I really hate it when you go to a concert and you have the misfortune of sitting next to a screamer. I can't even begin to describe the discomfort I feel when the band I paid good money to see is drowned out by the yelps of a crazed star-struck weirdo. There are two types of these rabid fanatics. First there is the common yeller circa Beatlemania who let out a continuous stream of noise until their throat dries up. Then there is the rare, albeit extremely annoying, repeated chanter or yeller with the unabashed lung capacity of a hyena. These are the kind that never shut up.

I recently encountered one of these monkeys at the second Hip show at Copps Coliseum. At first everything was going great. I was leisurely reclining in my seat listening to the lyrically-driven intelligent rock-lite of Canada's favourite house band, when I heard a wheezing scream behind me about a half-hour into the set. At first it didn't seem like anything out of the norm and I thought it would just pass. It didn't pass.

Not only were this guy's screams drowning out the Hip, but they were beginning to hurt my eardrums. I began to tense up anticipating each wail in an effort to stave off the pain. It wasn't working and my temper was raging. His high-pitched shrieks continued to occur, one after the other. There was no stopping this Energizer bunny, he showed no signs of easing up.

I decided that I had to do something about this guy. And I wasn't just thinking about myself. I was concerned about the other hundred or so people within earshot of this disturbed individual who must have shared in my annoyance. I bravely turned behind me to search for the face of my oppressor. It was not to hard to find the miserable wretch, he was two rows back jumping up and down with the consistency of a tennis ball. He was wearing a faded Trouble at the Henhouse T-shirt, well-worn by repeated wear since that tour was only last year, and on his head was a black Hip baseball cap.

At first glance I had some sympathy for the little bugger for he was only about 15, but I paid my money and I wanted to enjoy the concert. I stared at him with a spiteful grimace on my face until he took notice. I then hardened my features and gave him the best death-stare I could muster. I didn't even have to say a word. He stopped his incessant wailing, and for a few minutes I was in heaven.

A little while later I began to hear a strange clanging. At first I thought that the Hip had added some percussion on "New Orleans is Stinking" but the clanging continued onto the next song. I turned my head back once again and the screamer smiled at me. He had his keys out and he was knocking them against the railing to the beat of the music. Feelings of rage coursed through my veins but I felt powerless too anything, so I took the advice of Gordie Johnson of Big Sugar and got used to it. You got to accept the things you cannot change in life or else you will never be able to enjoy yourself.