Maybe it’s the anthropology student in me, but I am absolutely fascinated by two social groups of the non-hockey variety: metal heads and groupies of any kind. Last night I got to hang out with the amateur band groupie at a metal show – eeeee!
At the last minute I decided to accompany my friend and her fellow “band aide” to a show at the Bovine Sex Club in Toronto. The show was intense. I love metal heads. They are diehard about the music. I love watching the head banging. Typically, I don’t like that in non-metal heads. People that are one-dimensional about a specific genre of music or a specific band – you know the type. The type of people that judge you if you haven’t heard about such and such indie group or if you admit to enjoying a Top 40 hit. And while we’re on the subject of music, what’s up with those fake girls that pretend to like whatever music their boyfriend or crush does? Seriously, are they so insecure that they think their relationships can’t work if they don’t listen to the same music ALL THE TIME? You never see guys do this, “I’m really into this girl so I went out and bought her favourite Britney album so I can peer into her soul and have something in common with her.” Right. Probably the same broads that get implants and “work done” in their early twenties. Anyway, although metal heads are very intense about the music, it is a common mistake made by the groupies (it seems) that these guys are all music all the time – as I found out last night.
The girls developed crushes on the drummer and guitarist of one of those scary screaming metal bands we saw that night. As my friend began her mating game with the drummer, my wingwoman senses perked up as I heard their conversation become exhausted after the, “What are your favourite bands?” approach. He was getting away so I had to intercept with my “dazzling” conversational skills haha. I tend to distract people with bizarre choices for conversation topics like, why bad movies are actually good, how serial killers become sexy, and a stand up routine I like to call, My Spanish Grandmother. As our conversation turned to sports injuries of our childhood, he mentioned taking a slap shot to neck. This inevitably turned to the hockey discussion and team affiliations:
Me: So what’s your favourite team then?
Drums: *fan pride* BUFFALO SAAAAAABRES!!
Me: Hmm I can live with Buffalo.
Drums: Haha I fuuuuckinnnnn HATE the Leafs!!!
Me: Me too! I used to work for them!
Drums: eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!! *grabs both my hands like an excited little girl* (seriously, that happened).
After that we talked about various showdowns between the Flyers and the Sabres. And just like that I got my chicklets invited to hang out with the band after the show thing. I promised my friend I would take her to a couple games this season so she could learn a thing or two, so hockey can save her in practically every pick up situation…even in the dark underground bowels of the gothic metal scene (apparently). There were people at this club with fangs painted on their faces – awesome! Anyway, I guess it shouldn’t come as a complete shock that metal heads and hockey would go hand and hand. After all, apart from Guns N’ Roses’ Welcome to the Jungle, the most common song played at hockey rinks across the continent is Metallica’s Enter Sandman.
This is off the topic of hockey, but still worth mentioning. Later that night, while we were all waiting to leave, I had to come to the rescue of the other girl who was in the presence of the guitar player of her current fantasy. She was shy. I remember having to steer the conversation back in the day when my bunny friends were crashing and burning before the “hockey gods.” This time, however, NASCAR was the secret. I noticed the guitar player holding a pair of #8 sandals.
Me: Eww who’s the Junior fan?
Guitar: Not me, I fuuuuuckinnnnnnn hate Junior.
Me: That’s good. I grew up in a Jeff Gordon house.
Guitar: I have a pair of #24 sandals in the van, want to see?
Me: Uhh sure.
Guitar: Hold my hand while we skip over to the van. *Grabs my hand and starts skipping* Sure enough he dug them out of the van and showed me the sandals, but I was concerned as to why he had them, as he did not possess the #8 sandals for wholesome reasons (they were the footwear of a blow up sex doll).
Me: OK do you have these because you actually like Gordon?
Guitar: No, I don’t give a shit about Jeff Gordon. He’s like the Wayne Gretzky (hockey again) of NASCAR.
Me: Hmm…I guess he is, but he wasn’t back in the day when I was in grade nothing.
Guitar: Yeah, for sure, it meant something to be a fan back then.
Me: Mmm hmm and who do you like? Let me guess, “*mocking girly voice*Ooh Kayce Kahne. He’s sooooo dreamy! I’d like to pit lizard it up all over him.”
Guitar: NO!!! I fuckin hate Kayce Kahne! I like *fan pride* JIMMIE JOHNSON!
Sure he does.
Anyway, had I decided to succumb to ways of the band aide, I would have pursued the handsome lead singer. Unfortunately, I didn’t get a chance to talk to him while the girls were torn between drums and guitar. However, he did hold on to my hand rather tightly while I was attempting to rescue him from a crowd surfing incident gone horribly wrong. Come to think of it, there was a lot of hand holding going on that night – how sweet.
