Me, about Taio Cruz: “Oh, I always thought that was Akon.

”

Mike: “Not quite as high-pitched.”

Laura: “I’m surprised you even know that.”

Mike: “I watched a biography.”

Laura: “No more winter breaks for you.”

Meanwhile, Henry was bristling his ‘stache.

Is it weird that I still don’t feel like writing much in here? Trying to push through the pain by writing about the night from several weeks ago when Henry and I were in Cleveland for the AP Fall Tour. There was a guest list mix-up and I ended up not having a “plus-1” so Henry almost lucked out. However, Jason was standing right there and called over Dawn, the AP marketing person, who hooked Henry up with a laminate. He thought he was such a superstar after that and it was nauseating.

This tour’s lineup was: Sharks, The Swellers, Title Fight, Gallows, and Four Year Strong. I had previously seen all of these bands except for Title Fight, and Gallows had a different singer when I first saw them at Warped Tour in 2007. I had a feeling that Henry would enjoy himself more at this show because all the bands are pretty bro-centric and have an older fan base. No Minnie Mouse-bowed scene girls in the crowd dyking out over Craig Owens this time.

Personally, I was really looking forward to seeing Sharks again, since their set at last summer’s Warped Tour got rained out. These guys are so young (all under 21 I think), yet they remind me of a band that would have played on the Young Ones. Skinny British kids, straight-up punk rock, no gimmicks or schtick. It’s refreshing and full of heart. Even Henry looked relatively undaunted.

Since it was the last night of the tour, some of the other bands passed out signs for the kids in the audience to hold up during Sharks’ set that said “Go home, wankers” and rolls of toilet paper were being hurled from the sides of the stage. Watching the bands fuck with each other was my favorite part of the night.

I liked the Swellers so much more this time around than when I saw them in 2009 with Alisha. I think I wasn’t really into that kind of music much back then, this newer wave of pop punk, but my musical tastes are constantly in flux and I have grown to appreciate this genre of music over the years. I think that’s the one of the most fun and exciting things about being a music fan, is when you suddenly realize, “Hey, this band actually is kind of great” and then you have an entire back catalogue of records to dive into. I could never be that pigeon-holed fan who won’t give anything else but their favorites a chance.

Except for ska. I am done giving ska a chance. Me and ska are never going to prom together.

The Swellers ended up being Henry’s favorite of the night. I offered to buy him some of their albums when we came home, but he was all, “No, that’s OK” because Henry doesn’t ever like anything enough to want to buy the album unless it’s Judas Priest.

Title Fight ended up being the sleeper hit of the night for me. I had a vague interest in seeing them, but they definitely weren’t my priority. However, they killed it and totally won me over with their 1995-high school boy looks. Henry did not like them at all, so I made sure to play them constantly in the car for the next week.

Still not a fan of Gallows. I just don’t like that kind of hardcore punk and their new singer really got under my skin. However, some old drunk dude got whisked out of the pit by security, so there was that. (Except that I missed it because it was the ONE SECOND I glanced at my phone to check the score of the Penguins game.)

Four Year Strong closed out the tour, and it was bittersweet.

And then shit like this happens:

After the show, we got a table in the after party’s Foundation Room with Terri and Christian, at which point we filled up plates with cookies, cheesecake squares and heaping mounds of whipped cream for dinner. I was excited to hang out with them some more and talk about music (it’s not easy finding other adults who want to talk about music with me), yet we ended up talking about hockey the whole time. And amicably too! Even after I lorded the recent Penguins win over them. Jason kept coming over to check on us, and seemed alarmed when he found out that Pens and Flyers fans were discussing hockey.

“Did you check Erin’s purse for a knife?” he asked Terri and Christian. What little faith he has in me!

Eventually, it was time to call it a night. We had a two hour drive ahead of us and it was after midnight. A few years ago, that would have been no biggie, but I am Old now (kind of) and I didn’t want to stay over because I was in a big hurry to see Chooch. I guess I really am a mom after all.

I think I’ve listened to this pretty much all day by this point. It makes me feel like I’m swallowing my heart. I can almost not hear my big-mouthed child saying “MOMMYMOMMYMOMMYMOMMY” in the other room.

I should be en route to Columbus, Ohio right now to see my beloved Dance Gavin Dance, but since their singer Jonny Craig is such a class-act and got arrested a few weeks ago, the rest of the band canceled the tour. So instead, I’m sitting at home watching some of their old live videos on YouTube and driving Henry nuts.

Chooch even let me rest my head solemnly on his shoulder for a few seconds. That helped. Except that he had peanut butter on his cheeks, which then got in my hair.

Fuck you, Jonny.

WAIT NO, NEVER MIND, I STILL LOVE YOU, JONNY.

The crowd in this video is priceless.

(I finally made a Jonny Craig category for my blog. It’s going to take me hours to tag all my Jonny posts. Good thing I have the night off work. Because I would NEVER do anything blog-related from work.)

I think I’m pregnant just from watching this. It will always be one of my favorite Emarosa songs, but acoustically it kind of makes me want to faint. I wish Jonny Craig was still in Emarosa, but at least I’ll always have YouTube.

Henry just walked by and said, “Don’t care.”

This song is giving me bona fide chills right now. I liked A Lot Like Birds pre-Kurt Travis, but he adds a brand new element of awesome. I’m enjoying him so much more in this band than when he replaced Jonny Craig in Dance Gavin Dance.

I went out for coffee with my friend Evonne yesterday. (Working evenings while having a kid in school has suddenly opened up a world of coffee and lunch dates for me.) She is really into laws of attraction and that whole Secret phenomenon and is always urging me to visualize what I want and open a door to it in my mind. (Mostly this speech is preceded by, “Did you write that book yet?”) I always say, “Yeah sure, I’ll try that” or “No, but I’m working on it” where “working” can be loosely translated into “thinking about it occasionally but then feeling exhausted and watching shows on The CW instead.”

“You just have to think about what you want and put it out there in the universe,” she said. “If you really want it enough and concentrate on it, it will happen for you.

”

Later that night, something clicked. I remembered Tuesday night, sitting at work and rooting through my purse. One of the pictures of Jonny Craig that I had stuck in a cheap frame for our trip to Tennessee was at the bottom of my purse, looking all lonely and rejected.

“I’m sorry I’ve been neglecting you Jonny,” I said out loud as I taped the picture to my monitor. So then I had Jonny on my mind (Henry loves that) and spent the rest of the night at work listening to Dance Gavin Dance and wishing that they’d go on tour before the end of the year. When I got home that night, I went to their Facebook page, which is rarely updated, just to see if anything was happening with them since they actually weren’t going to be a part of the Rock Yourself To Sleep tour as previously promised throughout the music blogosphere.

The most recent update was from a few hours earlier that day, announcing their new fall tour. So there Evonne, I did it and it worked. This Law of Attraction shit might come in handy when I’m finally ready to take down Katy Perry.

A Lot Like Birds is also on this tour and Henry said we could go to the Columbus show. I ONLY HAD TO ASK HIM ONCE. Either he really fucking loves me lately or he’s just tired of fighting. (Or he has secretly grown to love Dance Gavin Dance, chances are slim.) Anyway, you just know I ran around the house screaming. It’s on a work night but I already requested off. I told Barb if it’s not approved, I’ll quit and she said she’ll quit too. BECAUSE AIN’T NO LAW FIRM KEEPING THIS BITCH FROM JONNY CRAIG.

“I’m not going to eat from now until November 14th,” I said to Henry, all serious-like. “Then maybe I’ll have a chance to run off with Jonny.” (The sad thing is that I was only partially kidding.)

“Yeah, do that,” Henry urged supportively. “Because then when you’re in Western Psych with an eating disorder, I won’t have to go see Dance Gavin Dance.”

In other news: I’M GOING TO SEE DANCE GAVIN DANCE IN A MONTH!

Thank god it’s Wordless Wednesday because I’m being tortured slowly by fuckerbitch allergies. Anyway, here is a scan of a photo from when I met The Cure in Canberra, Australia back in 2000.

Someday maybe I’ll tell that story on here.

But not today.

Definitely one of the Top 5 Moments of my life; but right now, at this moment, I’d be happy with just meeting The Cure for allergies.

(I’m the girl on the left with the long, stupid hair; not the man in the doorway, tonguing himself.

)

Thank god I have a friend like Casey who finds YouTube gems for me. This has been the only thing that’s succeeded in getting the psycho Russian girls’ cover of Demi Lovato’s “Skyscraper” out of my head. It has a very Wicker Man*-esque vibe to it.

I am beyond obsessed, perplexed and smitten with this video.

MAYBE ENOUGH TO BECOME A NUN.

(* The original, not that Nicolas Cage abomination.)

If there was a way for me to put this song into my veins, I think I would find a way to get over my fear of needles something quick-like.

I have to see them again before the end of the year or my heart will shrivel up into a prune. (And then Henry the Elder will try to eat it.)

Oh, Jonny.

Back in April, Kaitlin surprised me at work by baking me a lamb cake because I was so obsessed with this nagging vision I had for a photo shoot that absolutely could not happen without a goddamn lamb cake. What happened after that, though, was a series of mishaps and it was clear that this cake and I were just not meant for each other.

• It fell on the way home from work that night, the moment I was left unsupervised with it
• Three days later, the head fell off en route to my mom’s house for the shoot
• It was raining
• The head fell off five thousand more times while I tried to set up the table outside in the rain
• My mom is an asshole so I couldn’t use her kitchen for the shoot like I had envisioned in my head
• It was raining and Henry was there
• Corey and I weren’t on the same page and it was raining
• Henry was there

I gave up after about 45 minutes, threw a huge fit with Ketchup and frosting all over my hands; it was a pretty bleak scene. It all boils down to me being a black cloud for baked goods. The last time Kaitlin gave me macarons to photograph, my cat Don sat on them within 2 minutes of me setting them down.

Anyway, the whole lamb cake ordeal had become such a sore subject for me, that I never even posted the (few) photos I was able to salvage. Then my friend DJ Shortpants unexpectedly caught some inspiration from the lamb cake blog post and produced a song that perfectly complements the creep-factor of the frosted Easter deight. I’ve listened to it unlimited times already, and even played it in the car on the way home from the fair Saturday, the dark country roads providing an apropros atmosphere.

DJ Shortpants himself gave me permission to post this here for everyone to enjoy (and you should!). Thank you, DJ Shortpants!

GET IT IN YR HEAD, YA’LL:

And while the spirit of the lamb cake is being summoned, here are some pictures from the photo shoot from Hell. (Literally from Hell—it was in my mom’s yard.

)

Maybe someday I’ll try again, now that I have the perfect music to accompany it.

This pretty much sums everything up in my life right now.

What’s doing it for you right now?

My week can be summarized in two parts:

• OMG MY BACK HURTS OW OW GRAB MY CANE
• OMG I LOVE JONNY CRAIG EVEN THOUGH HE IS A RODENT-LOOKING DOUCHEBAG

Let’s start with my back. I guess it’s a pinched nerve, I don’t know. I’m not actually a doctor (don’t tell those Mexican girls waiting in my basement for an abortion). Every time it starts to feel OK, I exercise (because I’m weight-obsessed, if you hadn’t noticed; please send tape worms to My House, Pittsburgh PA 15226) and then it gets all jacked up again and I have to listen to Henry say the words, “I told you so” which always makes me hate his face even more than usual.

If I’m lucky, I can get my lazy, uncaring son to walk on my back which floods me with relief, but I can only have him do this when Henry is home supervising, otherwise I might be typing this right now from a straw in my mouth. The other day, Chooch said to Henry, “I can’t wait for Mommy’s head to hurt so I can walk on her face.”

And then at the playground on Wednesday, he ran past me with a bunch of kids. With frantic jazz-hands he said, “My mom can’t play with us” and then in a shitty tone laden with sarcasm and packed with more condescension than any 5-year-old should be able to muster, he added, “because her BACK hurts her!” What a fucker. I yelled after him, “I wouldn’t play with you anyway!”

Five-year-olds are assholes.

Meanwhile, there were grandparents at the playground more able-bodied than me, running across tire-bridges and playing tag with their grandkids while I was curled up arthritically on a bench, looking all sad and pouty-lipped.

And in Jonny Craig news, it’s been getting really out of control in my house. I should explain myself lest anyone thinks I seriously AM 15-years-old: My mania is in large part attributed to the fact that it annoys the shit out of Henry. And what is my sole purpose in life? Annoying the shit out of Henry.

Jonny Craig is a HUGE douche bag. In fact, two years ago on this blog I wrote about him being a piece of shit, and it is to-this-day the single most viewed post I’ve ever written. The search terms for my blog every day are variations of “Jonny Craig is an asshole.” Random kids STILL comment on that post, sharing their tales of Jonny-woe. He is notorious in the post-hardcore scene. The only thing that keeps me coming back for more Jonny Craig is that I am absolutely head-over-heels in love with his voice. Literally, it will make me quake and get all stupid-swoony and light-headed and this concerns Henry because he cannot provide me with such ecstacy.

Therefore, Henry hates Jonny Craig.

So what better way to get under Henry’s skin than to project my love for Emarosa and Dance Gavin Dance onto their fire-crotched arrogant vocalist (ex-vocalist, in Emarosa’s case)? Jonny is already our desktop background and my iPhone wallpaper. On Tuesday, I made a special trip to Target to buy an 8×10 frame for the picture of him at Bamboozle that I tore out of Alternative Press months ago. It’s now hanging on our wall and Henry is very unhappy about this.

“Why don’t you just tape up some posters too?” he spat miserbly so I went on eBay that night at work to look for some.

Yesterday, I painted my nails and then etched Jonny’s name on my left hand.

It was supposed to be a surprise, I wanted to see how long it would take Henry to notice when he came home, but fucking Chooch the Snitch called him immediately and said, “Ugh, Mommy put Jonny Craig’s name on her NAILS.” Still, when Henry came home, I made sure to lovingly stroke his beard with my Jonny-hand. (And I do mean the beard on his face.) He kept shrugging me away from him. I CAN’T IMAGINE WHY.

Then at work last night, Barb, Sandy and I posted pictures of Jonny Craig on Henry’s Facebook wall, which gave me great joy.

“I need to find a real douchey one,” Barb said, Googling his name.

“Yeah, that’s not going to be hard,” I said.

Henry never said a word about it when I came home last night.

This one from Sandy was my favorite, so I made it my profile picture:

That moustache alone should get its own entry in the Douchebag Dictionary.

But back to my broken back: we’re supposed to be going to the Westmoreland County Fair tomorrow, so that should add a new dimension to the usual pain of the carnival rides. The last time we went to this one, I had a broken toe and the carnies had to help me on all of the rides, which was hotter than anything I experience at home with Henry. Perhaps he’ll let me interview him again! (Provided he doesn’t dump me for someone more age-appropriate before then.)

“Henry!” I said all breathlessly into the phone, which is his cue to brace himself. “I just saw the line up for the Rock Yourself To Sleep tour and guess who’s co-headlining?”

In a bored monotone, Henry muttered, “I don’t know.”

“No, guess!”

“Chiodos,” Henry guessed with a heavy sigh.

“Wha—? No!” I couldn’t believe he didn’t get it right off the bat.

“D.R.U.G.S.,” was Henry’s noncommittal second guess.

Meanwhile, I have my kid sitting next to me yelling, “THE CURE! Jonny Craig!”

“God, it’s Dance Gavin Dance!” I yelled into the phone. “I can’t believe that wasn’t your first guess.”

“I didn’t want to guess it,” Henry said in a tired voice. “Because I didn’t want it to be true.”

I HOPE IT COMES TO/NEAR PITTSBURGH!

***

In other pre-teen glee, we went to my friend John’s son’s 4th birthday party yesterday. I didn’t know anyone there at the park, and Chooch pushed the birthday boy down a hill within the first 15 minutes of us arriving*, so I was grateful when John’s cousin Chrissy sat across from me and introduced herself. Her daughter Alex joined us and my first thought was, “I wonder where she got that cool bow in her hair?”

(*This is why we don’t get invited places.)

“Look, Erin’s nails are painted almost the same as yours,” Chrissy said to Alex. (We both had symbols painted on just one hand, opting to keep the other hand plain.) A few minutes later, she also pointed out that Alex and I are both vegetarians (though I do fancy some fish nowadays, to be fair).

When Henry and I were alone a few minutes later, I said to him, “Isn’t it funny that the one person here I have the most in common with is a fourteen-year-old girl? I wonder if she wants to run away from home all the time, too.”

“Sad,” Henry mumbled.

But considering that Henry always compares me to twelve-year-olds, this is an improvement, no? In fact, on the way to the party, he was ridiculing me in the car.

“You have the hands of a 12-year-old,” he scoffed when I fanned out my left hand in front of his face. The fact that every ring I wore that day was made of neon plastic and cost a quarter only gave him more reason to jeer. “‘Look what I did, Daddy!'” he mocked, rolling his eyes at the ampersand I painstakingly painted on my thumb the night before.

“I should have painted ‘Jonny Craig’ on my nails,” I said, mostly to myself.

“Jesus Christ,” Henry mumbled, looking out the window, clearly wishing he commanded my attention as much as this ginger douchebag does.

Back at the party, Chrissy was pointing at my shoes and asking, “Are those TOMS? Alex wants a pair of those.” A little bit later, Alex walked by and said, “I like your shoes!” causing Henry to shake his head and flash me one of his signature Disappointed Smirks.

When we were leaving, Chrissy said jokingly, “You and my daughter will have to hang out sometime!”

(Only if she likes Dance Gavin Dance!)

Henry looked all chagrined by this, and Chrissy added, “What, you don’t want her to be an old lady, do you Henry?” YEAH HENRY! I AM WHO I AM, OK ? Stop trying to make me boring.

The rink owner told me I could bring in my own music for Roller DJ to play during my party, and you better believe I did just that. I slaved over this mix for weeks, trying to get it as close to three hours as possible. It started out as a list on paper, just a casual scribbling of possibilities that soon morphed into The Most Important List in the World and had me getting out of bed in the middle of the night to add to it. (So this is why, when Janna said she was going to request the Hokey Pokey, I almost chewed her face off. THERE WAS NO TIME FOR SHENANIGANS! I had it down to the second.)

When I gave Roller DJ the music, I said to him, “I only have one request. Before “Heart & Soul” by T’Pau comes on, can you give me a birthday shout out?” Roller DJ is pretty experienced with me by now, so he just sighed and said sure.

AND HE DID JUST THAT TOO. It was like 1988 all over again, except I was wearing a side pony with an over-sized bow in my hair.

(Why wasn’t I wearing a side pony with an over-sized bow in my hair?)

I really wanted to have some comfort songs from my childhood, back when roller skating was the popular thing to do and didn’t inspire the “Whoa, people still roller skate in 2011?” reaction that I normally get. So I threw on some New Order, Depeche Mode, Pet Shop Boys, Naked Eyes, the Cure of course, Duran Duran, Mummy Calls, Siouxsie and the Banshees…at one point, the rink owner snagged me during my party (people kept doing this when I was clearly trying to be a dream on wheels!) and said laughingly, “Hey Erin, do you work at a discotheque?”

YES, HOW DID YOU KNOW.

I also wanted to have the other side of the 80’s spectrum: Some Phil Collins/Genesis such as “Tonight Tonight Tonight” and “Easy Lover,” which I was very vocal about missing while I was unwrapping presents.  Billy Ocean and Madonna when she was still cool (“Borderline” FTW). Whitesnake and Foreigner to fulfill the monster ballad quota. Some 90s throwbacks in the form of Sophie B. Hawkins and Boyz II Men (Henry wouldn’t skate with me during “End of the Road” even though he knew it was dying wish).

“Return of the Mack” of course. There is no way I will ever not skate to “Return of the Mack.” Quintessential skate jam.

The day before my party, I jokingly tweeted that I even included “Jackie Blue” because I wanted to have something from Barb’s generation to make her happy. Coincidentally, that happened to be the song that was playing when she arrived at the rink. We were both like, “Whaaaaat is happening right now.” (I seriously do love the shit out of that song, though. It backfired though because I think it made Henry feel more at home on the rink. And giving him an enjoyable time is the opposite of my life’s mission.)

And then when Kaitlin arrived with my Robert Smith cake (which stopped me in my tracks, it was so perfect), “The Baby Screams” was playing.

Creepy but awesome.

Of course I wanted to appease everyone with the music selection, especially after Henry lectured me about alienating people. I had some current r&b and pop hits, some Fall Out Boy for Henry’s nieces, Britney Spears and Rihanna, but you know there was that part of me that was itching for my favorites, those songs that make my heart bleed. So I loaded up some Dance Gavin Dance, Emarosa and Chiodos as well. I was dying to hear some post-hardcore at the roller rink.

Roller DJ kicked off my party by playing an Emarosa track.

“Not gonna lie, this is pretty cool,” Blake said when I skated past him and pointed up at the speakers.

Near the end of the night, when Jonny Craig’s voice permeated the Roller Drome with the words “Tailored sheets,”  Chooch and I screamed in unison from opposite sides of the rink. His voice sounded even more beautiful to me, reverberating off that smooth wooden floor, making my knees all weak. It was the only time of the night I almost fell.

Roller skating to Emarosa and Dance Gavin Dance was the best birthday present EVER.

Ahhhhhh! Old Folk approaching! Hide your hard candy!

Have you ever wondered what Warped Tour is like for a super old man who shuns fun and is the Poster Elder for “surly”? You’re in luck because my very own, personal Old Man let me ask him some questions about his day spent outside in 95+ degree heat surrounded by machine-gun drumming and exploding-node screaming.

But he had this girl by his side, so how terrible could it have been, right?

(RIGHT!?)

Erin, pen in hand: Why do you wear a bandanna to Warped Tour? Is it because you think it makes you look hard? (Because it doesn’t.)

Henry, sitting next to me on the couch and glaring: Because it was hot. [Thinks deeper.] And it keeps the hair out of my eyes.

Erin: So does a hair cut.

I really believe he wears a bandanna because he feels like it will repel scene kids. Like if they see some dildo approaching them with a cotton condom fastened around his head, they’ll think he’s security or a member of a biker gang, when meanwhile he drives a Ford Focus and looks like the treasurer of a washed-up Village People fan club.

Erin, pressing the issue because I know people care about Henry’s head toppings: And how do you decide what color to wear?

Henry, mumbling as he works the TV remote: Whatever matches what shirt I’m wearing.

Erin: Now did you learn that on the “Blue-Collared Beverage Warehouse Manager” episode of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy?

Henry, actually looking away from the TV for the first time since this writer has been asking questions: What? What the fuck are you talking about? [One corner of his mouth tugged up a bit, which constitutes as a SMILE in the world of bearded douchebags.]

Erin: Is it true you bought a graphic tee at Target specifically for Warped Tour so you’d fit in better and joke-block me of non-descript t-shirt fodder?

Henry: No. I didn’t buy ANYTHING for Warped Tour. [Scrunches up face in irritation, which most people would take as the universal visage for constipation.]

This is a complete lie. He bought sun screen and individually-wrapped prunes.

Henry, reaching in his Old Man Cargo Shorts for an individually-wrapped prune. Note his expression: It never changed.

Erin: What was your favorite band of the day.

Henry: [LONG PAUSE. I thought he was thinking but really was watching Good Eats.]

Erin: [Stabbed him in the ribs with elbow.]

Henry: What?! [Notices me scribbling down my own answer on his behalf.] What are you writing? Don’t write Dance Gavin Dance, because it wasn’t.

This means it was Blood on the Dance Floor. Scantily-clad scene posers get him every time. Jeffree Star and all that.

Erin: Speaking of Dance Gavin Dance, what are your thoughts on them?

Henry: I don’t HAVE any thoughts on Dance Gavin Dance.

Maybe not, but he definitely dreams about them considering their last album is on constant repeat in the bedroom.

Erin: Not even on Jonny Craig?

Henry: Jonny Craig is a douchebag.

Erin: If you had to spend money at one merch booth, which would it be?

Henry: [Seriously considering for entirely too long.]

Me, noticing the small puff-shapes his lips are making: Hello! You’re falling asleep!

Henry, jolting at my shrill voice: No, I was thinking. And the thinking is putting me to sleep. [I have to repeat the question.] It would probably be what you want since I get no say in anything.

What he meant to say was, “The first merch booth we come across that has booty shorts in my size. I hope it’s Blood on the Dance Floor or Black Veil Brides!”

Henry’s “I ain’t got my dentures in & I just spent the last of your money on a Powerade” face.

Erin: How disappointed were you that Craig Owens (singer for D.R.U.G.S.) darkened his hair?

Henry: A little disappointed.

It was the FIRST THING he noticed when Craig came out on stage.

Erin: Does that make him less attractive to you?

Henry: No.

OMG that means he’s attracted to him in the first place.

Erin: Why wouldn’t you stand near me during Of Mice & Men? Was it because you didn’t want to get your face melted off?

Henry: Too many kids around me.

Lies. Here are my top 3 reasons why Henry took 87 giant steps back away from the crowd:

1. He didn’t want his pedophilia to be that transparent.
2. He doesn’t love me enough/have enough upper body strength to keep bodies from falling on my head, which won’t matter if he’s a million feet away from me.
   
3. He’s embarrassed to be seen too close to me. (Because I cry during shows, but mostly because I’m ugly.)

Erin: When you saw that girl pass out right before Set Your Goals, why didn’t you spring into action? Isn’t that what they taught you in THE SERVICE or were you too busy trying to look like Erik Estrada instead of attending all the Be a Hero seminars?

Henry: [For real sleeping.]

Erin: [Repeats question, and by that I mean I kneed him in the nuts.]

Henry: [Started to “think,” then fell back asleep.]

Erin: HENRY, PLEASE!

Henry, waking up abruptly: I don’t know! Because there were already people “springing into action!”

Or! Because he left his balls with his ex-wife.

Someone for Henry to share his prunes with!

Erin: Any tips for other elders attending Warped Tour? And don’t say, “Don’t go.”

Henry, about to say “don’t go.”: Damn. Bring plenty of money so you don’t have to drink tap water. Leave your girlfriend at home.

Erin: And don’t forget your joint cream.

Henry, forgetting that he’s like 80 years old: What do I need my joint cream for?

Erin: What was your favorite part of Warped Tour and don’t say leaving.

Henry: But that was my favorite part. Probably watching all the people run when it started to rain even though they were in bathing suits.

Translation: Watching all the wet under-age girls run in bathing suits. See? Warped Tour’s not all that bad!

Erin: Least favorite?

Henry, with no hesitation: The heat.

Erin: What heat? Don’t men of your blue-collared ilk spend their childhood summers working in my rich relative’s yards for milk money? You should be acclimated to the heat by now.

Henry: Whatever, asshole.

Erin: If (Warped Tour founder) Kevin Lyman named a stage after you, what bands would you demand be on the lineup? And don’t say Judas Priest.

Henry: I don’t know.

Ew, I hate when he says that. Especially when his voice cracks in irritation like he’s some pissed off Peter fucking Brady.

Erin: Henry, I will kick you in the nuts.

Henry, clearly peaced out from the interview process like a little prissy Girl Scout: I don’t know what bands I would have!

This means he’s too embarrassed to admit to the Internet that it would be Creed, Nickelback, whatever nü-metal bands are still together, and a Carpenters cover band.

Erin: Are you looking forward to next year’s Warped Tour?

Henry: I never look forward.

****

Thank you for reading this lame interview. Clearly I need to find more interesting subjects. You suck, Henry. Learn some words!