summer day

So, I think I may qualify as a Yeasayer groupie...seeing as I have now seen them twice in the past week.
(Loves)I don't even really blame them for the fact that today's show at the XPN festival was a little less life-altering than last week at Pitchfork, when they literally controlled the weather...the crowd was a little different, by which I mean far, far older and tanner. Their biggest fan today (besides me, the freaking stalker) was perhaps the short, leathery woman in the front row who was wearing a neon pink bikini top and white terrycloth hot pants with a pack of cigarettes stuck in the pockets and a cow-print cowboy hat and playing her miniature maracas on the steel banister. Who can blame them, really, if they ended the show rather non-momentously for this crowd of middle-aged hippies barely swaying along to their music? Although, I continuously promise myself, even though it doesn't matter because it will never happen, that if I ever became a famous or well-regarded musician, I wouldn't become too good for anything. Because it sucks when you see a show where the band's not giving it everything that's in them.

And anyway, hippies included, today was a wonderful, relaxing day spent with wonderful, relaxed people on blankets in a blazing hot field in Camden, drinking mint tea and feeling dirt stick to my grainy, sweaty skin. And there is nothing like getting home after a night of no sleep, after driving home half awake and half-believing you might have seen a lamb on the side of the road as you passed by on the trip back, and changing into a 1996 Celine Dion concert t-shirt and getting into your bed, which feels softer and more comfortable than ever, and sleeping into the meat of the day with the fan whirring in the background of your bizarre dreams.