I learned a major lesson last night at the ska show: postpartum bladders cannot handle the pogo. Fortunately, the ladies room was nearly empty; unfortunately, I missed one of The Usuals' best songs.
At least I learned my lesson before The Toasters hit the stage. They were simply awesome. I skanked my slightly damp butt off once my bar mate and I found enough room to dance. We had first decided to watch the band at the front of the crowd--big mistake! I've never been so scared at a show in my life. You don't know how tiny you really are until you're surrounded by big guys, pushing against each other and you, chest-to-back, shoulder-to-shoulder, bouncing you around like a pingpong ball. It wasn't even a pit, where usually you can at least put your arms out to protect yourself. This was a live sardine can, and even though the guys weren't being violent, I still got hurt by undulating shoulders and elbows meeting my jaw and ribs. Up to the frightening moment when I was pressed so tightly I lost my breath, it was sort-of fun, in an energy-communion kind-of way. Unnerved, I panted my way to the side of the dance floor until my friend could usher me out of the fray and to the back of the bar. I guess we should have known--I mean, the show was billed as the Ska Brawl Tour.
