Volume Three - WordPress.com — Get a Free Blog Here

I wouldn’t have started this project had it not been for the kind and loving support of some of the people,
mentioned and unmentioned, herein. The encouragement from fans of my previous work didn’t hurt, either.
The list that follows is by no means exhaustive or all-inclusive, for which I apologize.
I send much love and gratitude to: Jeff Cathcart, Jen Duchene, Ron Britton, Farrah Lewis, Molly Burke,
Rashas Weber, Demetre Philon Hajenian (The Superstitions), Kevin Kraft (The Van Goghs, Riflebirds, Cry!),
Sean Monteverdi (A Family Restaurant, Radio Silents, Twelve Gauge, Ken Hanson Band), Rozz Rezabek
(Negative Trend, Theatre of Sheep), Jimi Haskett (Film at 11, Theatre of Sheep) and the late Billy Rancher
(Malchicks, Unreal Gods, Flesh+Blood, HunDread Percent).
Thank you for being a part of the music.
I Blame Facebook:
Yep, I do. Facebook put me back in touch with people from the past -- high school, elementary school ...
and the Portland music scene. Someone named Karen started a Facebook page called “I Hung Out at Satyricon
Back In The Day” -- which I did, albeit in the earliest days of that club’s existence.
I moved out of my parents’ home in 1982 and to the San Francisco Bay Area in 1985. I was involved in
some aspect or another of the music business until 1988, when I walked away from anything other than enjoying
a show from time to time. I had parlayed my freelance writing and publicity work into a day job as a
writer/journalist by then, eventually becoming a newspaper editor. I wrote two non-fiction books, a novel and
an anthology of essays.
I didn’t miss the business or the “scene” very much, if truth be told. I kept in touch with people from “the
old days” only sporadically.
Until Facebook. Suddenly, there was my ex-boyfriend the drummer, one of my favorite singer-songwriters,
the guitarist from a band I’d worked with, my high school sweetheart and his new wife ... and a lot of
reminiscing.
It was those posts from the Satyricon page that made me consider writing about that three-year period in
Portland. I’d tried, in the past, but couldn’t really get a sense of the time across. I joked that I should call any
memoir of that time You Had to Be There.
My husband, Jeff, thinks that No Shit, There I Was would work. Anyone who’s been part of the Society for
Creative Anachronism will recognize this phrase as the introduction to all strange-but-true SCA stories.
Two of my favorite singers are dead, as is one ex-boyfriend. But a whole lot more of us survived that time,
and I guess it’s time to tell the tale.
Here’s to my fellow survivors.
Names have been changed, in some cases, to protect the not even remotely innocent. An asterisk marks
them.
No shit, there I was.
Socially Naïve:
I moved out of my parents’ home in 1982, at age eighteen. I had a full-time job, of which I was admittedly
less than fond. I had also had my fill of living under my parents’ very strict rules -- rules that were different for
me than for my brother.
In hindsight, some things were not that bad -- but other things were ridiculous. I was not allowed to go
shopping with my gal-pals; there always had to be an adult. So, I didn’t get to go very often. Dating rules were
even more draconian, so I didn’t date more than a couple of times, although I had “boyfriends” with whom I
kept company at school. One of those high school boyfriends and I carried on an on-again/off-again
relationship until I moved to California. I’ll get to that story later on.
I was very book-smart, and most assuredly lonely. My best friend, Rashas, and I loved music, especially The
Beatles and Wings. We read a lot, and also wrote reams of god-awful fan fiction starring ourselves and a cast of
musicians. (She apologized to Denny Laine for this on his Facebook page; I have no doubt that he was amused
when he clicked the “like” button.)