Life: Post Show

Ok. Now I see what I've gotten into. I've spent the last year and a half dipping my toes into the likes of Strike Anywhere, Jets To Brazil, Dead Serious, Saves The Day, and New Found Glory over my sisters stereo, but now I've taken the plunge. That show flipped me in every way shape and form. I saw kids not giving a fuck and loving every fleeting second of it. I saw the guy who booked the show and I'd put him at 20 years old, tops. This whole god damn thing is run, attended, and down right owned by "kids". I wanted to be one of them.

I had never before been so at home, even though I had also never before seen so out of my comfort zone. The freedom of speech and personality and art. I could not believe that it was okay to bounce, or to put it realistically "slam", around with other kids who you didn't even know, screaming at the top of your lungs. I was free. Free from the collared shirts my mom made me wear to school to show the teachers that I wasn't a thug. Free from the judgments of all the other 13 year old's that seemed so important to survival. Free from the questions in my head about what the hell was going on in my body or the world around me. I knew right then and there that this was the place and the crowd for me. I wanted to hold on as tight as I could and let the ride take me wherever it happened to go.

"Step back from yourself." Okay. There is a bowl full of chocolate in front of me and an ipod full of my favorite bands next to that. Why can't I come up with an idea for a good story? No. Wrong question. I can come up with good story ideas, I just can't write them down with interesting beef. I swear people would pay money to see my thoughts projected against a white screen. Or maybe I just wish they would... Anyways, as far as I'm concerned my problem is how to put some of these ideas into words. Words that will make people want to read more. Not just two dollar words I learned from dictionary dot com's daily emails though. Real words. Words like Filth, Crinkle, and Poised. Words that convey ideas. I want my readers to see what I'm writing, not just wonder whether I talk like this in real life or if I get off on pretending that I studied English Literature at some lush university in rural New Jersey. Fuck it. Ok, now that I have my R rating, or at least PG by today's standards, I guess I can start in from the beginning again. Did I mention that I've been drinking? Actually I have not, but let's pretend I am for sake of belligerence because I respect a free mind's creativity. From the beginning!

This story begins in 2001. August to be sure. Late in the month, but the exact date is irrelevant. On this particular night I will witness, for the first time in my life, an inexplicable, uncontrollable, and absolutely nonsensical marriage between real music and real energy in a real crowd of real individuals. Now I must ask you to please not take my overuse of the word "real" for granted here. When I say "Real Music" I mean music that has been written for a purpose. To send a message. To pull like minded people together. And when I say "Real Energy" I mean energy that is aroused from deep within one's heart and mind, not demanded by a squad of cheer leaders or a light up "Applause!" sign. This is energy being expelled without rules, save the laws of physics. As for the "real crowd" of "real individuals", well, if you don't understand that one then you should just take a look around the room the next time you attend a punk show.

Being "the bigger man"

High school is a very dramatic time period for most people. I am definitely in that category. I remember many occasions where I would be in some sort of altercation with somebody and, doing as most people do, would ask my friends for advice. It didn't matter how big or small the problem was, I always "knew" that I was right and my opposition was wrong. The last thing I ever wanted to hear was "Be the bigger man." It KILLED me when the person I had turned to gave me such ego blowing advice. I'm a bit older and much wiser these days, and now I understand what it means to suck it up and be the "bigger man". I wish I could go back in time (or at least remember everybody who gave me those words of advice) and thank them for being mature enough and a friend enough to realize that whatever I was so pissed off about really was not that important and the last thing I needed anybody to do was justify my vengeance.

So anyways, here's to true friends who tell you what you might not want to hear because at the end of the day, it's the right thing.