Don't Make Me a Target

Right now at this very second in time it feels like about 110 degrees in our 'office,' which has inspired me to write a bit about last weekend. The Pitchfork festival was good. Too hot, obviously, though. I'd much rather buy countless $4 beers instead of wait for twenty minutes in the line to refill my water bottles any time, but who wouldn't? Also, I was surprised at the size of the crowd, I was a bit spoiled by Intonation's low turnout and reasonable temperatures. I arrived at about 2 on Saturday, just in time for Man Man, who I've neither seen nor heard before. They put on a great show, as did nearly everyone else on Saturday. I skipped parts of Band of Horses, Destroyer, and the Walkmen to gather water and/or food, but everyone else was great, at least from my usual vantage point right behind the soundboard (it was so crowded). Granted, eight hours of standing in the sun took its toll, so we didn't arrive on Sunday until about 6. I saw Yo La Tengo put on a rather lackluster set, then managed to squeeze into a rather decent spot up front to see Spoon play a great show as always (two new songs/new album early next year I believe) that was unfortunately cut short by the powers that rule the festival. Skipped Os Mutantes (remember the 12-year rule) to buy a couple silkscreen posters (Ted Leo/Rx and Death Cab) for our apartment, and headed home. Didn't sleep much last night. You can find more comprehensive reviews written elsewhere by people sitting in air conditioning if you spend five seconds looking.

An interesting thing happened Saturday while I was waiting for my overpriced chicken kebob: in the span of three minutes my picture was taken by two different and unrelated people who liked my tee-shirt. One of those people has a well-written but largely unread blog. Anyway, the attention was brief and completely unwarranted, but welcome nonetheless. I sometimes feel like a ghost here, especially in this neighborhood, walking around all ordinary and plain, especially since I've gotten a short haircut. I want to shout "I don't like my corporate job very much, but I suck at making art, even though I greatly appreciate it. Give me a fucking chance people!" It's almost enough to make a guy get a neck tattoo. Almost.