Rated M for Mature

I originally intended to pepper this f*ing post with f-bombs as a tribute to last night's f*ing awesome Green Day show but I can barely f*ing stomach it thus far. So . . . f* that.

For the longest time, I thought I was the sole American idiot who would take an eight year old boy to Green Day. Little did I know, there are thousands of like families in this region alone. Preppy moms with kids in tow. Rocker parents with a litter of young rockers. Dads holding babies. I was not alone. The little girl boy in the row in front of us, possibly six years old, had hair down to his waist and spent the entire show playing air guitar and making amazing jumps like a tiny Angus Young. (Funny for the first five minutes. Not quite so endearing thereafter.)

Family friendly indeed. It was like spending the night at Disney World but Mickey and Minnie had been replaced with Ren & Stimpy. Come on kids, let's get drunk and have some fun. F* your parents. F* your teachers. (I kept putting my hands over Son #2's ears. Please, for the love of God, don't f* your parents or teachers.)

Not that any of this was surprising. When you've become famous for your angst-riddled, new generation, anti-war, Sex Pistols-like persona, then you didn't sign up to be a Boy Scout role model. I get it. But f* you anyhow, there are children here.

In addition to the families and expected teens, there was a large number of older couples surrounding us. And by "older," I mean in their late sixties/early seventies. The couple in front of us pounded beer after beer and danced the night away like old folks at a wedding. I was hoping there was a defibrillator nearby just in case the ol' ticker gave way. The tea-totaling, straight-faced, American Gothic couple next to us looked like they put their bong down at Woodstock and became organic farmers in the decades since. The most unlikely Green Day fans ever.

Regardless of where you were in the Green Day fan base bimodal distribution, the f* bombs were a bit much. Asking a 12 year old boy if he'd f*ed a woman yet? The poor kid was probably with his mom. Um, awkward. Introducing Mike Dirnt, the bass player, by telling us he has a huge cock? Come on. He probably already gets laid enough. Unnecessary. The dude next to me kept rolling his eyes. I hear ya Gramps. But in all fairness, this is Green Day (not Doris).

With all that behind me, I have to say, Green Day was a fan-f*ing-tastic live show. Just a great, great time like the rock and roll concerts from my childhood where the music, not the theatrics, was front-and-center. Unlike The Pixies and Weezer, these guys played their hearts out -- for three full hours -- throughout which lead singer Billie Joe Armstrong made comments like "We appreciate that you spent your hard-earned money to come to see us and we're going to give you the show of a lifetime" and "It's an honor to play for you tonight." And I honestly think he meant it. Bless his fuzzy, warm heart.

When it comes to audience engagement, they have all other bands beat. They brought everyone from the pit onto the stage to dance, the previously mentioned boy on stage to sing, and later three audience members (i.e., drummer, bass player and chick guitarist) to play a song. It must have been the dream of a lifetime for these kids -- especially when they told the girl keep her guitar. The crowd went insane.

Actually, the crowd went wild all night long. Like Pavlov's dogs, we collectively waved our arms in the air every time Billie Joe shouted, "get your arms up there." Yeah, how anti-establishment are we now? Punk anarchists who follow the rules. Go figure. He also threw out a gazillion crowd-thrilling references to Buffalo apparently not knowing that he was playing in a giant field between our two fair cities. (Somewhat presciently, he knows that the Bill's are going to win the Superbowl this year. Get your wagers ready.) He even gave a shout out to the Canadians in the crowd. Judging by the cheers, and license plates in the parking lot, this comprised maybe a quarter of the audience. But he only gave a few, lame shout outs to us in short, namby pamby "Buffalo and surrounding areas" references. Yea! That's me! Surrounding area! (I've decided that we need a strong Buffalo, Rochester, Canada coin phrase. I just can't determine what it should be. BuffaCanaRoch? Delightful.)

In a bizarre twist, when introducing musician Jason Freese, the crowd cheered like crazy. When Billie Joe followed up to say he used to play with the Goo Goo Dolls, there was an odd silence. Here in the epicenter of the Goo Goo Doll Nation, clearly no one gave a s*^t. This begs the question, are the audiences for both bands that divergent? My answer: who cares. (Or, more appropriately, who gives a f*ing s*&^?)

They played a million of their hits; so many that I cannot even begin to list them here. Songs from their new album interspersed with old school hits from the early '90s. Oh and what else you might ask? Introductory chords from songs like Iron Man, Ain't Talkin' 'Bout Love, Sweet Child of Mine and Highway to Hell. Great fun. Huge crowd pleasers. We even sang the chorus to Hey Jude. Wasn't expecting that . . .

To add icing on the cake, when the lad and I were leaving the venue, a guy from the Green Day crew stopped us and handed Son #2 Tré Cool's drumstick. OMG, you should have seen his face. It was the perfect ending to an (almost) perfect show. 

So thanks to my little man for taking me to Green Day. I would never, ever, ever have chosen to go to see this band on my own but I'm extremely grateful for the experience. They are true rock n' roll musicians and amazing, crowd-pleasing performers.