long simmering desire to get tattooed. It wasn’t a rash spur of the moment decision fueled by too many shots of Bushmills but rather a sober rational thought almost as if I was just going down to the store to get some milk. No big deal really. I remember matter of factually telling my mom that I was going to Hollywood with my buddy Nate and that I was going to get tattooed. My mothers response was a resounding Por mi pinta te las nalgas-spanish for yeah right go get your ass tattooed. Now this response is important to note for two reasons number one that my mom is from Guatemala and in Guatemala only convicts had tattoos and number two i was a pretty good kid who was always threatening to do all sorts of goofy crazy things and my mom didn’t believe I would actually do it. So I kissed my mom goodnight headed over to Nates house and hopped on the 10 freeway on our way to Hollywood. At this point your wondering why the hell did this yahoo drive all the way out to Hollywood and the answer to that is that in 1994 the only place a kid from San Gabriel to get tattooed was either out in Hollyweird or in some gangsters garage or I could’ve joined the Navy and gotten one in the Philippines. About 30 minutes later we found ourselves inside LA Tattoo on Hollywood Blvd or was it Sunset or Melrose-whatever it was a typical Hollywood tattoo shop. The actual tattoo shop was in the back the front of the neon light place sold Harley T-shirts, belts chains and other assorted wannabe rocker paraphernalia. Me and Nate were looking for Baby Ray because our buddy Dario had gotten tattooed by him and he is apparently very well known. Lucky for me it was a slow night and Baby Ray wasn’t working that night-cause he would not have tattooed me for the measly 40 bucks I had on me. But the other guy working that night was bored and broke. So another 30 minutes and 40 bucks later I proudly strutted out of LA Tattoo with my badass piece of work- a superman shield with my initials in the middle freshly carved on my upper left arm, full color baby. I was now part of the underground society of badasses and we celebrated my induction with a tall can of Fosters.

Truth be told it was obviously a cheesey ass tattoo but at least it wasn’t a barbed wire arm band. But the experience wasn’t really about that first bad one but rather about the fact that I knew I wanted more. It was a validation of my status as a misfit and an outsider. I never wanted to be like everyone else, straight laced and boring. Maybe I was inspired by my uncle Herbert -he was a cousin of my moms who would visit us every now and then. He rode a motorcycle and always had this kinda weird smell hovering around him but he also had tattoos and was a little dangerous or maybe it was Popeye and the anchors on his forearms or was it Mike Ness when I first saw Social D looking like a pissed off inked up Elvis.

Something just hit me and it stuck. I always look at tattoos as away of keeping people at arms length and letting them in at the same time. They are a reflection of who I really am but if I don’t like you you’ll never know what they mean. They are an attention getter and a repellant all at once and I like it that way.To this day my mom still asks me if I’m ever going to stop and I sheepishly say no. Sorry ma I love’em. My dad thinks they’re cool and doesn’t care because I have my college degree. My wife is so used to the she forgets they’re on me and my daughter likes the smiling skeleton( it’s a skull and anchor) one day and is scared of it the next. And I still have that first bad one because much like that other first time it might not be the best but it happened and you gotta live with it.
 

-Daniel N-

 

 
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Punk Rock Academy Fight Song – Banned in Vegas

In honor of you crew being in Vegas I though I'd share a Vegas story of my own.

We pulled into the parking lot of Whiskey Petes at some ungodly hour of the morning-not exactly sure when as the memory is a little fuzzy and the actual event was a lot fuzzier-and slowly, painfully peeled ourselves out of Johnny’s Nissan and staggered toward the lobby. The seven of us reeked like a distillery and looked like zombies. Our motley appearance made the usual denizens of this fine establishment look like European high society. If you’ve ever had the pleasure to set foot in Whiskey Petes then you have some inkling as to the visage we cut as we stumbled through the casino and up to our room to pass out and gather our senses. How the hell did we wind up in this place?( And if you’ve never been to Whiskey Petes try to keep it that way). About an hour earlier we had been gently awakened from our peaceful slumber at a prominent Las Vegas Hotel and been kindly asked to the vacate establishment by the management. Actually the hotel security  pounded on our door rousted us from our drunken half sleep, had us quickly gather our belongings, escorted us to the elevator and told us we were no longer welcome to stay at this hotel-ever.

It had all started innocently enough two days earlier when we left from Temple City headed for Vegas to watch NOFX for our buddy Adam’s birthday. Just a quiet weekend of Punk rock with a little gambling and maybe some cocktails in the evening. What could possibly go wrong. I mean so what if seven of us were sharing a double room and our luggage consisted mostly of twelve packs of Corona and a couple of guitars. Initially everything was smooth sailing as we pre partied and then made our way to the House of Blues for the show raucously belting out “Bottles to the ground” and “theme from a NOFX album” on the streets of Sin City. We even managed to finagle VIP wristbands at the show. Some guy from some local magazine thought we we were somebody and we went with it. In the words of Ray Liotta “Life was Good”. One of us even won 150 bucks on the quarter slots. Then it went down hill. 50 cent beers and dollar daquiries on Fremont street. Complimentary Martinis at the Video Poker Bar at our hotel.

Our hedonistic ways had gotten the best of us and the train quickly went off the rails. But come on we were in Vegas the town where just about anything goes and the first things that usually go out the window are moderation and common sense. And boy did we dispose of those two virtues in a hurry. Now on the scale of bad Vegas behavior we certainly weren’t on the level of counting cards or burying hookers in the desert or throwing furniture out the window but we were bad enough to have rubbed hotel security the wrong way. Among the litany of complaints were the obvious seven people in a double room, a brawl in the room that was apparently heard down the hallway, someone possibly urinating in a stairwell and a corona bottle used as a valve cover for an air mattress-you know the usual stuff. We were told that we had five minutes to pack up and leave this fine establishment. So despite being in various states of inebriation we got dressed in about three minutes flat and exchanged pleasantries with the rather large uniformed security detail that had been dispatched to deal with our unruly bunch. “Thank you for the pleasant stay, sorry about the noise.” Or something to that affect. We made our way to the parking lot, sardine canned ourselves into Johnnys Altima and got the hell out of dodge.

By now two things are apparent. Number one I’ve omitted alot of the details to protect the innocent and the not so innocent. And Number Two this one doesn't really have a lesson. Well actually it does- Don't party like NOFX unless you are in NOFX and you haven't lived until you’ve been kicked out of a hotel in Vegas. Besides who says learning cant be fun.
 

 

-Daniel N-

 

 
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Punk Rock Academy Fight Song – We dont need no education

One of the great things about growing up is that you are able to gain perspective on the the things you did when you were a kid. You reexamine your actions your thoughts and your attitudes and sometimes you gain a greater appreciation for some of the people that pass through your life and the influences they might have had on you. Specifically I’m referring to teachers-the great underpaid under appreciated educators without whom you wouldn’t be able to read a damn thing I’ve just typed. Now you might be thinking I’m about to get on my soapbox and start preaching about how educators are getting screwed over by our awesome state because I happen to be a school counselor by day and now I have an outlet-but that would be too easy. Instead i’d rather explode the great rock n roll myth about how teachers are the enemy, the man trying to keep us down, the archenemy of youthful rebellion and exuberance. The reality however is quite different. I know this because of seen both sides.

In middle school and high school I was a Grade A smartass- especially to my history and English teachers. For the most part I was a respectful kid and a pretty good student but i just couldn’t resist a snappy comeback, a mischievous comment or an anti-authoritarian question.  I wasn’t the angry kid telling the teacher to F-off I was the bored kid that refused to believe that teachers were all knowing and shouldn’t be questioned. My history and English teachers bore the brunt of this behavior because those were the subjects that came easy for me and I didn’t know enough math and science to act up in those classes. Among my greatest accomplishments in high school were creating a collage about To Kill a Mocking Bird using only Mad Magazine and writing a research paper on Jack Kerouac using song lyrics as quotes and listing punk musicians as my sources-to my knowledge there are no books on the Beat poets written by a certain M. Ness, J.Ramone or I. Mackaye. I also managed to get myself kicked out of class and sent to the deans office by every english teacher I had in high school. So far I appear to be doing a horrible job proving my theory that teachers are not a bunch of geezers in bad ties meant to be harassed while we wait for lunch or football practice or the weekends coming parties, but I’m getting to that. Why? Because in addition to my laundry list of of teenage idiocy I also have a laundry list of teachers who were every bit as instrumental in shaping my ideals and idealism as any band whose music ever poured  through my speakers and into my impressionable adolescent brain. There was my eighth grade history teacher who actually thought enough of his students that he could tell us stories with profanity in them and know we wouldn’t rat him out to the principal or our parents and he also put up with my constant hippy and freedom rock references. There was my 9th grade Algebra teacher who was a certified genius,only gave us four problem tests and actually had me understanding algebra. Or my stage craft teacher who gave me the keys to the auditorium so I could fool around with the sound system when I didn’t feel like going to class. But the one I appreciate the most is the teacher who didn’t put up with any of my crap and told me I should join the marines to straighten my life out because I probably wasn’t going to amount to much - she didn’t say that to be a jerk she did it because she saw my potential. I went to college and grad school mostly to prove her wrong. More importantly she lit a fire under me that I try to light under my students.

So yeah some teachers are dictators and tyrants, some are out of touch but there's also a whole bunch that were crazy confused smartasses when they were kids. They’re ones who were too smart for their own good and wound up standing outside the door of their English class and they took the job to payback the teachers that gave them the breaks and the summers off aren’t bad either. And if I still haven’t managed to prove my point I have two final words- Greg Graffin!
 

 

-Daniel N-

 

 
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Punk Rock Academy Fight Song – Anger is an energy

Last summer a good friend of mine introduced me to this then girlfriend at a BBQ by telling me that while they were discussing music he mentioned that I would probably be into some of the same bands as she was. Mind you my friends musical taste at times begins and end with DMX. So we proceeded to play rock and roll tennis -you know volleying the names of various indie alternative and Punk bands back and forth for a few minutes before she said “ I used to like Punk rock but I'm not that angry anymore.” I was taken aback for a moment but then I let it go and mentioned that I also liked The Killers and other stuff and then I politely walked over to the cooler for another beer to contemplate the exchange that had just taken place. It was almost like saying I used to like Marvin Gaye but I haven’t gotten laid in awhile so I’m over it.

Now I don’t consider my self a particularly angry guy, I’m not overflowing with misplaced aggression and unquenchable rage. I’m not the product of a broken home -I love my parents and I grew up in the suburbs. But things do get to me and things piss me off-my blood boils at people being disrespectful to women and I find it deplorable that racism exists- and you have to have an outlet-creative or otherwise. For years I worked at a group home for kids on probation and a lot these kids had big time problems with controlling their anger. They would fly off the handle for any little thing and would almost always wind up breaking something until they calmed down. So we would teach them techniques for managing their anger in an appropriate way -you know hitting a pillow instead of the wall or writing in a journal or stopping and counting to ten. now some of these worked and some did not and after a while it occurred to me that sometimes its alright to be angry and sometimes anger is a very acceptable and productive response. I like to call it righteous indignation. Being genuinely pissed off about some unjust situation and then doing something about it. Think about it without anger there would have been no civil rights movement, no American revolution, or any other action against tyranny and oppression. Hell there would be no overturned calls in sports for that matter. Sometimes you do have to argue sometimes you do have to “throw bricks”. Gandhi and MLK were angry they just channeled it into something positive. Just because I might be smiling does’nt mean I’m not angry. Now obviously being angry all time is not healthy or normal but then again neither is painting a fake smile on and pretending everything is all sunshine and rainbows. I just happen to think great things can come from properly channeled fury. It’s just like how water can sustain life, provide energy or create massive destruction.
 

 

-Daniel N-

 

 
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