Welcome To This Groove You Can Move Right

Getting older is a hard thing to accept. Granted, 32 isn't exactly one foot in the grave but I'm doing my best to keep middle age at bay. Last week I went to a concert. Those of you who have the privilege to know me are aware that 311 is my favorite band. Most people have a band they follow and know everything about. Many choose established icons like the Beatles and Aerosmith and then you have the music snobs that follow obscure indie bands that normal people never have and never will (in most cases for good reason) hear about. I'm sorry, I just don't get the Arcade Fire. I tried. I take comfort in the fact that since they won a Grammy, they will most likely fade back into obscurity so that magnet school kids can like them again.

311 is a band that is kind of a leftover from the 90's that is still putting out new music but is more or less past their prime. They were part of what the mainstream refers to as the rap/rock phase of the 90's. I know they're much more than that but suffice it to say, its hard to listen to 40 year olds in 2011 rapping about "wearin my doc maartens cuz I'm always down for kickin." Actually, not its not because these guys spoke to me in 1995 and they speak to me now. Don't judge me. I have bootleg albums and bootleg videos of these guys. I even follow them on Twitter and try to come up with unique/witty things to tweet to them so that they will tweet back to @crnoland (I have been successful by the way).

311 was my first concert ever back in December '97. Incubus and Sugar Ray opened and then I had my mind blown by the aural assault of reggae skanking, heavy metal shredding, funkdifying slapping dancehall music. They set the bar pretty high that night at the Centroplex in Baton Rouge and I still haven't forgotten that feeling.

Cut to March 1, 2011. 311 is in Charleston and I have my ticket. I also had a lot of alcohol. Keep in mind this is a Tuesday night and I've just gotten off work and been released to downtown Charleston. I hit NO LESS than three bars, uncountable beers, one Jack and Diet Coke (my best friend Andy says I shouldn't do that because it's called a skinny bitch and the bartender will remember me and snicker but I don't care because those are un-needed and un-wanted calories and if I can cut them I'm going to cut them) and a kamikaze shot. Then it was on to the show. My seat was in the balcony which I was kind of bummed about until I got up there because I was right on top of the stage. These seats weren't far away at all. I got a spot along the rail and watched as they jammed out to Welcome for the opener. I was beside myself. Most of that is the fact that I was watching my favorite band but part of it was definitely the alcohol. I kept grabbing random people and pulling them to the rail to share this moment with me. That was probably a mistake because I think I heard the word Creepy thrown around several times. I probably needed to find a new spot

How fortuitous that I would receive a text from my friend Kim at that very moment who was at the show with a guy. She was down close to the front and told me to come down by them. I figured I'd get turned away but darn if the ushers just decided to call it a night early because I walked right up to the front. So there's me, Kim, this dude she's with and a bunch of strangers. You know what I'm doing? I'm headbanging. More on this later. During one of their rockers, the band starts jumping up and down on stage with the beat. Of course I need to be doing that as a sign of solidarity with these guys. In my inebriated state, I forgot this is a theater and therefore has a fairly steep grade. When I jumped, I did not land on my feet. I landed on what my dad refers to as my better half. Kim and the dude thought it was funny. I however thought it was awesome and immediately jumped up and grabbed the stranger on the other side of me and the following exchange took place: me- DID YOU SEE WHAT I JUST DID? WAS THAT NOT SO AWESOME HOW I JUMPED AND THEN FELL? IS THIS NOT THE MOST SWEETEST BAND OF ALL TIME? Apparently, this guy was in the same state as me because he responded thusly, "DUDE". Then he started laughing and he tried to jump. Almost the exact same thing occurred. I made a friend.

They finally finished the show and I was stoked. Ultimately I said bye to Kim and the dude and I made it home (I was sober by this time). It was fairly late and I didn't want to wake Kristen up so I went to the guest room. OD and I had a nice night spooning. I woke up feeling just a bit wretched and went to work. Throughout the day, I started feeling pretty stiff. That night, I was in agonizing pain. What on earth had I done? I couldn't turn my head at all. Then I was shocked to realize all of the headbanging I'd done caused this. Out of all of the concerts I've seen, I've never managed to do this to myself. I don't know if its the fact that I was so excited this time around or the fact that 32 year olds aren't meant to mercilessly nod their heads. Probably both. Regardless, this was indeed the best concert experience I've ever had. I know you'll think I'm crazy but this beat Counting Crows and U2 which were my two favorites prior to this. To each his own though right? Stay Positive and Love Your Life --Nick Hexum

Blades of Glory

In an ideal world, I would get my haircut by a man named Fred who wears a white coat and owns a barber shop with a bonafide barber's pole outside the door. I would sit in a real barber's chair with a big blue cushion and a chrome foot pedal that I can flip around with my feet. There would be a leather strop hanging off the back of the chair so Fred can polish his straight razor before he gives me a hot shave after giving me 'the usual.' I grew up in the south so there would most likely be several heads o'deer hanging on the walls above the row of chairs you wait your turn in while reading the latest Sports Illustrated or Outdoor. If you're like me, you probably migrate to the Highlights magazine. I checked and the hidden picture puzzle is still on page 19 even 25 years after the first time I found the broomstick hidden in the bannister. Fred would ask me how my wife is and how work was going. I'd mumble that they're doing fine while covertly listening to the conversations going on either side of me because they are much more interesting. Afterwards, I'd pay my ten bucks, tell Fred I'd see him next time and be on my way. However, my world isn't completely idealistic. Those places don't exist in too many places and the ones that do cost a lot more than ten bucks. Besides, as has been pointed out many times by many people, I have thin hair. If I had an extra mirror, I could cut my own hair with the clippers I share with Jeffrey the pomeranian. So instead of Fred, I recently paid a visit to Great Clips and had the opportunity to have my hair great clipped by Kayla.

Did you know that all 'stylists' at Great Clips are trained by the same crack team of corporate stylist consultants from the Great Clips headquarters. I had no idea. But you know what? Kayla was there to educate me on the finer points of a Great Clips haircut. I got a complete history of this corporal styling chain. Not only that, but Kayla would take notes about what they did to my hair and enter it into their computer so that I wouldn't have to remember what they did the next time I came in. Talk about your clever marketing ploy. I don't have to remember two on the sides and three on top ever again. Kayla hooked me up. You'd think that I was already hooked on this place. No, I needed a little something extra, a little lagniappe if you will. Kayla came through like the master follicle manipulator she is. She gave me a FREE promotional chap stick. DONE. I've already been back and can't wait to go for a third time. I don't need Fred and his archaic strops and blades. I've got corporate trained stylists and chap stick. Beat that with a stick.