"Wait! Where's Kevin?!"

Macaulay Culkin’s Pizza Underground turned out be exactly what everyone had expected — an over-hyped, under-talented group of friends who got stoned and took an inside joke (which should have worn off with the weed) as far as they possibly could. Where they arrived was a place of blasé if not outright cheeky covers of the Velvet Underground and Nirvana with the lyrics lazily reworked to be about pizza — "Papa John Says" (“Jane Says”), "Pizza Gal" (“Femme Fatale”), "I'm Beginning to Eat the Slice" (“I'm Waiting for the Man”), "All the Pizza Parties" (“All Tomorrow's Parties”) — providing endless snark-fodder for music bloggers across the country and eliciting little more than shrugs from the Home Alone generation.

Never have I seen so many iPhones out at one time in a Tijuana bar. The sound was way too low. After about ten minutes, everyone gave up trying and drowned out the band with Modelo-fueled banter. I was near the back of the open-air venue and didn't even know the band had finished until a friend halted our conversation, whispering, "Dude, it's Him." Mac strutted past looking like he had just gotten laid, and I knew then that this was the core of the whole spectacle: nothing but the bragging rights to say that you once rubbed shoulders with Kevin McAllister at a Tijuana hipster dive. Buzz, your girlfriend, WOOF!

• Concert: The Pizza Underground
• Date: March 8
• Venue: Bar Moustache, Tijuana
• Seats: Standing behind a sea of cellphones