Sorrow, pain, hurt, pity, worthlessness, self-loathing, empty. All feelings swirling in my head and stomach after realizing Saturday that my favorite band had been in town, and I totally missed it. There ARE, of course, varying degrees of these feelings. For instance, if you missed your favorite band 'this time', but you know they always play in ___________(your city), then its all good, you'll just seem them next time. Or if you missed your favorite band, but their new album kinda sux and its all __________ (type of lame fan/follower) at the shows anyways, then maybe you wouldn't be too bummed. But I missed my favorite band last weekend. I knew they were coming. And to pour lemon juice on my wounded soul, I had to drive RIGHT past the giant billboard on Market Street which read; "RANCID". Painful.
Watching all those fans waiting, loitering, outside the Warfield was like having to watch an orgy up close in person, but not getting to participate, and no slurpee. And then to go all GG Allin on my open wounds, Punk Rock Carlos calls me clearly holding his phone up at the show--leaving me to listen to that agonizing weird jumble of underwater concert noise filtered through two cell phones.