The Festabul* Report

So I made it out alive. Which, considering the fires, the heat, and the "poot-a-potties" (another Olivism), is no small feat. We were there the moment the gates opened on Friday, Star Wars theme music and all, and T-Bone and I shut her down last night with Mr. Zimmerman, and I have to say, the whole experience was way better than two years ago, aka Dust Bowl 2005.

Las ninas take on the whole thing? Well, they LOVED riding the shuttle bus, they loved the kids' activities (save for "the beach," thankfully), and they loved hanging out under the trees and having some snacks and snowcones. The one thing they didn't really love? The MUSIC. I have to agree, it was a little loud over there on the Kiddie Limits stage. Really, they love Sara Hickman. Just not when she seems to be screaming at them. But Asleep at The Wheel from 200 yards away? That was okay. As was the battle of the mariachi bands when we got back to the Republic Square shuttle stop. And, as a bonus, we got the last few pictures we needed to complete our Guitartown collection, so all in all, it was three hours well spent.

Here's the calm before the storm:

Now some words of advice for fellow festival goers:

To the parents of small babies, say, NEWBORNS: In case you hadn't noticed, your life has CHANGED. Get over yourself. If I saw one sweaty, miserable baby being lugged around against his or her will, I saw 100. People, it is too damn hot, there are too damn many people around, bumping into you, and it is too damn loud to have your precious cherub up next to the stage just so you and your selfish ass can rock out to Arcade Fire or whoever the hell. If you can't afford a ticket AND a babysitter, stay the hell home. And if you do (stupidly) decide to come and camp out in front of the AT&T stage, and then decide in the middle of Bob Dylan's set that it's time for you to push your stroller upstream and out of the crowd of 50K+, get your dipshit old man or whoever you came with to get off their ass and run interference for you so I don't have to.

To the kids today: Look, I'm not your mother, so I can't tell you what to do or what not to do, but I CAN tell you that if you're going to drink alcohol or do drugs to look cool, the more you TALK about it and the more buzz words you throw in and the more bragging you do, the more you look like a complete tool. Just drink it or smoke it or whatever and shut the hell up about it. Yes, I guess your bong is beautiful, and I'm sure it "rips" better than the one you had two or three years ago (even though you look to be about 16), and I'm sure the "herb" you bought from that dude at the coffee shop was quite "juicy," but when you start puking 30 seconds into "BobEffinDylan"'s first song, you really look like an asshole.

And finally, a few awards:

Best Dressed: The 50ish woman rockin' out to Queens of the Stone Age in her cutoffs. And that's it. No shoes. No shirt. No kidding.

Honorable Mention(s): The really sunburned, really drunk whirling dervish at Wilco in the T-shirt that said, "It's not a bender. It's a lifestyle." I also liked the pasty white giant dude with the fro and the T-shirt that said, "I seen aliens."

Best Piece of Art:

Thanks again, M!

* Pronunciation courtesy of Olive.