wash before you mosh

So Saturday I went to the epitaph tour with my sister. I was nervous, what with it being an all-ages show at Axis, and was plagued by visions of bad death-core surrounded by prepubescent Brookline hipsters. MUCH to my relief, the scene was pretty cool, and I even LIKED THE MUSIC.

WHAT.

YES. This phishead-hippie-turned-electro-groupie ENJOYED HEARING SCREAMING AND FEEDBACK. It hearkened back to my own days of moshing at battles of the bands, being knocked over and almost getting concussions, crowd-surfing at L7 concerts, and the like. So at this show we were all wedged in together, and people were PUSHING and SHOVING and YELLING and boys were hurling themselves at each other, fists and feet flying, and it was so flipping awesome i had to drink whiskey. which i rarely do. The only trouble came from one particuarly ripe individual next to me who apparently had not thought to shower before the show. Or, like, all month. Hence the title of this post, coined by molly.

in other news, my car is in the shop again, and I think that soon I may have to post another couple installments of “why my cars suck”.

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