I’m too tired to go with my original plan for this essay, which would be to write/talk about materialism. Instead I’ll write about how I didn’t feel the same camaraderie I used to feel when going to concerts pre-COVID. This NOFX concert was terrible. It took us two hours to get through their doors, cannabis was everywhere, and even through two cloth masks, I could still smell that shit. At least I didn’t get high.
I can still smell the smoke.
It’s been over three years since my last concert, and the only thing I can really point toward, as I explored at length while drawing, is that with some of these concert-goers being pent up for years, they lost the sort of kinship that used to be common with punk rock shows. I know that’s an oxymoron, but there used to be a sort of friendship you could count on that’s gone now. People are just mean. I hate their attitudes against others. Events like this work against convincing me that I want to fit along with others, no matter what group of outsiders I find, because ultimately I’m an outsider from those groups for reasons I will never fully understand.
At least here it’s because I want to remain sober.
Even though I smelled enough cannabis to imply that I got high, I believe that the two cloth masks covering my mouth prevented me from getting any of the psychosis that would imply I was high. These sorts of subjective experiences are hard enough as it is, so I tend to go with objective measures for sobriety. I did not choose to consume any of that cannabis, and I don’t think it hit my lungs in any meaningful way. If I would have known the cannabis was that bad, along with all of the logistical problems, I would have passed. I’ve seen NOFX enough times and they weren’t worth the price or the hassle. I am a worse person now for having gone to see them, and I’ve become disinterested in going to more concerts now, and I know part of their self-deprecating thing is that they sucked, but most all of the experience was bad.
There were moments of redemption, but, it was looking for pennies in shit.
I don’t believe I’ll go to concerts for a while now. I do want to in the future, and when I do, I will wear maybe even more masks, so this event did provide me a good opportunity to verify that wearing more face masks will antagonize the cannabis smokers because I can’t be assaulted by their fascist smoke that they thrust into my face without consent. It’s funny that the same people who seek to “fuck authority” are the same ones that inflict their authority over the air I need to breathe. When the chips are down, I have to defend myself, and it’s not through thinking that people are my friends and looking out for me.
It’s realizing that I must mask up, for COVID, cannabis, or anything else.
|Sources: My personal experiences.
|Inspirations: Smoke cannabis in private.
|Related: Other Sober Living essays.
|Picture: Concert shot.
|Written On: 2023 July 23 [8:42pm to 8:53pm]
|Last Edited: 2023 July 23 [First draft; final draft for the Internet.]