In the early 80s, I worked for a local record chain called Streetside Records. It was an exciting time in many ways. The 70s were definitely over. Seminal bands like Led Zeppeling were no more. John Lennon was dead. MTV was on the horizon. The inane question: "Are you punk or new wave?" seemed important at the time. And the rise of corporate programmers was changing the face of radio and killing the AOR format.

Working in the record business was interesting for a wide variety of reasons. I worked at a chain that prided itself on discovering new music and trends. As a result, we had demo copies of albums in every style. Whether it was jazz, rock, new wave, obscure independent releases, or that cool riff from Michael Jackson's new release, we felt we were discovering new ground. We consumed the music as if it was vital sustenance, racing to be the first to hear the next big thing.

So, it's somewhat understandable that we also felt that we needed to express ourselves differently too. For instance, multi-colored hair, earrings on men, flamboyant clothing, and an openness to alternate lifestyles was standard issue for us.

Because I wasn't a dope smoker, I was viewed as a conservative member of the tribe. So, when I mentioned that I thought earrings on guys were kind of cool, I was immediately challenged as "all talk and no action." My friend, Stephanie (she of the multi-colored hair), asked if I was serious. When I said yes, she said. "Let's go!"

Stephanie and I went to a mall store to get my earring. I, of course, checked the current standards for what designated gay versus straight. A few minutes later, I had a silver stud in my left ear.

Since I wore my hair much longer than today and I kept a different schedule than my parents, a couple of weeks passed before the inevitible showdown with my parents. When it happened, it became a horrifying, amusing, and memorable experience at the same time...

One Sunday morning, stumbling out of my bedroom, I had my hair pushed back out of my face. Dad said, "What's that in your ear?"

"It's an earring, Dad."

"What the hell are you thinking? Don't you know only women and faggots wear earrings? Which are you?"

A moment of clarity? Perhaps. A developing quick wit? Maybe. Whatever the reason, my response was:

"Dad, you're wrong. I'm a pirate."

Conversation over. The subject was never addressed again...

Note: I have always loved this Rickie Lee Jones song. The world needs pirates. Arrgghhh!