(September 28, 2006) — The speakers blare familiar punk music. Your legs quiver with anticipation and you deeply breathe in the thick scent of excitement that’s in the air (until you realization hits that it’s just puke). The intoxicated psychobilly next to you proposes a fight with a security guard twice his size. In the complex tangle of arms, legs, and elbows of sweaty strangers, it’s almost impossible to distinguish your limbs from countless others. All is as it should be as you impatiently wait for your favorite band to finish setting up their equipment and deliver a mind-blowing performance… Until of course, you hear the inevitable. “Oh my Goooood, my legs hurt so bad from standing so long!” an annoying nasal voice whines in your ear. “And I’m getting sweaty! Who’s touching my hair? This sucks so hardcore!” After a long night of hearing such complaints before and during the opening acts from helmet-haired eyeliner enthusiasts, it’s all you can do to keep from lashing out against these perpetrators against all that’s been held for generations as being good and holy in the show-attending community. As of late, all my concert experiences have been plagued by whiney fashionistas and their constant complaints about how uncomfortable and in pain they are. All the while they are standing in a pit with hundreds of people all fighting for the rail and ready to lose control the moment they hear the first note. I’m not sure if this is a recent trend or if it’s been occurring for some time, but frankly it doesn’t make any sense and it causes me to have some intensely violent reactions. It’s quite possible that such people are delusional enough to expect the crowd to politely let them through and for everyone to have a square foot of personal space to enjoy the show. It’s also possible they expect to leave a packed show with their jet black hair still perfectly in place across their foreheads. However, these people are sadly mistaken and don’t belong anywhere near a live rock performance. Being jostled by countless sweaty, dirty strangers and being covered with bruises the next day is half the fun of going to a show. When was the last time you heard about someone complaining that the topless hippies at Woodstock smelled too offensive? Or that GG Allen got too much blood on the crowd If you want to experience a rock show in comfort and relaxation, watch it from home in bed with your teddy bear, a pacifier and a bottle of warm milk while you take you’re MySpace pictures.