You’re digging through the closet, trying to find a power strip, when you stumble across your old electric guitar. Your daughter wanted a guitar for Christmas and you didn’t get her one, but maybe she’d like to play this one, so you pull it out and open the case. There in the case is a t-shirt from a hardcore band from Orlando that you saw one frozen night in Vermont 17 winters ago, when your brother’s hardcore band opened for them. And so you find yourself in the kitchen on Christmas afternoon with headphones in, listening to strident vegan hardcore while Mariah Carey plays on repeat in the living room.
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