Adventures in MFA Land

Let’s say its 1980 and you live in Detroit. Let’s say you’re one of the poser assholes who saw “Rock ‘n Roll High School” then thought you knew everything about punk music and the punk scene, so you decided to go see the Ramones at the Motor City Roller Rink. You wanted to be cool. You wanted to think you were better than the losers whose dashboards were stacked with AC/DC and Journey cassettes. Let’s say you showed up at that show in March, expecting to see those girls from the movie. You know, the ones in the skintight pink leopard print tops, smiling with their glossy lips and smelling like Love’s Baby Soft. Maybe you planned to hang with the jocks, pogoing in the mosh pit. You wanted to be one of them, jumping and down, shaking your moussed up, Supercuts hairstyle. Let’s say you were me. Maybe if I’d told what I saw that night back then, we all could’ve found a way to stop them. At least been ready. But I didn’t tell no one. And now that it’s too late, I’m telling you. Listen to t...