Folks may or may not know that I have issues with claustrophobia. Friends from my raver days (and especially n0thingman and lurpy) may recall the issues I had when we would stand in those tightly packed lines only to make our way into those tightly packed venues. Ecstasy helped. At any rate, it happened to me again tonight. First time in a while. I went to see my friend Laura's band. When the first band played, the room was pretty sparsely populated, but by the time Laura's set ended, there was no room to move, and I could feel my pulse starting to go haywire. I left, and was glad it hadn't happened until Laura's band was done, because I really do like The Great Ants a lot.

So I went outside, and, after a minute or two, headed toward my car. As I walked, a truck full of drunken college boys drove past, and one guy leaned out the window and yelled "Hey boo, you're totally fucking fat!" It was odd. And the strangest part was my reaction. I didn't tense up, I didn't get mad, I just shrugged my shoulders, threw up my hands and called back "Whatever!"

I don't know if it's a function of getting older and wiser, or maybe just plain older, but moments like that just don't even phase me anymore. Writing this, now, it's making me think of the insult that Chim Chim and I used to brandish whenever we saw some young dude acting all drunk and foolish: "Yea, I remember my first beer."

As an unrelated aside, I'm currently reading Honky by Dalton Conley. Toward the end of the first chapter, he makes mention of the superstition that a hat on the bed means someone will die. I can't tell you how many times people have looked at me like I was nuts for saying "no -- don't ever put your hat on the bed!" I was starting to think I was the only one who'd ever heard of this idea. I was glad to know that it is, in fact, a common superstition.