Rock and Roll

I was sick all last week. Hell, I’m still sick, but last week I deserved it. I went to a birthday party the Thursday prior, then a Halloween party down in Providence the next day. I got back to Boston just in time to eat dinner, then get ready for another Halloween party. That Sunday, I went back down to Providence to see the Misfits.

I never get to drive any more, so when my last-minute traveling companions turned out not to have a car, I got the rare treat of getting a Zipcar and being designated driver. It’s probably not a good sign that being forced by circumstances to regulate my alcohol intake was noteworthy.

The last time I saw the Misfits was seven or eight years ago. I don’t remember who was fronting them then (Michael Graves, maybe?), but the show was great. It took a lot of convincing by the bouncers, cops, cute door girl, and some drunk townie in the bathroom to make me leave and go get the stitches I clearly needed. That show was good enough that the clear sight of a double-digit percentage of my own blood soaking into my pants and shirt was not enough to make me want to leave.

( This show was. . . )