It’s a special springtime here at Trash Collector, as the spirit guides of trash connoisseurs everywhere, the Ramones, have two crucial releases out: Johnny Ramone’s autobiography, Commando, and Joey Ramone’s second posthumous album, …ya know?. Since the Ramones are probably the reason why I started this column in the first place, I’m taking the opportunity to analyze Johnny’s book, Joey’s album, and what they add to the band’s mythology.
Here’s what I remember about the first time I visited San Francisco: I saw Alcatraz, I paid an all-silver man to robot walk while playing a kazoo, and I was giddy when I learned that George Lucas lived nearby. I was 10.
The summer before I moved from Chicago to West Virginia, I worked as a dishwasher and busboy at Bob Evan’s. I was fine with the job itself, but really, some of my co-workers were some high-grade assholes. But I put up with it, because hey, I needed that money. As I worked, I kept looking forward, spending a portion of every paycheck on a concert that would take place that fall in Chicago.
Hey, so I’m Evan, and since this is a new thing, let me take a minute to explain what this column is and why it exists.
When I was 13, skinny and gangly, inexplicably wearing enormous Space Ghost (really, Brak) T-shirts, my mom worked at the Huntington, West Virginia Borders. At some point, she bought a Ramones compilation with her employee discount, and in short order, it was added to my listening rotation…