It’s been a long time between posts because I’ve been working on just how exactly to phrase this. I think I’m getting old, not solely because Steve from Blue’s Clue has been on his 12 step journey and making amends for the last twenty years, but also because I like the finer things in life. A good scotch, a relaxing fire, all kids being sent “somewhere else.” The finer things. My joke is that I was born 40 years old, so just add 40 to my actual age and you get how old I feel inside mentally. So that would make me 69. Nice!

Regardless, I’m not as young as I used to be. That’s a true statement always, but I say it with some irreverence as I just stretched myself to the limit of my physical and mental comfort by going to 2 different concerts on 2 consecutive days with 2 different ambiences. One was the Dropkick Murphy’s and Rancid, and the other was Alanis Morrisette and Garbage. And if youre thinking “Calm down, Charlie, your age is fine, those are two very different concerts, nothing is wrong,” I’d say to you ‘I know, but that’s not funny. People say I’m funny. Let me make it funny.’

The first concert was 50 year olds who were very into punk when they were younger and the second concert was 50 year olds who were very into grunge when they were younger. So basically just a ton of white people. Reminded me a lot of Billy Joel and Weird Al. (Maybe I have a type.) Anyway, I’m not afraid to go to a concert alone. It’s more fun with people I know, I know, but if they’re out of town or “studying” in college, don’t stand in the way of me seeing Weird Al Yankovic or Billy Joel, respectively. But when my current girlfriend of five years said “These are the first concerts we’ve been to together,” I was shocked at her perceptiveness and my lack thereof. Turns out, we do concerts very differently. Not a bad thing, just… different.

I much prefer to tackle a concert drunk. I don’t mean get into a fight with a drunk at a concert. I hate confrontation. I mean use alcohol as a way to loosen up, relax, dance in my seat. And yes, my seat; I wouldn’t be caught dead in a mosh pit. Actually, I would be caught dead in a mosh pit. That’s how they’d find me. I weigh 122 lbs in baggy, wet athletic shorts. What can I say? My personal dress code and style is “at the pool without a bathing suit, just go in wearing those” chic. My final words would be “Hey, you spilled that on me! Are you going to apologize?” No, no, not my scene. I’m a Seatgeek™️ when it comes to shows. She’s ok with a pit of moshers, it turns out, even after I told her there’s no good explanation for a black eye when you’re dating a man, except for maybe that you got dropkicked by Murphy at a Dropkick Murphy’s show. She’s willing to take the societal risk of me being like “I didn’t do that, I didn’t do that,” and everyone saying “theythinks me doth protest too much.” That’s my next book; She Got Punched, I Got Cancelled.

However, if you’re a person who’s not a narc like me, you probably just get high at a show and nurse a rosé. Now, they say drugs are prohibited at shows, but they obviously mustn’t look too hard, cause there’s enough weed at concerts these days to kill Snoop Dogg and Woody Harrelson. (That’s the True Detective casting I want to see HBO, if you are in fact reading these posts.) I guess they don’t do cavity searches at the door, although I wish they would. I haven’t been to the dentist in ages. Of course, the most imperceptible way to get stuff past the gate check is to slip an edible about 45 minutes prior and just let the music feel like it’s entering your body through your chest and not your ears. Rock the rib cage!

I’d never done that before, because let’s be honest, I’m scared of drugs because of their on again/off again illegality. Decriminalized, uncriminalized, recriminalized, subcriminalized… This legalese over legal weed is enough to make a judge cry. (Side note: um, Prince? this is what it sounds like when judges cry…) But, when in Rome, and by Rome I mean deep Queens, what’s a guy and gal to do for fun? See the show as God intended, high on just Jesus? Certainly not. I’d like to be paranoid about my belongings please? Thank you. Now, look at the pretty colors and stop shaking the person next you. (Things we wish we could tell our younger selves.)

And now what about merch? I don’t normally buy merch when I go to a show, but when I do I prefer dos XL. I like to remember concerts the old fashioned way, by recording every song on my phone and never looking at the video again. Why do I need a sweatshirt from every show? It only makes sense to wear one sweatshirt at a time, unless you’re someplace really cold, like in the Arctic or the surface of Mars. Is there even merch on Mars? Age old question, isn’t it? But, my girlfriend likes sweatshirts and tees, of which, and I don’t think she’ll mind me saying this, she has way too many. Marie Kondo would just turn around, muttering “Gonna waste my time…” under her breath. Alas, though, we own more sweatshirts and tees now. Yay merch!

Anyway, I’m like the bands we saw perform; I’m getting a little to old for this shit. And I guess I’d rather have an IPA than an edible. This is the TL;DR, the too long, didn’t read part. Strategically placed at the end, so that you’ve read it all. But here’s what I can say: I learned about myself, I learned about punk and grunge, and I learned about my girlfriend. Can I ask for more? I don’t think so. And it’ll even be good fodder for the podcast I do with my brother, where we talk about concerts. To Whom It May Concert! Give it a look up and a listen.

https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/to-whom-it-may-concert/id1454935902