And While We’re At It, Get Off My Lawn

Hearing the headliner announcements for this summer’s Pitchfork Music Fest has gotten me all excited about festival season. I haven’t been to a concert since before my knee surgery. I can remember being at a show at the Metro fairly recently where a mosh pit broke out (yes, it’s still a thing). At this point in life, I’m about 10 years and a knee injury beyond moshing. At most, I am OK with a light jostle, but the idea of being pushed into sweaty, shirtless dudes who smell like dirty laundry and Cheeto feet totally grosses me out. When a crowd surges forward, I rush backwards like Marty McFly avoiding the Rolls-Royce. At about this point, I decided that the only way to deal with the crowd was to get so drunk that nothing bothered me anymore. This is how I discovered that I can pass out standing up, which must be how drunk racehorses sleep. The downside to this is that I missed a sweet encore, but at least I didn’t have to watch it from inside some dude’s armpit.


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