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Posts Tagged ‘Mike Dirnt’

Set My Heart Aflutter: Bryce and Me After the Show... Confetti Hearts and Speech Bubbles from Splashup Light

I used to be a teenybopper, with my subscription to J-14 and posters of Blink-182 and Good Charlotte plastering my bedroom walls.  I remember meeting Pierre from Simple Plan and getting a little starstruck; and standing two feet from Mike Dirnt of Green Day, getting so flustered I couldn’t speak, so I just stared at him like a rabid squirrel eyeing  an acorn. Yes, I was that kid at the show- sitting with my parents, rocking my $20 concert t-shirt, screaming my eternal love for Benji Madden. But I am happy to say that I’ve outgrown it. I am almost a college graduate, I’m taking courses toward my MBA; I am a mature adult.  

Or so I thought. But then there is always something to remind me of the fanatic teenager I once was. And his name is Bryce Avary. The sole artist behind The Rocket Summer, there is something about him that makes me revert into a mild version of my teenybopper-self.  

I went to one of his shows last week with my roommate Angelina (see: 2007) . We got there early and decided to walk around rather than wait in line outside the venue. And that’s when I looked up and there he was. I kid you not, my heart stopped mid-beat (which, I’ll let you know, is actually quite painful). He smiled, I tried to be cool with a head nod (yes, I know, I’m lame), and we walked on in opposite directions.  

It was an amazing show, but I won’t get into too many details about how Ang and I were two of maybe a half-dozen people over the age of 21 (judging from the lack of wristbands in the audience) or how I still dance like a fifteen year old boy… Yes, no, we don’t need to get into that.  

Waiting outside after the show, I looked around and knew that I was significantly older than at least a few of the other kids waiting. I know this mostly because of the fact that there was a handful of parents waiting with them.   

He came out the front doors of the venue and made his rounds, taking pictures, and signing autographs. Angelina and I let the high school girls go ahead of us, figuring on the one hand that they’re parents were waiting to take them on and on the other that they might explode if they waited any longer. He got to us and we talked about the show, about his cover of The Beatles’ song Blackbird, about how he should play metal fest after covering Pantera during the show. We snapped a photo, and went on our way. And as we walked away, I looked back and he looked up, I smiled and told Ang we had to walk faster. She looked at me funny, and as we rounded the corner I let out a minor laugh of hysteria.  

We got to the car and my eyes started to well up. Angelina looked at me and started to cry. Yes, that’s right. Crying. Over meeting an artist I’ve already met a handful of times. But the teenybopper inside me couldn’t hold it in any longer.  

And as I Splashup my own fan photo with Bryce, I know I am equivocal to those 14-year-old girls screaming girls. And I think I’m okay with it.  

I can’t feel too bad about my little outburst. After hearing about how much older women (and occasionally men) react to Adam Lambert  or Taylor Lautner , I don’t think I’m that bad afterall.

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