17 Again


Zac Efron is a creep. Making movies about being an unhappy 30-something year old who somehow returns to the days of high school in order to be the popular kid, wanted and desired by prepubescent teenagers everywhere, says something about your personality. Some would characterize that as “child at heart”. I would be more inclined to say “pedophile”.

But this blog isn’t a review of the chick-flicky teen/children’s movie “17 Again”, even though I probably could deconstruct every weird Freudian aspect to it. Well, maybe if I actually watched it. No, this past weekend I had my own “17 Again” experience, when I took off to Montreal and relived some earlier life memories.

The plan to go to Montreal started off when my sister’s boyfriend, let’s call him Dave, wait… that’s not a pseudonym, that’s his actual name. Dammit. Anyway, Dave calls me up and informs me THE pop-punk band of the 1990’s, Blink-182, has gotten back together after the band’s leading asshole, let’s call him Tom, decided to not be a dick and reformed the band, resulting in a reunion tour. About 8 of us decided to go to the concert in Montreal. I hadn’t seen Blink live for over 7 years, or even listened to them for about 4 years. Regardless of this small fact, I was excited to go.

Once we arrived in Montreal, we got straight to business. We had about 3 hours before the show started and wanted to be nicely hammered for the occasion. Like many other escapades, I started the night off with a healthy dose of gin. By the time we left the hotel, I was no longer fully responsible for my actions.

We showed up to the concert fashionably late. And by that I mean we missed the first act entirely. Which was fine, since we were just in time for Fall Out Boy to do their thing. Although, I spent about a third of their set at the beer stand making sure I was ‘hydrated’ for Blink.

During the intermission I met up with Tim and his wife, Marie. After some unsuccessful attempts at trying to steal her away from him, I conceded that married women are indeed tough to get, especially when the guy is 1) a friend; and 2) standing right next to her.

When Blink took the stage, I lost all control, reverting to my seventeen year old self. Except now, I’m a lot bigger and stronger and able to mosh much more effectively. This proved very useful as my sister’s boyfriend and I punched, grabbed, elbowed, and tickled our way up to the front. That’s right: Tickled.

The experience was fairly amazing as a Pavlovian effect took over and I screamed out lyrics to songs long forgotten. The show itself was pretty damn good. And for my troubles at the front, I got a hat that was thrown into the crowd and a bottle of water from the bouncer for free. Not bad considering all some people get is a ripped shirt, broken glasses and a punch to the chops. Yes, being seventeen again was fun. Even without Zac Efron’s fantasy of high school girls. Creep.

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