All Age Rage

Published in blunt magazine volume 11 issue 5

Picture the scene: You arrive at your local live music venue amped for a wild night of bands, booze and babes. As you near the entrance the overexcited chattering of drunken underage teenies becomes increasingly apparent. The majority of the rowdy mob fighting their way to the front of the queue not even collectively in possession of enough pubic hair to knit a hamster's scarf.

You pay your fee and make your way through the seething underage mass to the bar only to realise that your desire to enjoy the simple pleasures of a live aural assault while getting ridiculously fall down drunk has been thwarted by the annoying inconvenience of beer / brat segregation. Like human cattle you're herded into a designated drinking kraal where you're to stay until such time as you're willing to sacrifice your love of liquid musings for your love of live music. This is not what you signed up for, everybody knows that alcohol and live music go together like hookers and syphilis. Watching a band without an ice cold brain buster in your hand is like sex without a penis.

Temporarily subdued by your beerlust you forget this gross injustice, make your way to the bar counter and attempt to purchase some inhibition-numbing liquids only to discover that the bar is in fact not accepting cash. Not only have you been banished to the beer zone but now they expect you to purchase alcohol tickets as well?! Welcome to the wonderful world of all ages gigs! And that's not to mention the deceptively mature femme fatales ready to ensnare the judgment impaired inebriates in potentially sticky situations. Call it chauvinistic but as an all ages gig frequenting heterosexual male this is a genuine concern and with the rate at which some girls are growing up (and out) these days there's just no accurate way of judging numerical advancement anymore.

It's for reasons like these that I feel it is my duty to bring about the dawning of an all ages gigs prohibition. These pubeless pre-pubescent rascals have crashed the party for long enough now and it's time someone pulled the rug from under these rugrats' feet.

Online Meetings: The Last Outpost of Desperation for the Single

IRC, Facebook, Myspace, you name it we all know at least one couple who've met online in some shape or form. What was once considered a taboo occurrence and generally pooh-poohed by the conservative masses has fast become a 21st century norm. I too am guilty of wasting countless voyeuristic hours poring over the online profiles of the egotists and social retards who pollute the many online shelters for the socially inept. People who for some reason think that anyone actually gives a shit that their favourite smell is "mom's cooking" or that we just might want to see photos of their cool new hairdo taken from every conceivable angle.

Yes, there is definitely something strangely addictive about this kind of voyeuristic invasion however in all my years of internet stalking not once did I even mildy entertain the notion of actually orchestrating a real life meet and greet with one of these online community whores. No siree, I'm far too proud to admit that my people skills are in such dire need of assistance that I actually have to resort to such extreme measures as internet socialising just to get my dick licked on a Friday night. My tried and trusted combo of wreckless alcohol consumption and verbal assault has worked just fine for me so far thank you very much!

But having said that no longer can I point the cold, hard finger of judgment at such behaviour as amidst the musty haze of one particularly hungover Saturday afternoon I broke a personal rule and sold my soul to Myspace. I too joined the ranks of the comment junkies and quickly developed an insatiable hunger for meaningless, virtual banter. It wasn't long before I had broken yet another personal rule and was engaging in lengthly online repartee with a perfect stranger.

I discovered her profile through a mutual friend and we quickly struck up a pseudo-friendship. Nothing more than harmless virtual pleasures at first but then one day it happened - the inevitable real life meet and greet invitation. Despite all prior disgust for that type of sad behaviour I am not ashamed to say that I was actually keen; a keeness that belied the reality I would face - the bravado and charisma once afforded by internet anonymity now replaced with a curt coyness. After countless cancelled meet-ups, run arounds and gratuitous displays of ambiguous behaviour I have finally resigned myself to the fact that what happens online should stay online.

Yes, yes I'm sure for all the numerous failures there are a few sucess stories that read like the script of the latest Tom Hanks / Meg Ryan romcom smash but I'll take my chances with the roulette wheel of drink and rejection over the torturously lame world of online hook-ups any day. Forget Myspace! Forget Facebook! Forget the internet! Drink a bottle of Jack and let's revive the endangered art of confrontation!