watch the world die.

I'm listening to Everclear, a band that peaked in the late 90s with that song about the dad walking out on his family. They had some songs before and after that, including the only one that I really liked ("Santa Monica"), all of them finding a comfortable amount of airplay on both radio and MTV. And so I knew all the words to the radio hits, just like everyone else in high school at the time. And here I am, enthusiastically singing along to that song about the deadbeat dad and raising my hands in the air as if I have any idea what it's like to be abandoned by a father. Is it 1998 again? No, not at all, because there's a stamp on my hand that says "21 + up" and my driver's license circa 1998 had a big yellow banner declaring that I wasn't even eighteen yet. Fake ID? I wasn't that kind of kid.

No, my driver's license tells the truth when it says I'm twenty-four, and the guy in Everclear could tell you that it's several years past his last big radio hit. He doesn't know that I never bought any of his albums. He has no idea that I always found his songs sorta catchy and enjoyable, but not interesting enough to drop $12 for a whole album of them. And since we're talking about the late 90s, I should add that I never even saw fit to download the songs for free. There's no reason why that dude from Everclear should ever know that. If he could see me from his perch onstage, he would figure that I was another of his grown-up fans who has been waiting for their comeback all these years.

We clap when he tells us to. We sing out LOUD when we know the words, which is in spurts based on how many times the radio of nine years ago played the song and how good our memories are. And when the mood strikes us (and we see the mood striking most of the people in the crowd around us), we jump up and down as we wave our hands in the air, freely revealing that we just don't care. Josh stands directly behind me with his hands on my hips (wanting to be close to me or protecting me from others who might want to be close to me?) and I am amazed that a mostly-clumsy girl and still-clumsy-but-not-as-much boy can jump straight up and down in such close proximity without breaking at least one ankle out of four. He sings and claps and jumps right along with me, and what I know but that dude from Everclear does not know is that Josh never bought any of their albums either.

So why are we here, having such a good time and being so enthusiastic about a band we only ever thought was okay? The only explanation that I can offer is that I was sixteen once. If you gave me the chance to see 1998 again, I'd ask if I could pick a better vintage, but I'm nostalgic enough to listen to the soundtrack.