stalk
@ e-mail
@ facebook
@ twitter
frequent things
@ animal stanhope quotes
@ songs i like that you probably won't listen to
@ happiest sounding sad songs
@ maybe it's not all that bad they died young
old interviews
« aziz ansari
« daniel tosh
« derrick comedy
« doug benson
« michael ian black
« mike birbiglia
« mr. chi city
« nick swardson
« rob corddry
« whitest kids u know
« zach galifianakis
I went to Lollapalooza this year, for a few reasons:
- to see the Foo Fighters
- to satisfy Me from Thirteen Years Ago by seeing Eminem live
- to watch 19 year olds get heat stroke, after slamming Bud Lights in eleven hours of 90 degree direct sunlight
- to count Hot Topic-eque Pink Floyd shirts (ended up in double digits)
- to discover a new band, allowing me to get in on them at a ground level before they get really big and everyone begins to hate them for no reason
An hour before the Foo’s headlining slot, it poured. POURED SO HARD. The grass and baseball fields at Grant Park were turned into a type of substance that resembled both the consistency and aroma of Porta-potty shit. Mr. Grohl and company began their headlining spot and as the first song ended, more ominous clouds showed up behind the Chicago skyline. Two songs later, the skyscrapers had been swallowed.
Just as the drums kicked in to begin “My Hero,” the sky opened.
Unlike earlier in the day, when people had run for cover and missed bands in order to find shelter from the rain, the three day festival was soon drawing to a close. This caused people to go into not-give-a-shit mode, followed by belly flops into foot-deep mud puddles and disregard for stowed away garbage bag ponchos.
The crowd of 75,000 embraced getting whipped with the cold, driving rain after a weekend of 90 degree humid heat and the band fed off of it. It made for the best 5 minutes of the festival. Two out of two horrible smelling, water logged, muddy [eventually irreparable] tennis shoes agree.
