My first ever concert. My first real ticket stub. Note one of the sponsors: Coca-Cola!

A 15-year-old girl wrote this, can’t you tell?

A full deck of playing cards fell like snow. Loose change—pennies mostly—rained down on the ground. I dove for the cards. A friend skinned her knee on the pavement, grasping for what looked like a suitcase key.

The ’Mats were up on high—leaning out of the Aragon Ballroom’s dressing room window after their ’89 Don’t Tell A Soul show in Chicago, dumping the contents of their pockets onto their faithful fans. There was beer, too.

What a great way to end my first live show—waving up to my musical heroes. This was rock ’n roll. I was 15. I was in love.

My dad had dropped me and my best friend off at the venue earlier that night (how punk rock is that?). I remember being embarrassed at this and rushing inside. The room looked huge to our young, innocent eyes. We picked GA seats (folding chairs) within the first ten rows. These chairs would later be kicked over and abandoned by a wild, drunken crowd.

As I was in a Beatles-fangirl-like frenzy, I don’t remember much about their set, though maybe midway through, Paul left the stage. Fans and bandmates were confused. A spotlight then pops on, and Paul is up in one of the empty boxes next to the stage. They played Nightclub Jitters (I think? Or maybe it was Within Your Reach?). Whatever song it was, it was perfect. Paul’s voice was tender and moving.

I hafta laugh now at my fondest memories captured on the above note card, especially, “the old ladies next to us.” Ha! They were probably in their 30s! God, I’m old now…wish I’d written more about the show on that damn card. My memory no longer serves me well.

So yeah, that’s how my obsession with The Replacements started.

Now where did I put my ticket for tonight’s SOLD OUT show?

“The night life critters: ‘What’s the cover? Where should we park?’”