Fort those of you about to embark on the trek out to Portland Meadows for the Warped tour featuring old school ball buster Joan Jett and the Blackhearts, I thought I’d take the moment to reminisce about the time I saw her play at the Taste of Beaverton maybe six years ago. There was a sudden influx of downtown punks at the Taste shortly before their set, making for some predictable culture clashes with the older suburban crowd who’d been busily stuffing their faux-gourmand faces all day. I managed to squeeze through the crowd and get almost all the way to the front—the only thing between me and the gate were two fat 40-something jackass dudes who were drunk off their asses and spent the whole show yelling at Jett to show them her pussy, they want to fuck her, and so on and so forth, all of which she handled rather gracefully. Anyhow, during the last song they started to get really anxious and were pushing and pulling on the flimsy gate, trying to dislodge it so that they, presumably, could storm the stage with their beer-gutted, revoltingly primate, date rape disaster sexuality, wedding rings in tow. They succeeded during the last chord in knocking over the fence, but were so drunk they fell on their fat red faces, butt cracks to the sky. Having had to endure their revolting presence way too up in my personal space for the entire set, I as well as some of my neighbors took the opportunity to give a little back. Beer backwash was poured out of cups, lit cigarettes thrown, and I found a cozy place between the bigger one’s ass cheeks for the steel toe of my boot. Point being, it was a good enough show that I stood through the whole thing wedged up to those fucking fart knockers. Hopefully today’s will be too. Have fun!