THE PIT — Thirty-one years old and still doing this shit.

Last night, my friend-to-the-blog Kris invited me to support our buddies in the band “HELLBENDER” at a local music show. It was a DIY event held in a community arts space with a hilarious name with all the proceeds going to a beloved friend of the social circle.

There was a point in my life where I would go to house shows or local shows every weekend, but I was a geeky 18-year-old with lots of energy then. I’ve been more in the habit of stadium shows and bar bands instead, for some reason.

Last night, it felt like I was back. And in a way, after so much off-and-on with COVID, it felt like everyone in attendance felt like they were back.

There was Jason, Danny, Tina, Ty, Tommy, Liz, Dev, Miles, Bev.

I met two new friends as well: Reny (we bonded over the 1990’s Harlem Globetrotters) and Hali (another Ford Ranger owner/enthusiast).

Maybe it was the flowing cups of homebrew in the far corner. Maybe it was the Venmo-or-cash donations-accepted buffet table of Mountain Dew and sparkling water cans. Maybe it was a contact high from the alley. But at one point, all the folks I ran into or met for the first time spoke candidly about how great a time it felt like just to be around each other.

For myself, I needed the day to blow off some steam. Friday morning symbolized a great tapestry of avoided consequences paying due. I had 6 cavities drilled on the lower-right side of my jaw, apparently part of a 10-cavity special event held in the dental chair across the past two Fridays.

My monthly teaching paycheck came in, which was great for 5 minutes until I realized just how many expenses I have added up recently through a litany of unexpected costs. I had been on a mildly sad/moderately wistful streak since teaching my final class for the semester (and until further notice) on Wednesday morning. Change is on the horizon, and it looks like tightened belts for a little bit.

I had also watched an emotionally golden but devastating tribute to a dog by ESPN’s Scott Van Pelt, which got me thinking about my dog and how old she is, and how we’re probably going to have to approach that situation soon, and just how crushing those moments can feel — I got to thinking about what it was like when my parents each died, and how I’ve been there before, but don’t want to do it again.

And then I got in my feelings and mopes all day Friday: “I’m about to be unemployed, I really feel lost sometimes, nobody is ever going to ask my loser-ass out on a date ever again, etc. etc.“

Thankfully, live music gets one to stop thinking and just start feeling. So I decided to just get lost in the show while I could.

First was a rapper named Malik Royalty, who said it was his first time performing, but it certainly didn’t feel that way. He worked the front of the stage really well and had the whole crowd jumping around. He did some great back-and-forth rapping with a dude named Louie for a few cameo songs, and it reminded me of the interplay Dr. Dre and Eminem used to have during the Slim Shady era. I could tell these guys were great friends off the stage as well.

There was a second band called Superlunar that I missed because I stepped outside to cool off, but they sounded heavy and fun. I spent their set outside as light rain began to fall. A small group around me began to comment stereotypically Midwestern things like “I don’t mind it at all” and “we sure needed it.” And it’s hard to tell if anyone’s being ironic if they’re right. It felt damn good on the shoulders on a 65-degree night.

HELLBENDER took the stage afterwards and absolutely fucking rocked. Tina did their thing on bass, and Jeremy satisfied with some tasty guitar licks. And I knew I was going in the mosh pit at some point — I just didn’t expect to laugh so hard.

There was the usual people-shoving and rough-housing. But then came the little quirks about punk shows that I missed so much: a dude removes his shirt; another puts a ski-mask on. The lead singer takes a break between songs to state, “I need everyone to say ‘Fuck the Mayor’ right now.”

Someone finds an empty Mountain Dew soda box and tears the cardboard into pieces, throwing the remaining sheets at whoever is near. I feel like I watched someone do a handstand.

Then I jumped into the fray. Bounce, push, shove, hop, catch, stop. The silliness overtook me. I started acting like a wacky-waving inflatable arm-flailing tube man. Someone laughed. I laughed! Wasn’t concerned about life in that moment. This doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.

I bopped around for a bit longer before going a little wide on a mosh and taking a chest-height tabletop corner to the back of my ribs, which quickly reminded me how all 31 of my years felt at once. I reeled for a minute over by the side. The cavities began to hurt again. I’d have to call it a night soon. I chilled in the corner until HELLBENDER’s set ended.

Afterwards, I congratulated Jeremy and Tina on a great show and stepped back out into the cool rain as a sweaty mess. I had a cool-down beer at the Atlas and watched some of the NFL Draft on my laptop. Then I walked home while singing “That’s How I Got to Memphis” by Tom T. Hall because I felt happy enough to sing.

All in all, getting out for some live music, being tossed around in the mosh pit, even going ribs-first into a sharp table corner was really the medicine I needed after a gray and sullen Friday.

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-moose