Queen Mediocretia of Suburbia

Things I Learned At the Cradle of Filth Concert

I escorted my 15-year-old niece Farzanna to the Cradle of Filth Concert in KC. I learned these things:

I may not like to be hugged, but being patted down for weapons is quite agreeable to me.

If you stand within two people deep from the stage the bouncers squirt water into your mouth if you open it like a baby bird.

Even if friends advise you not to get too close to the mosh pit, it is futile, because the mosh pit comes to you.

Even if you assume a "I Shall Not Mosh" stance, you will still mosh.

Do not wear slide-on shoes into the mosh pit.

If fellow moshers see you suddenly look around the floor in search of your shoe, they help you look until you find your shoe.

Losing your shoe in the mosh pit excuses you from the mosh community. Moshers who then bump into you turn about and nod apologetically.

If you are 15, watch from the edge of the stage, make the two-fingered rock and roll hand gesture at the drummer, and have an aunt who hops up and down pointing at your head, you will get Cradle of Filth's set list after the concert.

Cradle of Filth censors their set list (I assume the song "Beautiful C**t" is not actually about a Beautiful Cart.)

I can still be shocked by t-shirts that say "Jesus is a Cart" (censored).

Jummah!

We went to jummah at Arzaana-fay's old mosque. She didn't recognize anyone there. I sat in the back, and Arzaana-fay sat with the pray-ers. Oddly, I didn't hear my favorite word, hamdallah, at all. I was just quietly sitting there when a pleasant-faced woman crept up to me holding a scarf in front of her. It was like she was trying to catch a bird, and I was the bird. I didn't know how much English she spoke, so when I realized she wanted to wrap the scarf around my head, I nodded. She leapt at me and mummified my head in a matter of seconds. She said "It is a pleasure to do this for you," which was nice so I didn't feel like a harlot. Then she patted my head and said "You look gorgeous." I told Arzaana-fay I got scarfed.

I liked the jummah, but if they intend to sit the women behind the men, they need to discourage the men from touching the ground with their foreheads as it puts their asses out there for the women to enjoy. However, this does not make up for discovering that women cannot pray while menstruating. I think if I were menstruating and cranky and someone had the nerve to say I was "unclean" and separate me from the assembled crowd I would yank out my tampon and twirl it around my head and lob it at him.

After the jummah we went looking for clothes. She had to come along on the clothes trip because this next January she turns 12 and there are new rules for what has to be covered. She explained that she could still show her elbows but not after -- "you know." "Well," I said, "it's not like 'you know' hits the day you turn twelve. It could happen tomorrow." She looked really concerned. "Mom said it wouldn't happen till I'm twelve." Gary made us stop having that conversation.

Anyway, she stayed in the dressing room and patiently accepted or vetoed articles of clothing on religious principles. Again, for future reference, an opaque blouse with long sheer sleeves still breaks the elbow taboo. And here I walk around with my chin and elbows exposed like some kind of hussy.