The First Avenue of my youth, where we traipsed around in combat boots and vintage sundresses, was a filthy place. Its insides were as black as the bottom of my friend Megan's foot after the night she lost a shoe in the We Might Be Giants mosh pit. Soundproofing material dripped off the Mainroom's ceiling like Spanish moss, and urinating outside on the then-vacant Block E seemed a more hygienic option than the Entry's graffiti-plastered, coed bathroom. The frozen pizza came out of a hole in the wall, served... More >>>