Internet-based snark since 2007.
Once upon a time, long, long ago going to a concert was simple. You bought your ticket, rocked up to one of the many centrally-located venues in town, drank beer out of plastic cups, got your toes mashed in the mosh pit, and (eventually) went home
Last night the fiancé and I attended The Foo Fighters’ Christchurch concert, the first of their 2015 Sonic Highways World Tour. It was epic in more ways that one. In order to get there we had to battle sleep deprivation (we’d both been awake since at least 4:30am), baby-wrangling and babysitter organising, and monstrous traffic