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Linda the Punk — Episode 14
TRANSCRIPT
Linda hadn’t always been a respectable business owner. In her misspent youth she’d been a dissatisfied hellion, railing against the squares.
Nuts Club, 12 years ago, Punk Fest. Subs was playing. SUBS, from Beijing. Beijing sucked too, but Subs was awesome. They were Linda’s favorite band. She wanted to be Kang Mao when she grew up. And she didn’t want to grow up.
As two broke kids, Linda and Song An couldn’t afford the tickets. And they were already known at the club. Once Song An stole a bottle of gin from behind the bar. She got kicked out, but somehow managed to hold onto the gin. She and Linda split it over barbecue and got into a spectacular fight. Linda flipped the table and Song An started throwing beer bottles until the boss threatened to call the police. And then they were a team again, running from the assholes.
“We could wear disguises,” said Linda, brainstorming ways to get into the show.
“No way,” said Song An. “Never hide who you are. Or why bother being anyone at all.”
In the end, Linda didn’t remember how they got in — snuck in through the backdoor, or something — but it was the loudest, grimiest, most intense show she’d ever seen. She got Kong Mao to sign her arm after the show and she didn’t wash it off for weeks.
Song An tried to tattoo it on with a pen and a needle, “Like they do in prison, or on TV.” Linda withstood the pain for about five pinpricks. That surviving greenish dot looked like a gross birthmark, but Linda knew what it meant.
They tried to start a band themselves one summer. Practice involved screaming lyrics at each other while banging on instruments they inherited from friends who had moved on to university or whatever. It was incredible, but they kept getting chased out of their practice space for being too awful.
So instead they stole a rusty dumpster from a construction site and made it into a swimming pool for some relief from the hot, hot heat of the summer in Chongqing. It was a wet mess and, frankly, a tetanus risk, but damn if it wasn’t a good party until it fell apart.
Linda eventually succumbed to pressure to be respectable. Brian came along and believed in her pizza dreams and Song An faded into the background. At least from Linda’s perspective. Song An could never fade, and don’t let her hear you implying that she could.
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By Emily and PeterTRANSCRIPT
Linda hadn’t always been a respectable business owner. In her misspent youth she’d been a dissatisfied hellion, railing against the squares.
Nuts Club, 12 years ago, Punk Fest. Subs was playing. SUBS, from Beijing. Beijing sucked too, but Subs was awesome. They were Linda’s favorite band. She wanted to be Kang Mao when she grew up. And she didn’t want to grow up.
As two broke kids, Linda and Song An couldn’t afford the tickets. And they were already known at the club. Once Song An stole a bottle of gin from behind the bar. She got kicked out, but somehow managed to hold onto the gin. She and Linda split it over barbecue and got into a spectacular fight. Linda flipped the table and Song An started throwing beer bottles until the boss threatened to call the police. And then they were a team again, running from the assholes.
“We could wear disguises,” said Linda, brainstorming ways to get into the show.
“No way,” said Song An. “Never hide who you are. Or why bother being anyone at all.”
In the end, Linda didn’t remember how they got in — snuck in through the backdoor, or something — but it was the loudest, grimiest, most intense show she’d ever seen. She got Kong Mao to sign her arm after the show and she didn’t wash it off for weeks.
Song An tried to tattoo it on with a pen and a needle, “Like they do in prison, or on TV.” Linda withstood the pain for about five pinpricks. That surviving greenish dot looked like a gross birthmark, but Linda knew what it meant.
They tried to start a band themselves one summer. Practice involved screaming lyrics at each other while banging on instruments they inherited from friends who had moved on to university or whatever. It was incredible, but they kept getting chased out of their practice space for being too awful.
So instead they stole a rusty dumpster from a construction site and made it into a swimming pool for some relief from the hot, hot heat of the summer in Chongqing. It was a wet mess and, frankly, a tetanus risk, but damn if it wasn’t a good party until it fell apart.
Linda eventually succumbed to pressure to be respectable. Brian came along and believed in her pizza dreams and Song An faded into the background. At least from Linda’s perspective. Song An could never fade, and don’t let her hear you implying that she could.