Peace, Love and Etiquette

There's nothing quite like an all ages show. Only at such an event are you likely to witness one half of the room moshing while the other half waves their lighters (or cell phones) in the air.

Of particular interest are the enthusiastic fellows who have clearly only recently abandoned the glory of the football field for their newly discovered infatuation with pot. Often seen pumping their fists in the air with index finger emphatically extended, they raise the question — why don't concert vendors start selling those gigantic foam fingers emblazoned with the names of bands instead of sports teams? I'm quite certain they'd sell.

The antics of these fans-cum-fanatics, however, pale in comparison to their flat-foreheaded brethren, the homo sapien shoulderous. This breed of concert-goer engages in the bizarre public mating ritual of placing his girlfriend on his shoulders as though he's in row 2,045 at Lollapalooza instead of at a tiny club show.

Not to be outdone are the nouveau hippie chicks, who apparently think flailing wildly at the peril of those near them constitutes dancing. Yes, perhaps you saw Janis Joplin do it. But. A) She's Janis Joplin; B) She wasn't standing fourteen inches away from me at the time; and C) She was probably too drunk to realize that she wasn't actually standing still.

And she's, you know, Janis Joplin.

Nonetheless, better a Modest Mouse show packed with barely post-pubescent pseudo-rockers than no Modest Mouse show at all (and they nailed "Spitting Venom" if anyone cares). I'm just glad I didn't bump into any of my students.