post 281: because this is fitting

I saw Thrice, the most amazing band in the world to me, play at Slim's with the best people in the world, my housemates, Catherine and Morgan.

These Arms Are Snakes were pretty good and insane. The singer kept unbuttoning his shirt and lifting it, exposing his cute, white tummy while he screamed/sang into the microphone. So that wasn't so bad.

If you ever get the chance to see one of the things that makes you most happy, do it. I haven't seen Thrice since my sophomore year in high school. And even then, I was standing by the bar at the House of Blues, far from the crowd of moshers and crowd surfers.

But no, no, no, to really experience your favorite band's music, one must stand three feet away from your favorite band member (for me it was Teppei, the lead guitarist--not my fave band member, but the only one closest to me), feel the pressure of a thousand people rubbing against you (it was probably 100+), and endure their sweatiness as well (my jeans were drenched after the show). As soon as the first song started, one could feel the crowd move like one entity to the beat of the drums (Riley was in top form). Your feet lift up, if you're short enough (I am), and if there's more than enough people pushing in all directions against you, it's as if you're in the sea. Only this was a sea of hot, sweaty people. Make sure your friends are okay and stick together--it's so much funner when you're not doing this alone. When that crowd surfer comes slowly toward you, grab his ankle and push him toward the hot security guard who will get him out of the way for you. And if you get kicked in the face by a crowd surfer, push him harder. Don't worry, the music makes you numb.

Sing/scream/mouthe the words at the top of your lungs and headbang until you get aforementioned hot security guard to notice your passionate self and pass you a bottle of water, because, that was intense rocking out, and you need some h2o. Pass that bottle around because you're surrounded by other music passionate people who need to quench their thirst. Or go insane and drench everyone in the crowd if the music's just right (it was).

Then, when the band leaves the stage, you better fucking stay and demand encore. You do not leave. You chant encore until they come back and do 3 more songs, one of them an oldie, but a goodie. Sing. Scream. While headbanging simultaneously. Repeat. Then when it's really over, stay again so that when the roadies clean up, they can toss guitar picks and drumsticks at you. If you're lucky, you might get one. Maybe next time.

Walk back to your car in the cold, night air and rehash what just happened. Be nice to the drunk lady who was also at the concert and is following you to your car. Drive to Nation's, get some sustenance, and continue conversations on band's performance. Too tired to shower off the stench and sweat of a thousand people, fall asleep on your bed despite the ringing in your ears and dream of the next concert, the one where you'll catch that tossed drumstick and maybe get it signed by the ridiculously hot drummer.

So, do it, do it, do it. Or, when my fave band is back in town, come with me and we can do it together.

That was my Sunday night. Taking chances to see/experience what you love.

You can find me here now: http://cakeandtea.blogspot.com/. My new username is Phoebe Caulfield, after the character in Catcher in the Rye. I remember my brother calling me his "Phoebe Caulfield" in a letter he wrote me. Prufrock is gone, even my posts here have been changed. I had a great time here all, but this is a good move.

If you plan on commenting on my new blog, please, do not mention this blog or my old screenname. It's gone and past. These blogs will be separate and neither will be linked to each other.

Have an amazing day and rest of the week.