You're Only As Old As You Feel

I feel pretty fucking old.

2011 marks the 20th (!) anniversary of Lollapalooza, or Lollapallopla, as Sissy likes to call it. I remember raging against my mother for not allowing me to go in 1992, not speaking to her for days.  Yes, I was a moody, sullen grungey teenager. Big brother went, and like a good big brother, he brought me my cherished Pearl Jam tshirt.  After presenting a 10-point argument about why I should be allowed to go, and assuring her that her fears that crowd-surfing would lead to me being carried off by a group of men to be gang-raped were bat-shit crazy irrational, my mom finally relented in 1993... perhaps out of sheer exhaustion. My best friend at the time and I convinced her parents to take us (former flower children, it really wasn't all that hard). While the lineup wasn't as great as the year before, my first concert of MY chosen music style rocked, and rocked hard.

Oh, New World Music Theater in Tinley Park... I knew you well!  I slid down your impromptu lawn-seat mudslide, I moshed in you, I raged in you... all at the tender age of 14. 

I'm not 14 anymore. I'm all grown up. So's Lollapalooza.

While I was a hearty concert-goer and have attended MANY concerts since that first show, I never got a chance to go back to Lolla, until this year.  I knew it had become a Chicago institution in the past few years, but I just... eh. Hated people for a while, I guess. I avoided the Loop at all costs during the show dates, so I didn't really know what it has grown into.

What the hell happened to that crazy little traveling show?!  It's HUUUUUUUGE. 90,000 people a day, this behemoth takes up the same amount of ground space that the Taste of Chicago does. It's surprisingly well-organized. The Port-a-Potties (and y'all know how I feel about public bathrooms) were... decent... the drinks were cheapish, the stage times were well thought out.

I decided to go again this year when I saw that Deadmau5 was playing on the final day.  Normally, I consider music to be a communal experience. While I live alone and do a lot of things solo (insert your own masturbation joke here), I've never gone to a concert by myself.  Well... very few people in my life have followed me down my little House Music rabbit hole, and just about everyone wanted to avoid a steamy, smelly band of hipsters like the plague. No one wanted to go with me.  Suck it, each and every one of you. I went Sunday, and I had a blast.

Like any proper summer festival, a monsoon hit, and I got soaked, and I have suffered the loss of a truly fine pair of Converse.  I will say that one major change in a concert going experience is watching people experience life through the screen of their smartphones.  Some kids (and for the first time in my life, I really see them as KIDS) literally never put their phones in their pockets and just enjoyed the experience.

While my phone didn't make it out all that often, here's my Lollapalooza 2011 in pictures.

I may have attended alone, but I was among friends. Shared a bonding moment as soon as I walked through the gates with these guys, because of my homemade shirt and their heads. I particularly love the Chicago Mau5head.

Several people actually commented that they wanted to buy this. I feel that this vindicates my OCD tendencies.

Sunnier, smellier times watching The Cars with Friend Drew... a friend of AlsoBeth... who I am delighted to find attended ALL THREE DAYS with...

Tannisse...  the Girl Scout of Lolla '11. Hand-held fans, two shirts, 5 Hour Energy, UMBRELLA... you name it, she had it in her Mary Poppins bag. She was fucking PREPARED.

Things started looking a little ominous around 5... then the Storm of the Century, Part 1 hit. Soaked to the bone, it lasted about 40 minutes before letting up briefly, showing a truly killer rainbow.

My phone was wrapped tightly in a bag I grabbed off the ground pre-deluge in the back pocket of my soaked shorts at this particular moment, so this photo is stolen from courtesy of AshliCrowe.

Waiting for the show I had come for was fun. The creativity of Deadmau5 fans awed me.

Then, just as Deadmau5 was hitting the stage, Storm of the Century: The Sequel happened. It was fucking epic though. Pounding music, a swelling crowd, brand new, huge light show, pouring rain and swampy mudpuddles up to my ankles... I loved every minute of it. I discovered the best part of my age last night... I'm confident to be there, by myself, to not care, and just have a fucking blast.

I took about 40 seconds of film...I wanted to get something for some good shots to remember, and then to just jump around and enjoy the show, so that's where these came from.

Hard work pays off... I was CLOSE. I pretty well got to know a few guys biblically in the crowd (not a whole lot of room up front), but the guy in front of me was tall, smelled good, was cute, and was overwhelmingly polite about making sure I could see. So... you know. Forced rubbing up on him wasn't so bad. *winkwinknudgenudgeI'mACreepyOldLady*

The aftermath:

Via con dios, Converse. You lived a good life. You will be missed.

House music may not be your scene, but it was a blast. I wouldn't steer you wrong... this show was FUN. If anyone wants to come with me to the next show (indoors), let me know. I promise you a good time.

I'm an old biddy. My feet hurt, I'm exhausted, I can't hear a thing, my back was KILLING ME yesterday and I don't know HOW anyone survived all three days... but I was brought back to the better part of my reckless teenage self again: when I was open for anything. When I loved being surprised by a live act that I would normally never have come across, and got an electric thrill from being in the thick of a buzzing crowd. When I truly engaged in something, and wasn't a dried up curmudgeon with a smart-ass judgmental comment for everything.  It turns out some things from your awkward teens are worth holding on to.

In the immortal words of a Maury Povich guest, "Age ain't nothin' but a number."  Fucking poetry, man.

News Flash: You're Old.

Seriously. Who watches wrestling? Who watches old dudes wrestling? There's apparently some people that think this fight was real, but I call shenanigans, as Hulk Hogan (age 56) and Ric Flair (age 60... 60!!!! THAT'S MY DAD'S AGE) have wrestled before...in 1994... and apparently Ric Flair is coming out of retirement. How do I know all this, do you ask? No. I don't watch wrestling. Wikipedia, my friends!

Yikes... Know When to Give Up

According to the Daily Mail, this woman, Jenny Brown, is trying to have a baby through invitro fertilization. She's 72. So when her kid is heading off to college, she'll be NINETY YEARS OLD.

Guess she's trying to give Madonna a run for her money as scariest bat-winged dusty mummy monster mother. ZING!

Yoga Granny!

At 29, I can't manage to go 20 minutes in Hot Yoga without puking, but give this 83 year old lady a boom box and a sheet of cardboard and she could do some breaking.

I especially like that as any true gran, she is in fact wearing pantyhose. Always a lady, even in The Crow position. Caw!

Read more about her at Daily Mail.

F#*K My Life.

A Saturday evening blog post from Birv? Crazy... especially considering how busy I thought my weekend was going to be. However, the reason behind being home this Saturday night is too embarrassing NOT to share.

I've spoken about Pseudograndma standing me up before, now she's really punching me in the gooch. As I call this afternoon to confirm our plans to see an Ibsen play at the Museum of Contemporary Art tonight, Pseudograndma exclaims, "Oh jeez. Is that tonight? What do you think, should we give it up? It's awfully cold."

She's right, it's cold, and getting to the MCA from where I live is no easy feat- you either have to scrabble for one of the few parking spots not covered in the 12 inches of snow on the ground, or you have to take the Blue line south, and then either wait forEVER for the Chicago Ave bus, or alternatively go 3 stops farther into the loop, switch to the red line, go BACK up to the Gold Coast and then walk from whatever stop gets you closest. Whoopee. Certainly not worth it for Pseudograndma to attempt, when she's just going to nap in the theater anyway.

We agree to call our plans off, and have a bit of small talk- it's been a few months since I've last seen her. My biggest news is that my dog has eaten yet another set of my bed pillows. She has news, she tells me. Oh yes, she has news. However, she can't tell me, she whispers, "until the news leaves". Then she giggles.

Sweet Ecclesiastes, Pseudograndma has a man. Frantically trying to sweeping away visions of old person sex, I get off the phone as quick as humanly possible. Then I realize that I've been blown off by an 83 year old woman SO THAT SHE CAN HANG OUT WITH A GUY.

I, on the other hand, will play some Freecell and watch videos of Mystery Science Theater 3000 on Youtube. Maybe I'll take a bath and try to keep from drowning myself in it.

Senior Citizen Hip Hop

You know I love senior citizens. I especially love old folks with a sense of humor, and this is the best thing ever. I can't even comment on how much I love this choir.

The Bionic Conversion Begins...

If the movies are right (and we all know they are) robots and humans will become one, signalling the destruction of mankind. Here's evidence that the end is near, the Honda HAL. It supposedly stands for "hybrid assistive limb", but I think you know what Honda's real inspiration is... 2001: A Space Odyssey. If these things start calling you DAVE, start hitting them with a baseball bat until you see wires.

The Daily Mail reports that Honda believes that these devices were designed to help factory workers, the old and infirm, but all the pictures are of young and relatively fit people bouncing around on these things, so you know what that means. That's right, bionic army. I can't run from this desk to the bathroom 15 feet away, so I'm getting myself a pair to hybridly assist my limbs in running away from my similarly clad enemies. Apparently they cost about $2200 per week to rent, but the suckers at Honda will have to catch me first! Whee!

Monsoon

Ahhh the weekend, so many things to talk about. Shall I discuss the monsoon that we had? All I have to say is that I'm pleased I live on the 3rd floor- I never have to worry about flooding.

Sadly, big brother does... and he had a 36 hour Shopvac marathon to address the flooding in his basement. All your work will not go to waste, big brother, I am planning on entering your feat into the Guinness Book of World Records. You can live knowing that you have made your mark on the world.

The upside of the flooding is that I got to take sis-in-law and BD to the airport, not only exhibiting my extensive knowledge of the back roads around O'Hare (all that smuggling is paying off (and not just with the large sums of cash I receive), I also got to drive their Acura... a far cry from the Vomit Comet (my 97 Elantra, I love you baby, never stop working). Turns out some cars brake really easily, so I looked like a 16 year old driving dad's car.

I could also discuss the musical I saw with pseudograndma, who, at 83 years old can't hear a thing, even though we sit in the fourth row. She gets a nap, I catch a good show. I saw Caroline, or Change, by Tony Kushner. Beautiful piece of work, although it is somewhat self-indulgent and about half an hour too long. I can sit still for DAYS, so it's not a good sign when I begin to fidget.

Perhaps the best thing I can do today is give some advice. Never, dear readers, suggest to your mother that it may be a good idea for her to see a therapist... no matter how good your intentions.

However, doing so does help end a phone call fairly quickly.