Haven't had much of a chance to talk about the 36 hours I spent at Lollapalooza, mostly because I, technically, didn't. (When you're a mile walk away from Greektown and your best friend lives in an apartment building with an Original Pancake House in its ground floor, though, what can you expect?)
I started the weekend with my dad driving me into the city to see Passion Pit's pre-fest show like the sixteen-year-old my family still thinks I am, which actually worked out better than the next time I trekked down. The Wisel Cloud usually doesn't ruin recreational activities for anyone besides blood relatives and significant others, but the city of Chicago exploded out of the sky in such a way that I could never take credit for it, even if I wanted to. Here, I thought hotel parties, cold salsa con queso and a couple cases of beer with some of my closest pals wouldn't be the highlight of my weekend, but considering my vanilla body turning to a red, Triscuit-like consistency in the outdoors isn't my favorite past time, drunken playtime on a cushy surface with a fistful of pretzels was quite the bombastic alternative.
(Also, say what you will about the fug-o-meter scale erupting at the sight of Crocs —because every friend of mine did — but when a city's covered in a thin layer of fresh mud-rain, they're like flip flops from heaven and the only thing that kept me from turning into a mud monster while eating Lou Malnati's outdoors and watching Aviici.)
Sunday, we actually spent more time walking through the incredibly expanded layout than actually seeing music (Sigur Ros at the dead August heat at 4pm? Totally whack), but Of Monsters And Men's set was quite the spectacle, in part because of the sea of inflatable creatures floating throughout the crowd like a sky zoo. A tiger! A shark! A killer whale! A birthday cake? Must have freaked the band out just as much, because it temporarily joined the group on stage during their daytime set, in one of those fantastic-y festival moments. After spending the rest of the night walking, walking, walking even more, thinking "how fucking big is this place?", walking again and walking again, due to a dear friend with a fistful of stickies, we got to share breathing space with Karen Elson while watching Jack White headline the fest. Feel like a sexist bum for preferring his all-male band to the female one, but considering that adorable Nanna and the rest of OMAM, as they say in ye olde biz, "killed it" at Billboard's open bar party later that night, the only thing better than their set was the level of drunken stupor i reached from Starbucks Refreshers (ick) free vodka dranks (yum) while surrounded by everyone I adore who's involved in that project. I guess getting scared from how drunk you feel off of three drinks when you're a $60 cab ride from home is a very sixteen-year-old thing to do, after all.