Science fiction legend Philip K. Dick once wrote a short story about how society had stratified into two groups: those who had their sweat glands removed so as not to smell and groomed themselves to a plasticized shine, and those slovenly "naturals" who didn't. It takes place on the evening of a vote to criminalize the refusal to remove one's sweat glands, so as not to offend the noses and sensibilities of the straight-laced new guard. It was a comedic treatment of both the hippie movement's clashes with conservative culture and the civil disobedience of the civil rights movement standing up to an absurd and tyrannical hegemonic system.
I mention this for three reasons.
The first is that, while anyone can work up a bit of a stink in the 96-degree swelter predicted for this afternoon, a punk rocker marinated in a studded leather jacket and third-day socks is really the money stench.
The second is that this reporter was recently booted out of a certain downtown bar for being a bit smelly himself, hardly unique in a place where people smoke—which smells like ass—drink—which makes them sweat and smell like more ass—and crowd together after a long day at work combining their booze sweat to form a mega-ass smell; the Voltron of B.O.
Now, I could go on about the absurdity of kicking someone out for being musky, pointing out that if that's an issue, then I should be able to complain that the guy sitting next to me is ugly and I don't want to have to look at him, or how the conversation from the next table is so insipid that the people having it are offending me with their banality and should get das boot as well.
But the third reason is that I think this is a situation that, instead, calls for a little bit of civil disobedience. Which is why I'd like to point out that iconic punk rocker Kevin Seconds, the front for underground stalwarts Seven Seconds is going to be playing at Pengilly's, the offending bar, this evening. And I'd like to make a call for the smelliest of the smelly to crawl up from the ditches and gutters of the city, to hitch-hike in from their squat in Garden City and make the squares deeply uncomfortable while enjoying some bangin' tunes.
The show starts at 8:45 and is free, free, free—the true punk's preferred price.