If i said “Cometbus” and you didn’t know what I was talking about immediately, you probably wouldn’t fully understand the amazing night I had last night. I’m sitting there waiting in line for the bathroom at a somewhat secret, unannounced until yesterday Pinhead Gunpowder show in Long Beach, mere blocks away from the former site of the PCH club. In a venue about the size the PCH was. So, I’m standing in line for the bathroom talking to a girl and there’s a lightbulb in the wall and i put my hand near it and it starts flickering, she tries and nothing happens, I go again and it flickers. We laugh and I turn to Aaron Cometbus who is waiting behind me in line and I say “you gotta try.” He dismisses the invitation and says “I don’t want to ruin the magic.”

I’m pretty sure the only way he could have ruined the magic for me tonight was by announcing that he was not going to play drums and Pinhead Gunpowder wasn’t going to play a show I was right up front for in a room with no more than 200 people. But they played, and hearing Mahogany, Life During Wartime, Losers Of The Year, Train Station and so many others played live with Billie Joe Armstrong a mere 6 or 7 feet away could only be described as magical. I danced, I sang along until my voice was horse, I bruised a rib, and I had the best night at a show in … I can’t even remember since when. Tonight crushed my belief that I could no longer have fun at a show. It brought back every feeling of being 15 and seeing Supernova, or the Toy Dolls, or Jawbreaker. A good punk rock show makes you feel like you can do anything. All the bands were great, the people were awesome. I chatted with all kinds of random people, I hung out, I felt a good vibe. It was the complete opposite of almost everything I feel at your average show, or even night out in Hollywood. I think I’m going to go to the Troubadour show they are playing tomorrow but there’s no way it could live up to being eye level with Billie Joe Armstrong as he sang some of my favorite songs of my youth, right up front, screaming my heart out. At the end of the night I got home and washed of the smell of sweat, smoke, and beer; but there was no way you could wipe this smile of my face not even with a bat.