In case you haven’t heard (or read WhyDid in the the last 6+ moths), the 90’s are having a renaissance. And with the revival of 90’s trends like babydoll dresses and brands like Birkenstock, 90’s musicians are also feeling a lift in their royalties. I understand that stores like Urban Outfitters and Forever 21 shill out shirts with graphics of “vintage” bands emblazoned on them and some of you have only heard of these bands during drunken stories told by your nostalgic “older” friends or when a song comes on in a dive bar and all the “middle aged” patrons go wild. Well, here’s a pro-tip (talking to you children of the 90’s): be sure you know something about the vintage band t-shirt you are wearing because people will ask you about it- much like the friendly man who checked me out at Nob Hill. Fortunately for me, I was schooled, partially by osmosis- partially against my will by my older brothers who wore weird clothes, had long hair, and played their instruments at ungodly hours at decibel levels usually reserved for freight trains in the guesthouse above our garage.
I don’t think any of us will soon forget the roadtrip from Monterey to Los Angeles that nearly came to bloody blows when I demanded in my pouty teenage cheerleader way that we listen to Backstreet Boys and my metal loving brothers were more inclined to jump out the windows of the moving vehicle before allowing their eardrums to be tainted by such pop hypocrisy. I don’t actually recall who won, but I do love my poor damn dad for dealing with all of us without wrecking into a guardrail in the midst of the melee. I believe we ended up taking turns, but I have to take a moment and thank my brothers for their efforts in a musical intervention. You saved me from myself… and the Backstreet Boys.
In my tradition of nomadic travel (meaning I am incapable of booking roundtrip plane tickets and prefer to take things as they come), I didn’t pack enough clothing for my extended stay. However, I enjoy raiding the closets of those that I’m visiting and incorporating their wares into my gypsy wardrobe. This is when I stumbled upon my father’s 1971 military fatigues (which he has informed me as I write this were referred to as OD, olive drab). What a perfect way to top off my Metallica tee and maxi skirt while watching the sun set on a sunny day in Monterey.
Sleep with one eye open.
photos by Richard (Dick) Smith