February 4, 2011

Isn't It Ironic?

So I’m standing around at a NOFX concert…

Yeah, I know. I should have thought this through a little better.

Anyway, I’m standing at this concert and I have a total Final Destination moment. This happens due to the summation of several factors.

1. I am on the second floor of a bar/club and I can feel the vibrations of the double bass drum from the band playing on the ground floor.

2. The entire building seems to be made completely of wood.

3. There are numerous men who are much too big to be jumping around like kids who are, indeed, jumping around and punching at each other like children. Hereafter these men shall be referred to as fatties, huge bitches, or big ass motherfuckers.

4. These huge bitches are making the floor bounce like a fucking trampoline right underneath my feet.

1 + 2 + 3 + 4 = death trap.

In my mind, I see these fatties causing the floor to give way beneath us. It would splinter like a frozen sheet of ice covering a lake and start to break away. The stage would begin to collapse, sparks would fly, and all this wood would begin to burn. With all the alcohol spillage, it would ignite quickly and the entire place would be engulfed in flames. After suffering a broken ankle in the fall , I would be trampled while trying to make my way to the exit and I would die while the fat cells of some of those big ass motherfuckers who fell on top of me dripped onto my skin.

Sounds like a good time, huh? I probably had marginally more fun than that in real life since I didn’t live out a scene from Final Destination 17. In fact, before the night was even over, I walked out and left the person I accompanied there while I waited not so patiently in the car. My last text read:

I am ready to fucking go. It is freezing. I have beer everywhere. I don’t care who you talked to. I am not going to wait out here another hour while you chat people up.

I don’t understand the point of throwing a ham sandwich at a Jewish guy. That is the theme of the evening. I don’t think I’ve ever been in a worse crowd in all the many concerts I’ve been to in my lifetime and I’ve been in some rough ones. It doesn’t take much when you’re 5’4 and have a vagina. Unless I’m there with a guy as a pretty, tattooed accessory, I’m in the way. But still, Metalheads seem to have nothing when it comes to the sheer unadulterated ignorance of a collective punker crowd.

We’re going to hurl crushed, mostly empty beer cans at a band we paid 30 bucks to see. We’re going to ironically insult them by tossing processed pork. We will smoke pot in the middle of the crowd because we’re rebels, baby. We don’t have any rules. It’s anarchy, bitches. Fuck yeah. And we’re going to run around a room in a circle punching and kicking other people in a mass of sweat and stink and cigarette smoke. It’s ironic dancing. Everything we do is ironic. And that’s how we fight the system to take it down, doll face. We do drugs that people have negative opinions about then act in completely inane, violent ways. It’s okay though. It’s all irony, you see.

What? What’s that you say? That doesn’t seem like a sensible approach to accomplishing a single fucking thing? Yeah, you’re probably right.

NOFX, though not exactly my thing, put on a great show. But as I’m standing there frozen to the spot in midst of my Final Destination montage with beer drying on my Chucks and jeans, sore, possibly bruised and bleeding, makeup ruined from the water that had been splashed in my face from a hurtling plastic bottle, I realize this is really not how I would like to spend the last few moments of my life. There’s no value in this experience to say the least. So I squeeze through the crowd and go sit in my car to work on my book. I’d rather have been mugged and murdered sitting in my car in the middle of Atlanta than drown in adipose while flames lick my toes and creep up the legs of my beer soaked jeans. In fact, after measuring my options, the risk of getting mugged and murdered on my way to the car or while in the car seemed trivial in comparison to sharing one more moment of my time with such a negative entity.



Tips for Punkers (and anyone else who acts like a fucktard at concerts):

1. I don’t care how hot it is--do not take off your shirt in a crowd. Your armpits always smell and you look like a dick. Keeping the shirt on minimizes the amount of sweat you insist on depositing on someone else when you rub against them on your way to do more punching.

2. A band will likely not come back if you throw lunchmeat at them. I know this is hard to process, but I would never lie to you.

3. Learn phrases like “pardon me” and “my bad.” When you trample someone a foot shorter than you, he or she may be less likely to elbow the fuck out of your ribs on your way by if you simple use such a phrase.

4. It’s probably a bad idea to pound 8 beers while participating in the equivalent of the Running of the Bulls.

5. Having a standard look is the same as a uniform. Uniforms are, ironically, a symbol of oppression. This leads me to think you are, likely, oppressing not liberating yourselves. Being a “punker” is not a way of dress. It’s supposed to be a way of life.

6. Respect the fact that some people came to actually watch the band. It’s tough to understand right now, I know, but it’s true. Just think about it for a while. There are people in these crowds who have no less right to be there than you who absolutely do not have any desire to run around all crazy like and get punched or knocked down onto a hard concrete floor.

7. Some of you are way too big to be running around like that. You’re going to kill someone or possibly have a heart attack. You should slowly work up to that amount of aerobic exercise.  Also, some of you come to these events just for the punching. I know you got made fun of when you were younger, but let it go. Between fight dancing and Call of Duty addiction, you’re all becoming pretty scary and you will never get laid.

8. Not wearing deodorant is not a form of rebellion. It’s fucking stupid.

9. Those guys at the front of the crowd who work for the venue get tired of picking your drunk asses up and redistributing you when you’re having a “blast” crowd surfing. They’re doing it for a reason. If one of you happened to fall and break your neck while this was allowed to go on, your pathetic ass would sue the shit out of said venue. This rule has a reason. No one wants to pick up 30 people over the course of 4 hours because you all persist in your stupidity.

10. If 1-9 are still giving you some trouble, perhaps you should stick to something simple. Use some common fucking sense.

1 Comments:

JLStewart said...

I couldn't agree more.

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about me. not really.

dear you,

i don't talk about my child or being a mom. i don't talk about my garden. i won't mention my craftiness (often) or how much i save each week with coupons. if you're looking for that sort of thing, you're in the wrong place.

instead, let's abandon the tethers of domestication for a moment and remember what it's like to laugh at vulgarity and the world at large.

xo,

j

talk amongst ourselves


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