Last Tuesday I went to a concert that I paid waaaay too much (F*** YOU METALLICA!) for considering what I got out of it. BUT! I did manage to walk away with this:

For most of my adult life and now into my early 20's, I have been surrounded by people my mother taught me to fear - metal heads. Now, much to her dismay those are the people I have come to know and love. One is working hard to inherit his dad's paving company, another a policeman in training, and the third sells classical music at an upscale Barnes and Noble. Each individual is a complex package but there is one thing that rings true not only for each of my friends, but the majority of metal heads in general - they are consistently the nicest people I meet. Metal culture, it seems, is contradictory to the very music which breeds it. Despite mosh pits, death screams and long scraggy hair, the culture has created a brethren bond that cannot be broken.

I have never considered myself a metal-head or connoisseur of obscure bands, but I do enjoy a good breakdown or double bass roll every now and again. I don't pretend to know what I'm talking about when it comes to their music, but the dedication they have as fans and as friends astonishes me. I guess I'm just fascinated by the oxymoron that is a friendly metal-head, but either way I love them for it.

Later days, *metal grunt*