Who knew Richmond is what Durham wishes it could be. Don’t get me wrong. Durham is by far my favorite Carolina tip-toeing ground, but damn is Richmond my new, gritty, hot mess of a town. There’s a frickin’ party bus that will haul your drunk ass around town equipped with a bumpin’ sound system and stripper pole which the driver partakes in while stopped at red lights, a classy cigarette dangling out of her mouth all the while.
I hit the road a week ago with my bestie (I’ve never used this word out loud before, I think this will be the last), Riot Scoot, for Best Friend’s Day – a punk rock, fuck shit up festival at a rickety, lakeside water park. The day was spent bouncing around to 80 year old punk rocker, Kevin Seconds, ass-spellin’ booty dancing to Big Frida, and gracelessly gliding through the air off a rope swing into a sea of tattoos and debauchery. And then came Against Me. Now say what you will about them selling out and being lame and what have you, but that pit and that energy and that band took me back to when punk rock was a social gathering of solidarity and not a suburban fashion show and an excuse to hurt people. Yeah, i’m old, and everything was way better in the good ole days of Reagan and daddy Bush. What of it. The highlight of the event, however, was when my kickass little sister who had never been to a punk show and never been into a pit said to me, “And then I realized I could push people!”.