Rhythm Method: Minor Threat "Salad Days"

I was 5 years old when, while playing in the spring sun on the front lawn of my great grandmother's house, I heard a call from across the street, "Hey, do you want to come over and play?". The boisterous beckoning came from the mouth of a kid with close-cropped jet-black hair and a camouflage T-shirt—it's a wonder I could see him at all while outfitted with such an elaborate array of combat gear, but the suburban Philadelphia sprawl isn't the most cooperative terrain to test out the field of camouflage tactics in, especially when said camouflaged person is shouting at the top of their lungs on a street corner in the bright afternoon sunlight. After taking my toes to the edge of the property line, where the fine cut blades of grass clearly contrasted the curbside concrete of the intersection between us, my immediate responsible response was, "I'm not allowed to cross the street by myself". The words barely had time to stretch their wings and fly from the nest of thought through the air between us when the kid shot back the cannon blast solution of "Go ask someone older". That was the day I first met Vincent.

In hindsight, traveling 26.2 miles down the same marathon road is not even a drop in the bucket compared to the distances we've gone together since that first day met. It's a rare treasure to form such a bond at that young of an age and continue on with it well into adulthood. When Vin didn't make the first lottery round, I didn't really fret, because somehow, it felt like it was going to work out in the end, and, of course, it did. In my minutia filled marathon post (as well Vincent's post), we both make references to the early morning cannon blast of nostalgia that was Minor Threat. While pondering over the enigmatic mystery of why Ian McKaye sounds so British, we reveled in the fine flood of adrenaline that those hardcore/punk rock bands of our youth always seem to be able to fuel us with. Aki was at a loss as to why we were listening to such irritating fare at some Gawd awful pre-dawn hour of the marathon morning, but the simple response of "It's Minor Threat" was, in our minds, enough to suffice.

So...I present to you the faux-British stylings of Minor Threat's Salad Days.