Violent Femmes
One of these days we'll both be fine
One of These Days We’ll Both Be Fine
Violent Femmes
When I was in high school, I bought the Violent Femmes self-titled album. Excited to listen to it, I threw the album cover on the coffee table and blared it on our stereo.
When my mom came home from work, she looked down at the album cover and said in disgust, “Violent Women? Why would you listen to an album called Violent Woman?”
At the time, I rolled my eyes. But later listening to the lyrics—some of them are pretty terrible at times even incel-ish, but the music still sounds good.
Flash forward to a little under forty years later, and my mother and I have gone for a walk in the halls of the hospital while she is waiting to be placed in long term care in Toronto.
A worker at the hospital is singing some songs on his guitar in the waiting room for patients. There are two women there—Dee a visitor and Patricia, a patient sitting in a wheelchair. They look about my age and are very welcoming as we sit down and listen to the music with them.
The women are kind of a cross between rocker and punk chicks and look like they would be fun to party with. They are full of laughs and energy.
The musician plays “Blister in the Sun” by the Violent Femmes, and the two women sing and even I do too. My mom doesn’t know the song, but it’s upbeat, and she’s smiling as he plays.
When he finishes, I tell them the story of my mom saying, “Why would you listen to an album called Violent Women?” and everyone laughs including my mom.
After he leaves, we stay and chat with the women. They too are from London and tell me that the musician plays at the Richmond Tavern sometimes. Dee says the Richmond used to have a bad reputation.
We exchanged ages and realized we are the same age.
Dee says back in the day, she went to the Rideout once when there was a stabbing and she never went back. She says the Rideout was way worse but the Richmond had the bad reputation. I agree. I only went to the Rideout a couple of times, but it was also know for being violent—stabbings, shootings, fights.
I ask them if they used to go to the Brunswick or Key West which were some of my old haunts where I drank underage, and they both did.
Dee gives me a high five and Patricia nods.
Key West was a small punk bar that was very easy to get in underage. When we were sixteen, my best friend and I got fake ID’s in a Toronto head shop that had giant Canadian flags on them. I remember the bouncer laughing when he saw it, but he let us in anyway.
Before it was torn down, The Brunswick also had a reputation for letting in underage kids. Not only did I drink there underage, my dad did too when he was in high school.
Patricia tells a story about a guy who used to go to Key West and kept a photo of Priscilla Presley on his wall because it looked like her. Creepy.
“You do look like Priscilla Presley,” Dee says, “Especially when you had dark hair.”
“Do you remember Woody from The Brunswick—the bartender?” I ask.
“He passed away,” Patricia.
“I heard,” I say.
“They turned the wrong bar into a parking lot,” she says.
We all agreed.
“When I get out of here, the first thing I’m going to do is go to the Richmond. It’s a good time,” Patricia laughs.
We part ways, and I hope to see them again because they are fun and full of life.
My mother leaves the interaction smiling too because Patricia pays her special attention and even says, “Bye, Mom,” as she wheels herself into the elevator.
When the days are bleak, these small moments mean everything.
Kathryn Mockler is the author of Anecdotes.
Support Send My Love to Anyone
Support Send My Love to Anyone by signing up for a monthly or yearly subscription, liking this post, or sharing it
Big heartfelt thanks to all of the subscribers and contributors who make this project possible!
Connect
Bluesky | Instagram | Archive | Contributors | Subscribe | About SMLTA