I spent the summer after my junior year of high school hanging out with another guy named Josh, a long-haired recovering acid fiend and alto sax player who liked two kinds of music: bebop and industrial. When we weren’t at his place, hanging out with his dog Layla and eating microwave pizza, we tended to go back and forth between the Poo-Ha, which is what we called the local pool hall, in downtown San Rafael, and the Corte Madera Denny’s. If we were lucky, we’d have some pretty girls in tow. More often it was just the two of us, but chances were always good that we’d bump into someone we knew down at the Denny’s because it was the only place in Marin County where someone under 18 could hang out after hours.
I always carried a banged-up acoustic guitar in my trunk, and some nights when we were wired on too many free coffee refills, I would take it out and detune the hell out if it, and Josh and I would serenade the parking lot with our howling rendition of “Lady Sniff.”
Ah, suburban life! It was exactly this kind of story, painfully extended, that used to bore the living shit out of my classmates when I was a writing major at Columbia.
In any case, you can find a whole bunch of Butthole-Surfing goodness, helpfully presented as in Tamil newspaper format, at Latino Buggers MP3s, which is part of the Surfers’ official site.