There are a couple of things young people like to do (yes, I still consider myself young, so fuck off, will you?). One of these things is going to concerts. I myself am not as avid a concertgoer as some of my peers, mainly because I’m too elitist to listen to most of what is playing in venues near me. But once in a while, I do like to indulge in a live-experience, and whenever I do, I remember another reason why I don’t do this more often: the people.

That’s right, people. It’s similar to the movies, really. You come to see and hear someone or something, and most of the time your enjoyment is hindered by someone else who has come for the same reasons but, unlike you, is an inconsiderate or stupid bastard. Or both.

So let me run down a few things that tend to make me want to shoot someone in the head (”shoot in the head” is of course a figure of speech – I’d actually bludgeon them to death with my plastic beer cup):

• Dancing: Yes, I have heard from people that moving your body in a fashion resembling the way the schoolgirl-zombies move in STACY is something to be enjoyed. I am inclined to believe that notion, but I’m als extremely annoyed when people think it’s their prerogative to move that way in a crowd that’s already as packed as a can of sardines. I don’t exactly care for your idea of feeling the music through weird movements of arms and legs, so bumping into me repeatedly with a look of bliss on your face is not something I take to lightly. I might make use of that plastic cup.
• Cameraphones: Yes, it is perfectly alright to take pictures of your favourite band. I’ve done it! But it’s not alright to constantly take photos with your crappy cameraphone, thus obscuring everyone else’s view behind you, forcing them to watch the whole concert through the crappy lense of your crappy cameraphone. Enjoy the music (don’t dance!), and try to forget about posting crappy pictures off your crappy cameraphone to facebook once in a while, willya?

Actually, that’s it. Apart from the fact that I’m really not into handing in my coat, therefore being envious of all those people who prance around in their tshirts and don’t have to either carry or wear their coats and sweat like a pig, there’s nothing else I’d like to add. I guess I’m only half-way to being the bitter, old man I’m aspiring to be.