It's time for me to come out as a high school punk. My jeans were artfully ripped, my hair was dyed bright red, and my walkman plastered with band stickers, and I spent my nights listening to the same songs over and over while eating Cherry Garcia ice cream and contemplating sneaking out of my strict home. When I did, it was straight to “The Temple,” a synagogue that was converted into a Korean church, where they somehow allowed mohawked and studded kids throw crazy shows. This was around when…