There are many mornings where I am too tired to remember exactly why people are staring at me on the subway train. Did I have something on my face? Am I not wearing any pants? Ah crap, I have a big green stream of snot extending itself from my nose to the floor, don't I?

As I sit and ponder these questions in my mind, asking myself just what I was doing that was causing everyone to look at me, it started to dawn on me. As I stared from my feet to my reflection in the glass on the opposing side of the train, it hit me.
"Just look at that goofball!" I thought, "Hair extending its way towards the roof, and a face adorned with so much metal that you could lift them with a fridge magnet"

Yep. That was me, alright.

I went bug-eyed as the facts started to sink into that sleepy skull of mine. That crazy-haired lady in the glass was me. Sometimes I just forget, as you begin to get used to looking a certain way year after year. Still staring at myself and feeling eyes drilled into the back of my head - hundreds of early morning commuters studied me from all directions.

Now, if you were to ask somebody what the greatest thing was about being a punk, they might tell you about being in the mosh pit at the latest Subhumans concert, setting off fireworks in garbage cans, or perhaps getting rowdy with their friends under the bridge out of town - getting trashed, wasted, and vomiting into their friends favorite Fedora. Those times are all well and good, but I would have to say that the greatest thing about looking the way I do is probably sitting on this subway train right now.

I love the music. I love the attitude. But getting trashed and passing out in the streets didn't particularly interest me. No, it didn't really appeal to me at all. But sitting here amongst people who don't really know you can have it's advantages and its fun. A situation that many punks will tell you that they hate to get themselves in.

I am a contemplative punk. A label not heard of by many, but only because I just made it up. A label that I stick to myself with pride - a label on my leather jacket, held onto me by many buttons, zippers, and safety pins.

Every weekday morning, I make this commute with many others. Various suits, ties, frilly shirts and short skirts - overcoats, dress shoes, and pointy healed hooves. Often times I stand by the door, but if I am lucky I will grab a seat if it isn't already taken in this ridiculous rush-hour traffic - this is where I begin my morning routine.

I look around the train and spot many faces. Some look away in discontent, and others continue to stare in my direction. I always seem to wonder about the people who don't look away when I catch their gaze. As you look into their direction, they continue to stare. As you look back at them, straight in the eye, you are wondering what exactly they are going to do next. Are they going to say something? Make a face? Grin? Frown? Or just look away.

At times, you will get the odd person that smiles or says hello, and often a hello is also accompanied by a question. Questions are usually the same, ranging from things like "Where did you get that jacket?", "Hey! I've heard that band!" as they point to a patch on the jacket, or "How long does it take to do that hair?". For somebody that enjoys meeting people from all walks of life, this starts my day with a smile. In this circumstance, I usually get to enjoy a conversation with a curious person until the train either reaches my stop or theirs.

But there are special moments where somebody goes out of their way to speak to you. Without even looking at them, they will initiate an interesting story. An example being this middle-aged man with a suit, tie, and a brief case. He told me about his glory days where he carefully put up his three foot bright orange mohawk and went to all sorts of shows - naming off bands I had heard of and listened to, something you just couldn't make up off the top of your head. Or the thirty year old business dude that told me about the time he partied with the members of Killing Joke after a show at the Siboney. The unexpected delighting you with stories of their pasts and rebelling against society.

Wherever I may be, whether on the Subway train or walking through Chinatown or Kensington Market, I always seem to run into an interesting situation between me and the crowds, whether I am the topic of somebody's gossip and whispering, or having my jacket used as reading material for the long commute home. That seems to be something that a punk runs into each and everyday, and I always say that if you are going to look the way you do, people are going to look, and that's just the way it is. Whether you like it or not - you can hate it, or you can embrace it.

So, I chose to make a story out of it, thus - embracing it.