The best and worst two days of my life took place at Bogarts with my band the weasels last month. We had daily practices for near two years, and our group decided to pull together and enter "The Battle of the Bands." This was the first time we paid fifty dollars to perform anywhere. All the other competitions we had entered were mail in tapes and wait for a response. We got out of bed at six in the morning, and then raced over to our drummer's house. We practiced three and a half hours to perfect our original songs; we were to play that night. Pumped and ready to get started we packed the car with our drums and guitars then started our journey to Clifton for our show. As usual, we got there early, so we did what any fun seeking under aged musician would do. We searched the allies and found a half passed out drunk and took him to a local bar, then got a few beers each before the show. We then returned to draw numbers for the order of the bands. I eagerly pushed my way to the front of all the other bands, being the prick that I am, and drew the first card. Unfortunately, I drew the second band on stage out of nine. The best position to be in is about fourth or fifth band because that is when the crowd starts getting into the music. I wondered back to my group to inform them of my greatest mistake. We loaded our stuff into the world's slowest elevator, and made our way to the back stage lounge. After I read the graffiti on the walls, I noticed much writing by some of my favorite groups. Inspired by them I also signed the wall. The time had rolled around for the first band to hit the stage. Excited, we rushed our way into the mosh pit. Screams turned into whispers as the band entered the stage in a cowardly manor. After they introduced their band, in an alto voice we listened to about a song and a half. Our group returned to the lounge to put on our stage clothes. I screamed in front of the other bands as
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