Long time no blog; the summer's been busier than I had initially planned on. I have yet to determine if this this a good thing or a bad thing. Looking at my bank account, I'm gonna take the high road and say it's a good thing.
For those of you who don't know, my [basically full-time] job is making soap. Yes. I make soap. Before you read any further, get the whole Fight Club notion out of your head because it's not that glorious. There's a scientific method to it, but it does not involve rendering fat. It's much simpler and I'm planning on making more entries about it. My experiences at work that is, not the whole soap-making process, that's actually kind of boring. The store I work at is located at The Factory in Franklin, an old warehouse that's been converted into a hoity-toity shopping center. This building also serves as a venue for weddings, corporate conventions and other frivolous events. One in particular involved Gary Allan performing an exclusive pre-CMA Fest show. The crowd, which consisted mostly of 40-something-year-old women wearing low-cut band T-shirts and cowboy boots, only further reminded me that I live in the South.
I'm still recovering for Bonnaroo. It was an experience to say the least. When you get a chance, read this to get a taste for some of the acts I saw. For more on what I couldn't publish on the site, continue reading.
It was unorganized chaos littered with thousands of unbathed hippies, overpriced food, all in the sweltering heat....and yet I can't really think of a time when I've had more fun. Yes I complained a hell of a lot and yes Quinton and I bickered like a married couple, but thinking back on it now I wouldn't change a thing other than bringing, oh...ya know...an air conditioned tour bus. Seriously though, the music made it all worth it. Sitting with Quinton one night just soaking it all in, it was an indescribable high (pun intended).
Dan Deacon was playing directly in front of us, Kaskade was spinning to the right of us. Dead Mouse fans sat on our other side, their masks attracting curios passersby. It's crazy to think we literally just saw Jay-Z perform a couple hundred feet away. Bonnaroo is a like a small city. And just like New York, it NEVER sleeps. Nothings out of the ordinary here and anything goes. [The boob count was around 14 if you were wondering]. Everywhere I looked, all I saw were grins. Either these kids were high as a kite or just literally in their element. I'm assuming it was both.
Standing in the press area (hot damn did I feel legit) watching Regina tinker on the piano, nodding to Wayne Coyne as he walked by, followed closely by writers of NPR, Esquire and numerous other publications, it made me realize how much I love my job sometimes. Taking shelter from the heat in the almost-unbearibly air conditioned press tent, people were hunched over computers, writing, editing, emailing, tweeting...
The mass of cellphones in the corner vibrated and rang like a nest of baby birds, their cords fighting for outlet space. A journalist was passed out on the now grimy couch, a copy of the daily printed Bonnaroo newspaper covering his face. John Fogerty might have been doing soundcheck at that moment, but this nap was way more important.
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