Sabreezy Arctica

          I spent much of the early part of the day playing TF2 with Alaric, messing around as a sandvich/mittens hoovy on pub servers. (Translation: We ran around as nearly useless, sandwich-dispensing characters with a weapon that forces the enemy to stop and laugh.) I went to Stetson East with Sabrina and Harrison, where we witnessed some kind of staff drama unfolding. After we ate, Sabrina and I took the T to South Station, where we caught the commuter rail to Worcester. For the first hour there were no seats to be had, but we eventually snagged an abandoned spot. Once we arrived, Sabrina's friend Eric (one of those conversational-and-charming-nerd types) picked us up at the station and took us back to his house at WPI. We dropped our baggage and headed for the Palladium in the city proper.
          Never go to Worcester. It's a terrible place. The Palladium itself is a black hole of ancient carpeting and thirty different kinds of wallpaper, those strange musty venue smells (you know what I mean) and a deep, subterranean coldness. We grabbed a table and sat down for the first two acts, who were both awful. The first band, Black Trip if I remember correctly, was a mess of grunting and grindy guitar, and were thoroughly uninspiring in that special way that only bad metal bands can be. The second act was Arsis, who I've heard of, but they proved disappointing as well; I'm not a metal lightweight compared to most, but I can't go for the wall-of-unintelligible-noise thing. I was dog tired and chilled to the bone, but managed to half-doze through parts of both of these sets. Thank goodness for our booth. Finally, the band we came to see was up: Sonata Arctica. I do enjoy my power metal, and this band did not disappoint. The crowd was pumped at this point, the band went all in, and the singer's theatrics, while corny, were fun anyway. Sabrina and I danced on the floor for the majority of this set, and we left somewhat deafened and quite satisfied with the band. The other special thing about metal is its concert fanbase; there are plenty of completely normal people who love it, and then there's the guy in the cheetah print suit and the girl in an outfit that defies physics/any standard of decency/her mother. On the way out, Sabs and I mused on the venue's name and whether it was a reference to the metal of the same name. We spent the night on Eric's floor - mine as restful as could be, Sabrina's tossing and turning - and were glad to finally crash.
          Quote of the day:
"They call him the rectifier. He's gonna rectify the situation." - Harrison