By Andy Mannix
By Caleb Hannan
By Olivia LaVecchia
By CP Staff
By Aaron Rupar
By Jacob Wheeler
By Olivia LaVecchia
By Aaron Rupar
--Chris Knott, doorman at the Uptown Bar, ex-lead singer of the Spectors
My favorite song of the summer is by Harry Nilsson and I think it's called "Put The Lime In The Coconut." When I was a kid just going into middle school, there were these three sets of identical twins who moved into our neighborhood. Three sets! And we all used to go out into the woods together and play these games. The woods later became the Minnesota Zoological Gardens. We used to play these games of blackjack and things like that. Things got very loose, a lot of skin was shed and at one point I remember these identical sets of twins were dancing around this really large oak tree, like May pole style, and us boys were putting our clothes back on and they were just dancing stark naked to this song "Put The Lime In The Coconut." Christ. When I hear that song I get instant X-rated memories of those nights.
It was June 1984, five months before The Replacements released Let It Be. The boys were doing a then-frequent local performance in the hot and sweaty Cabooze. Bob Stinson wore a cowboy hat and pink overalls and no shirt. Following a killer, slowed-down country version of "God Damn Job," Bob undid the buttons on his overall straps until they fell down his back. As Chris Mars slammed the band straight into "Black Diamond," I turned to a friend and said, "Westerberg's gonna yank down Bob's pants." And he did...leaving Bob with pink overalls around his ankles and nothing on underneath. Bob's solo went on perfectly; he didn't even flinch, keeping that Gibson just in the right place. Tommy and Paul wailed like schoolkids and we all laughed until we were out of breath. What a band.
--Scott Holter, copywriter
So it was the summer I was 14 and I was caddying at this ritzy country club with all these golfer guys who let their hair down by telling obnoxious jokes and throwing clubs whenever they missed a shot. One day I had to duck a club from this schmucky guy and he wanted me to go get it and return it to him. I just put down his clubs and walked off. I didn't tell my mother because I felt like if she knew I'd quit my job she'd feel like it was bad for my moral growth and she'd stop my allowance.
It was also the summer of my first real girlfriend and I used to sneak out of the house every night and skate over to her place. Either we'd hang out or go with our friends to the Coca-Cola bottling plant. If you watched them closely going back and forth you could time it so you could steal a six-pack and when you are 14 living on an allowance, a six-pack of Coke is like a gold mine.
I'd stay out every night until 5 o'clock in the morning, come home and sleep for half an hour, or not at all, until my Mom's alarm went off and she'd come in to hassle me and wake me up so I could go caddy. And I was angry and confused generally, because I was 14 but I was really tired and angry at 5:30 in the morning and we'd get in these giant fights. I'd put on my Walkman and blare the Descendants' "Parents": "Parents! Why won't they shut up/Parents! They're so fucked up/They treat me like a toy/They don't know I'm a boy/Little do they know/Some day I'll explode." I'd skate off and sit in a dark park and wait five hours or so for my friends to wake up. It was like fighting with my mom grounded the whole summer, which was overwhelming and weird but also extremely fun. I spent the whole summer pissed off and confused but I had a great time.
--Tad Keyes, copier
It was one of the last few days of school in New Brighton and I'm walking home with Holly Nelson, who had the skinniest rib cage I'd ever seen, a turned-up nose and long, honey brown hair. We were like 12 or 13, sixth grade probably, wearing boys' tennis shoes that we'd written all over with markers: peace, love, hearts. There was all this construction going on because New Brighton was becoming a suburb and we're walking through all these large holes for basements and Holly is cool, this cool girl, and we come upon this huge hole in the earth before any cement blocks are in and we walk around it, and eventually we jump in and we can't get back out again and the shadows are getting longer and it is getting cooler and we are supposed to be home for supper. It is scary but secretly we like it. And the song is out on the radio that goes, "Timothy, Timothy, where did you go, lost in a mine." I think it was by The Boys; I just heard it on KOOL 108. And the thing is, they ate Timothy; although they don't actually say it. And who is going to eat who here, and Holly is very into teenage death. After a long struggle we finally got out of there.
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