Thursday, August 21, 2008

A sweet mouthful.

First off, if anyone's interested, here's a link to photos I took at Lollapalooza 2008, and some links to videos I took:

The opening of Rage Against the Machine's set

Radiohead doing a bit of "Airbag"

A super-wee bit of Gogol Bordello

The conclusion of "March of the Pigs" by Nine Inch Nails and

Love and Rockets doing a bit of "No New Tale to Tell"

It was my first experience with any kind of music festival and I have to say I was pleased overall. Sometimes, the bleedthrough from other bands' sets was annoying and the volume at the Rage show was way, way, way too low. Sunday brought a virtual sellout of pop-based products, so I was extremely nervous that Grant Park (and Nine Inch Nails' set) was going to turn into an alcohol-soaked nightmare of 75,000 drunkards (of course, they still had plenty of beer and wine and, to be fair, water remained plentiful). A return trip for me would hinge on what kind of lineup they manage to assemble for next year and if I could sucker someone into going with me. While I can certainly operate on a solo basis without any problem, it was annoying having to pack up my blanket and gather up all my crap in order to go on a bathroom run or get something to drink/eat. The super-bonus was discovering that Grant Park has FLUSH TOILETS. Since they had so many porta-potties, the lines at the flushies were quite mellow. I touched Perry Farrell, that was rather exciting. I'd been lurking around the DJ area and Perry was slated to do a set. I was standing on the sidewalk and turned around to see Perry and his people getting out of a golfcart at the curb. Somehow he was coming in my general direction and in my usual "smooth" fashion, I touched his shoulder as if to guide him past the unsavory rabble (i.e. anyone but me because I'm the RAWK). We exchanged big smiles and "Hiiiiiiiiiiii!"'s. I've been a Jane's Addiction fan for quite a long time (couldn't tell you how many times I've been asked, "Jane, what's your...ADDICTION? HURRHURRHURRHURRRRRR"), so having a little Perry moment...very neat.

And now for something completely different: fudge.

I was enjoying a bit of fudge from North Carolina this evening, a little slab of plain chocolate fudge and a little slab of orange-and-chocolate fudge, and for whatever reason it made me think about "Fat Monica" on "Friends". Every time she made an appearance, she was almost constantly eating. It was rare she was without a candy bar in her hand--not that it stayed in her hand very long, since lord knows us fatties can't stop ourselves from stuffing candy in our yaps the second it crosses our palms. I always found Fat Monica to be fairly galling for several reasons: the make-up job on Courteney Cox was atrocious, the fat girl cliches flew fast and furiously, and "Friends" co-creator Marta Kauffman certainly was far more sizable than the women employed on her megahit show. It would have been such a plum opportunity to blow up some Fat Girl Cliches, but instead they relied on the same old song and dance: Fat Girl eats constantly, Fat Girl wears appalling, ill-fitting outfits, Fat Girl can't get a date. Even a flashback episode revealing that Chandler would have hooked up with Monica regardless of her size smacked of jerkwater bullshit. If I remember correctly (and someone please correct me if I'm wrong), the day after they sleep together doesn't she start craving vegetables or something? I swear that the super-brief-semi-positive body moment (as rare as a sighting of Bigfoot) was completely shat upon with a "NOW Fat Girl is going to get herself UNDER CONTROL!" footnote.

I got on Fat Monica because I was enjoying my fudge and thinking about how I wasn't snarfing it down or double-fisting it or stuffing my face with it. I wasn't inhaling a full fucking pound, I was having enough to satisfy me. I can't help but laugh (as well as quietly rage) at how mass media loves to portray fat people as beasts incapable of controlling themselves when it comes to food, particularly anything sweet or classified as "unhealthy". Have I squirmed a bit with delight when eating something particularly delicious? Absolutely. I've actually skipped with joy when tasting something yummy. But I've never found myself writhing on the floor in sweaty ecstasy, a ring of chocolate or fudge or whipped cream around my mouth because I live in REALITY. And it makes me even testier when I read/see fat people who are insistent on perpetuating the notion that we are all batshit walking Hoovers sucking down every foodstuff within our grasp, that we are these less-than-human monsters with insatiable appetites, usually in the name of "humor". Or trotting out the old chestnut "well, they're just going to make fun of me, so I'll make fun of me first". I used to drive that bandwagon, but then I started to realize that even if I *did* make fun of myself first, it wasn't going to change anyone's opinion that I was a walking fat-laden time bomb of obese epidemictude. If anything, it only reinforced beliefs that I was worthy of mockery. To me, doing the "beating them to the punch" routine meant I was giving them permission to blow shit at me. That gets old after a while, especially if you're already in self-loathe mode. So, you know, quit it.

I know that's not much of an ending, but I'm still recovering from being on vacation, with part of it spent in Vegas. Damn fucking straight I ate at buffets. And went up for seconds.

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Sunday, August 3, 2008

If this blog's rockin'... means I've spent the last two days (with one more to go) in Grant Park at Lollapalooza. I tend to make poor clothing choices when I go to outdoorsy/semi-activity-centric things, and for the last two days, I've been in long shorts that are just a mite too big. I generally wear clothing that's a bit too big because I don't like that "tight" feeling. I like to be flowy, like...a...flowy thing. Anyway. So I wore shorts that were a mite too big, which resulted in me, while walking to the train, hitching up my drawers every few steps. Today, the shorts fit properly, dammit, and should not fall off when I'm doing my weird gesticulating/dancing that I do when it comes to Nine Inch Nails.

I mean, they may fall off from excitement, but not from jumping/dancing.

I touched Perry Farrell yesterday. That was quite neat. I've been a Jane's Addiction enthusiast for many a moon, and it was one of those "I turned around and holy fuck, it's Perry Farrell" kind of moments. So, as he was making his way toward the DJ tent, I touched his shoulder ever so delicately as if to guide him where he needed to be (I'm such a douchelette). We exchanged very chipper "Hiiiiiiiiii!"'s and then I proceeded to text pretty much everyone in the universe that I knew would know who I was talking about.

Tonight, I'm just grateful I have a hotel room downtown so that I don't have to deal with the 45-minute train ride home with 19,000,000 of my closest friends. I work downtown as well, so I won't have to roll my very sore, very tired ass out of bed until 6 a.m. That will be so delicious. Once I get all my picture ducks in a row (along with a smattering of videos), I will be sure to post some up for your reading and listening pleasure. Of course, I'm about to head into two super-busy weeks, with a friend coming in from out of town and going to Vegas...could someone please put 48 hours into one day so I can get some crap done? So your guess is as good as mine as to when that's going to occur. Let's just call it...soon-esque.

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