D-Day. In a couple of hours my wife Charmaine and I will be at the Amoranto Theater checking out the Philippine leg of Children of Bodom’s Ugly World Tour. It’ll be fun. I expect nothing but torture — my eardrums pummeled by live heavy music, my skin sliced by Alexi Laiho’s razor-sharp riffs, and my mind blown away by the massive blast of heathen music that will surely engulf the venue.
In short, I’m excited. Like, pissing-on-my-pants excited. And also strangely nervous for some reason. I hope there will be beer at the venue, and I hope they will be reasonably priced.
In case it’s not yet obvious, I love rock/metal concerts. I go there, get drunk, bang my head, scream with the band (or at the band if they’re shitty), and hang out with like-minded people. If I can handle it, I join mosh pits. There, I get elbowed, slugged, kicked, kneed, whacked, pushed, shoved, stomped (just like when I commute daily), but that’s okay, because that’s all part of the fun. Somehow, the pain and the violence provide catharsis. Think Palahniuk’s Fight Club, only with loud music and no Brad Pitt.