Computer Troubles And More!

I've been having computer troubles since a little over a week ago. Catastrophic failure has been averted; but I'm not sure for how long. So, in case there's a long pause here while I scrounge and scrimp and build a new frankensteinian internet terminal, I'll ramble on about my weekend at Bonaroo '09 after the fold...



Yes, yes, I went to Bonaroo. {see here, and here for generic details} We paid for the cheap-o regular tickets- roughly $270-ish after all the fees, etc. Four days of Primitive Camping, with porta-potties and a half mile walk into the center festival area. We- I went with my sister, her "wife", and some hippies- arrived Thursday night and stayed through Monday morning. It was... interesting. A bit disappointing- okay A LOT of a bit- but also vaguely cool and fun in ways that probably had more to do with the people I was with than the location.

Sunday, while firmly entrenched beneath a tarp for further protection from the sun, I wrote a little piece about the profound problems I kept running into face-first.

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Ah, Bonaroo. The heat, the mud, the stench of burning skunk, and human shit. The scantily clad women and men, the burning red glare of sunburned flesh, and the rage inducing sight of morning joggers hoofing it around the 700 acres of tents and RVs. The three women wearing only paint on their exposed chest-icles. The copious amounts of frat boys sheathed in greek letters, false bravado, and beer pong tables.

I'm forced to contemplate the dried on mud, the ants, and especially the faux hippies. Do they know they're faking it? Does everyone else? What happens at the instant they become authentic, when faking it has become making it? Do they notice? Or does it take such a profound naivety and refusal to acknowledge reality, that they will have long before convinced themselves that THEY are the real deal- while everyone else is just a hippie hater?

Afterall, they will have, naturally, gravitated to the external reinforcement of other wanna-bes. The profound stupidity of the ones who try so hard to be free, counter-cultural, and relevant while miming slogans and ideals invented decades ago, buying fake authentic organic free-range cotton blended skirts at L. L. Bean, and spending daddy's money on drugs of varying quality and quantity, goes unnoticed by those guilty of perpetrating. Instead, they see their own ideas reflected in perfect detail by a hundred thousand others and bask in their own original brilliance, convinced of their ability to effect the change that hasn't happened during the nearly fifty years of peace, love, and funky munkeys. I'm my own bi-sexual, independent, free, and proactive vector for a beter world- making a change by singing along to Ani Difranco's cover of a hundred year old Union Hymn, thirty miles north of, virtually union free, Alabama.

Hand in hand with the huge recycling, composting, and conservation intitiatives among thirty thousand gas guzzling behemoths- not a Prius in sight- and enough poly-plastics to choke every dolphin, manatee, and whale that has (or will) ever lived.

But that Grateful Dead sticker/flag/t-shirt on the car/RV/100% water resistant, non-biodegradable tent makes them a rebel- just like everyone else...

Maybe I'm being too harsh.

There are ALL kinds, and it takes them all, right?

'Cause when I think huge hippie hug music fest, I think the Neo-Conservative HEART of the bible Belt in Southernmost Tennessee. Because the many hundreds of porta-potties- serviced and chemically cleaned three times daily- and the nigh $300 cheap tickets beam wavey gravey straight into MY brains. I mean, where else would one fo to watch Bruce Springsteen and Snoop Dog and Nine Inch Nails but a peace, love, and happiness festival sponsered by FUSE, Butterfinger, and Xbox 360? Now with free, seven dollar, showers! And a tent to recharge your cellphone while you check your email and update your twitter. New Media makes you edgy, hip, and culturally relevant! (This message brought to you by Vitamin Water PLUS by Coca Cola...)

Then again, four days of primitive camping with the sounds of generators- for the RVs, the lights, pavillions, and occasional camper- that does take a certain amount of comitment. Hence the ubiquitous smell of dank stanky 'anky... or is that human shit? Best not to think about it, like that mud in front of the porta-'lets that sucked your inorganic, petroleum based, flip-flop off your foot and squished up past the blisters on your toes.

Groovy.

You tool.

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Having said that, it wasn't all bad. It's an interesting experience, and if you're an upwardly mobile recent college graduate, or a frat boy, or attracted to either of those, you'll probably love it (assuming you can stand the opressive heat of the southern summer). But the line-ups are kinda stupid, and the hour to hour and a half sets that stagger means there will be many times where you watch one show for thirty minutes, catch the last thirty of another, and the final thirty of a third before waiting an hour or three for the next set. Just check to make sure you have ample amounts of portable shade, sunblock, hydration (and electrolytes), and resolve. Ensuring that you give a crap about the line-up, optional...

But don't expect it to be anything like what the advertising material claims. (Maybe if you fork out the $700 for the cheapest VIP tickets... maybe...)