Twelve years ago today I went to my first real concert. It was Sleater-Kinney at Irving Plaza in NYC. Because I was 14 and clearly awesome, I went with my mom. I dragged mom there early so that I could claim my territory in the front row directly in front of Carrie. This was prime real estate at an S-K concert, and I meant business. Mom stood back a bit to get away from the riffraff, but it was clearly not far back enough. The pounding of Janet’s drums gave her a migraine that lasted for days. I was running on pure adrenaline and left Irving Plaza unscathed.

I still relish the memory. It wasn’t until a few years later I learned that, much like my mother, I am often made violently ill by things that are generally considered “fun” or “a good night out.”

But I’ll always have Sleater-Kinney.