Part of me wants to see this, preferably intoxicated and in the company of bad-ass friends, while another part just wants to stay home that night and read a book or watch TV or start a creative endeavor or something, like writing that novel that has been banging in my head for quite some time now. Whatever. In the last days of my being 32, I wonder if I’m getting old for this shit. Yeah.
But let’s see come Valentine’s Day. The season of the hearts has never failed to put me in a blind rage, and that is something only a seething mosh pit can cure.