I had to pop out this evening to do both some last minute grocery shopping and -- as a bonus -- escape the ear-wrenching caterwaul of my little two-year old daughter Charlotte, as she noisily voiced her grievances with bathtime (to be fair, as I mentioned earlier, she's currently grappling with an ear infection, so isn't her usual cheery little self). In any case, my errands found me heading down West 8th Street, one of the more travelled byways of the Village.
From about 1979 through 1989, I probably considerd West 8th Street between Fifth and Sixth Avenues to be one of the most important strips of real estate in Manhattan, as it played host to shops like Venus Records, kickass poster outlet Psychedelic Solution and a great rock memorabilia emporium (albeit slightly biased towards all things Heavy Metal) dubbed It's Only Rock'n'Roll among many others. As a snot-nosed Upper East Side brat in a Catholic school blue blazer, I'd take the subway downtown after school on Fridays with my friend Rob B. to wander up and down West 8th (and its immeasurably cooler counterpart to the East, St.Mark's Place) buying Misfits LPs at Revolver Records or Anthrax badges as Postermat and basically thinking, "damn, I live in the greatest city in the world!" (the fact that the `Stones namechecked the street -- which also plays host to Hendrix's Electric Lady Studios -- in "Dance Pt.1" on Emotional Rescue only vindicated my fascination for it). Well, as I've lamented elsewhere on this weblog, the passage of time is a strange thing. The allure of West 8th street eroded pretty quickly, and soon became a touristy strip to avoid. The shops I once held dear like Venus, Postermat and It's Only Rock'n'Roll either moved or closed. Never did I imagine in my early days as an 8th St. frequenter that I would one day live on it (the rear side of my building abutts the street in question), but now I do, and while I can't help but think back to my younger days when walking down it, I usually do so as infrequently as possible.
But there I was on a frigid Saturday night, walking West on 8th and what's this? Apparently, the timeless rock t-shirt store, Butterflys, has finally lost its lease. The establishment where I probably purchased my first Iron Maiden t-shirt (much to my mother's pronounced chagrin), the loss of this particular boutique will mean little or nothing to practically every conceivable reader of this weblog, but to an infantesimal smattering of locals, it might strike a chord. I probably hadn't spent a thin, red dime in the place in over twenty years (actually, that's not true -- I bought my nephew a Zeppelin t-shirt there two Christmas's ago), but that didn't mean I ever wanted it to leave. But it's gone now, and a tiny part of my adolescence is forever gone with it.
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