"we wore our chucks out". also; "to be 16 again".

In response to a note I wrote her about missing how we used to drive around to listen to music, my very good friend wrote this:

"...that transported me back to those days in the common area of [the high school] where we sat with one earpiece each from a discman listening to whatever shit-pop we were obsessed with at the time. Those were the days I think, and the further away they get from me, the sweeter they appear. When I was younger I used to say "Hindsight is 50 50" misquoting the "Hindsight is 20 20" cliche, but now that I think about it, hindsight is both. It's half what really happened and half what we hoped would have happened, I think, but maybe this is just the silly rambling of someone trying to sound pensive and multi-lateral.
love and miss you,
lisa"

We escaped the bubble of Coronado to grow up, to feel something real. And to us, "real" meant a sweaty sidestage show, smoking clove cigarettes and building a group of friends and acquaintances who we could trade mix tapes with. There were all the usual characters - the asshole tough guy who wore a patched-up leather jacket and 3 belts at once, the girl who was at every show, stepping on our toes or slamming us with her elbows when she danced, the skinheads who showed up at the ska shows and would get drunk and yell "Newcastlllllle!", the sweet photographers who did everything in their power to record all of this, to not forget...
It's strange not to have Lisa close by, to call her up to meet for dinner and drinks or to drive to a shitty venue and spend nearly an entire show not saying a word to each other, just taking it all in. I moved to LA and Lisa moved to London, and I'm so very proud of her. Often, I'll email her and let her know when a band I love will be playing in London, even though I know she won't go. The excitement of the experiences that we had growing up were exciting because we could share them, talk about them, memorize them.