Would you like to know a secret?

Here's my very own personal Dead Milkmen story.

It happened a long time ago, maybe in eighth grade. It was the first real show I ever went to. Andrew and I hopped on the commuter rail bound for Boston... The conductor made a lot of jokes about everything from the two of us to a woman carrying a plant in a bag.

"Would that be a cannabis plant, miss?"

She didn't know what he was talking about. I giggled, and that caused him to start in on the two of us. I'm sure he made date jokes. I'm sure it made me turn shades of purple they don't have names for. And this was just the beginning of the long and idiotic story that was the two of us back then.

But eventually we arrived in Boston, and somehow or another made our way to Landsdowne St. Andrew must have known where he was. I sure didn't.

The show was at Axis, which strikes me as extremely strange now, but back then it wasn't all dance club all the time, I guess.

The opening band was OK. There was some guy sitting next to me on a speaker smoking a cigarette. Andrew said something about if that guy was any closer I'd be smoking it. At the time I thought it was hilarious. Also, you could smoke in clubs back then. Imagine that.

So the next band came on, I'm pretty sure it was El Dopa, and they started to play, and all this smoke started coming out of the stage. Now, remember, this is the first club show I have ever been to and I am thirteen years old. The first thing I think is "Ooh! Effects!" and I stand there and watch. Everyone in the club is milling about, looking panicked and talking about "it's tear gas, man!". I thought I was so tough, standing there and taking it while everyone was running away, until a huge guy with no shirt, a tuxedo jacket, and a blue mohawk picked me up under his arm sideways and carried me out the door. I remember beating my fists on this guy "what do you think you're doing?!!?" until we were outside and learned that the club was on fire.

Not very on fire, mind you, just enough to stop the show and make everyone go get pizza.

The first place we went, somewhere near where Bill's Bar is now, wouldn't let us inside because we weren't 21. I was astounded that a restaurant could card people and deny entrance. While I was standing there being peeved, Andrew dragged me along to this other place, over around the corner.

We met up with some other kids from Acton who were older but known to us in some way. Probably through Colin, who I don't believe was at the show. Maybe it was Dave Murphy's brother, or cousin. And some girl. And John Lindquist.

We all got some pizza, and everybody chipped in, which was great, except John wouldn't let me pay for mine. I was floored that anybody would do that, especially an older guy I didn't really know. It was a new and baffling experience at the time, no doubt no big deal to the guy. But whatever.

We hung out at the pizza place (which isn't there anymore and neither is The Rat or Bickfords or the sock store) with the older kids for a while and then went back down Landsdowne to see what was what. Everyone was out in the streets. Andrew and I called home and told our parents "if you see us on the news, don't worry!" which of course made them worry, and we had to explain about everything (via payphone. Remember them?)

Eventually, it was declared safe, and we went back in. The Dead Milkmen were amazing and current and hilarious and clever. They made jokes about Possum Dixon (who, right?) and politics and forty-five or so other cultural references we'd have to look up later or pretend to already know about. Andrew probably lost his glasses at one point and I probably had to hold someone's coat while they went up front where all the action was.

Nevertheless, it was adrenalizing and everything I would have wanted it to be (well, minus a few minute details). I realize the Dead Milkmen play a minor role in this story, but actually, they don't. This band, while being often declared a novelty act, made me learn, made me friends, and made it ok to be clever and snarky. They gave me and my friends something to giggle over and feel superior about. When I learned they had finally broken up (outside of The Orpheum, after a Dinosaur Jr. show, which is another story for another time...) I felt the strangest sadness. I couldn't believe I wouldn't ever have another chance to have this experience over again, and I haven't.

We rode the train home again. Somewhere along the way, Andrew gave a homeless guy a $20 instead of the dollar he intended to give him. Or maybe that was another time. It doesn't matter. We went back to Acton and turned into junior high schoolers again, and our lives went back to odd and normal.

But anyway, that's my story.