Homeless Vagina

On Friday night, I headed out to Williamsburg to see Japanther. For those of you who don't know who Japanther is or what they sound like, shame on you. Japanther (Ian Vanek and Matt Reilly) is easily some of the best noise rock/punk music out today. Yikes, could that sound any lamer? Trust me though, they're good. The show was originally set to be held in the Sugar Factory, a super flossy nightclub, on South 2nd and Kent. But, alas, problems with the management arose and the show was moved to a much cooler/intimate, albeit much smaller, space next door. No stage separated the bands from the audience, which gave it that fun friend's basement-type authenticity.

The first band, Jason Anderson and the Best was totally not bad. They were full of energy, Jason Anderson had a great scream, there was dude on the sax!! AND a cute girl on the tambourine! All-in-all a great way to start the night. After their set, I grabbed a beer, met up with a rad bro, Jah Jah and his rad bro Thomas, drank more beer and sparks (mistake), and waited for Japanther. When they came on, I was right up front. Dudes and Dudettes started getting raucous and fun and within, what felt like, 50 seconds, someone had started surfing. I got kicked in the face and was sufficiently drunk enough to not care.

What I did care about though was what was standing next to me, easily the smelliest person in Brooklyn. Literally, the smell that was wafting off of this person could had killed a much smaller, weaker person. The aroma was a mix of bad vag and homeless, so I guess you could say, homeless vag? I know what you're thinking, "Jacque, what smells were you expecting at the punk show filled with sweaty crusties? Fresh baked cookies or lilac?" No, no I wasn't. I just didn't expect to be hit in the face with the olfactory equivalent of a baseball bat. And I was! As I was dancing (the ultimate bro has NO rhythm and therefore dances like a itchy, epileptic chicken) the source of the stink was moving closer and closer to my person. Let me describe what the homeless vagina looked like, a white guy, a little taller than me (5'6"? 5'7" maybe?), with a pubey, gnarly mess of facial hair, fingerless gloves (woof!), big grandma-esque looking glasses that were probably not prescription (does that make them worse or better? in any case, double woof!) and, to top it all off, the grossest nest of poo locks I have ever seen. Long, scraggly and clearly the source of smell. Short aside here, what is it about white kids and dreads? Are you a rastafarian? No, you're not. You are lazy and hate Mom and Dad and the rest of us and are punishing our eyes and noses. At one point he was whipping them around so frantically, they were precious centimeters away from my own face. I felt like Ben Stiller in that shitty movie when he plays basketball with a sweaty, hairy dude. Only plus like a thousand, tiny bugs.

I spilt before the next band, teen sensation/ultimate shtickers Harry and the Potters played. Because I don't like Harry Potter (or a so-so band riding that wave for all it's worth), but also out of fear of being infected by whatever Sir Homeless Vag McPoolocks was surely spreading.