2. Although touted by The Reader as Chicago’s best new band, opener Mickey was the worst. Guys: you were the opening act for a beloved and much anticipated all-girl group with a substantial lesbian following. This was not the right crowd for the played out posturing of using the mic stand as a giant phallus. It was obvious that the bespectacled, 5’2” girls in the front row were not there for you. You did not win me (or any other WF fan) over by spilling beer and blood on my head, or by jumping into the crowd, stepping on my toes and shoving me violently. In fact, you made me hate you. As a general rule, I have no problem with moshing, beer spilling, shoving, etc., in fact I think these things can add a lot to a concert experience. The key is that I want to be a voluntary participant in such antics for a band that I really like. Mickey, if I want your makeup or bodily fluids all over me, I will pay money to come to one of your shows. Did you notice that there were only two people who were really digging you? One of them was a fat 6’2” guy who tried to start a fist-fight with a girl; the other was the designer-drug girl who I finally had to punch because she wouldn’t stop tickling people. Not the right moment for slam dancing in the crowd, Mickey. Fail.