07.23.04
Paying for the privilege of reliving a painful adolescence.
Or: how I ended up spending my Friday night with a bunch of 7th graders.

Mass. Hysteria played a show here in Rochester last night. Although it was listed as "all ages", I assumed that the venue was still going to be a bar.

It turned out to be at a community theater or a VFW hall or something. (I actually found out today that it's the local Grange Hall. -Ed.) Anyway, I got there about an hour after the doors opened, and there were only about 12 people there.

All between the ages of 9 and 15.

And, just like how I remembered from middle-school dances, all of the guys were sitting on one side and all the girls were sitting on the other.

Never have I wanted a drink more badly in my life.

Happily, I found this cruddy biker/redneck bar down the street that served me pint glasses of Grey Goose and cranberry juice between the sets. Every few minutes the bartender would slap me on the back, address me by my first name and ask "Can I getcha another one?"

I felt like the luckiest hobo on the freight train.

At one point during the night two of the skinheads from the show stumbled into the same bar, and I was so delighted to be in the company of people over the age of 21 that I shouted "Hey! You're the non-racist skinheads from next door!" at them.

And, as I observed (aloud) (loudly) (after several drinks) (probably to the horror of the parents standing in the back of the room) the advantage to hanging out with middle school students is that I become, by default, the hottest chick in the room. I'm the only one with breasts!

New: Photographic evidence of my evening spent amongst the 12 year olds.