(special guests The Drowning Men)
On 26 February, at long last, my brother and packed into the mosh pit with a lot of rather large, sweaty men and jammed all night.
I'd called before hand about cameras (lest they pull an RIT and let you get all the way to the security before sending you packing to get rid of your camera) and she said, "no professional cameras". According to the Armory "professional" means the body requires interchangeable lenses. I bet your great uncle Harold the retired banker has a professional camera. But, I decided I'd argue another night and accept the challenge of using my Blackberry Bold.
Unfortunately, I passed on photographing the vomit that filled the sink in the remains of the women's bathroom. Oh, the carnage. It would have been a great addition in a story.