Last friday I saw a good concert, in a suprisingly cool venue, and nursed a small attraction to a 17 year-old boy. Who could ask for anything more?

The Cliks are a Canadian rock band consisting of three hot alterna-lezzies and one even hotter FTM transsexual. I saw them play here on the 27th, but not where you’d expect. Instead of thrilling the Phase 1 mullet set, or lighting up the bohos on H street, this posse of personified “other” got booked at Jammin’ Java, a formerly Christian coffee house/bar in a Vienna, Va. strip mall.

And they rocked it like the CBGB.

Though no one should be surprised in this day and age that girls can rock, these girls fucking rocked. They tore through about an hour of original material and well-chosen covers. Though their best known for reworking “Cry me a river,” an impromptu, one-verse teaser of “Um-ber-ella” was definitely a set highlight. When you’ve made Rihanna’s catchy drek sound like The Clash, you know you’ve done something right. “Oh Yeah,” their current single, wasn’t half bad either. Did I mention that their name is a combination of “clit” and “dick?” I’m pretty fond of these ladies.

Beside the band, though, the venue itself gave me a lot to think about. Though a district-dweller would needed two metros and a bus to get there, it seemed to be the go-to spot for every closeted, alternative, or just unpopular high school kid in the tri-county area. And since I was all those things, I know that crowd when I see it. I grew up in the city and still had no place I could really go and feel like myself, so I took it for granted that the situation would be even worse in the suburbs. It sparked a small amount of jealousy in me that these kids actually had such a nice mingling spot. There also seemed to be a fair amount of boy-on-boy flirting, something else I was denied in wonder years.

Even more damning, some of these boys were really cute. Have you ever had the experience of cruising some hot twink that actually turns out to be a tomboy lesbian? That’s how I felt while admiring a tan guy in board shorts and a wifebeater. Closer inspection revealed that he was not some crew-cutted gym bunny, but just an actual teen skater boi. I could practically see the trapper keeper falling out of his backpack. I was embarrassed, but not embarrassed enough to resist a second look. I’m gross that way.

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