Basking in the glory of Fleet Foxes
As a recent college graduate, I prefer to call myself a’ lady of leisure’. It rolls quite easily off the tongue and this ease doesn’t exactly inspire me to change my status to ‘employee’ or ‘equestrian’ or ‘tax payer’ or some bullshit like that.
Summer has officially begun. It’s as hot as a hooker on a tin roof and festival season is upon us.
Tomorrow= bonnaroo. A mecca of sorts filled with normal people from across the nation (some with desk jobs, some in school, some just your usual traveling circus hippies) who will spend hundreds of dollars to become disgraces to evolution all for the pursuit of happiness. Which, for us at least, means music, friendship, sunshine (which we could probably use a little less of) and the opportunity to assume identities we would never dream of in our real lives. Some will wear wings and glitter, most will eat psychedelics, and all will not bathe for at least four days.
Where in the world can you see Public Enemy, High On Fire, St. Vincent, Phish and all of the people that are there to see them on one plot of land? Only in this gloriously dusty,overbearingly hot, potentially incredibly muddy, and magical acre we call a music festival.
This is the stuff legends are made of.
Let the madness ensue.
ultra music festival. the beginning of the dirty season.
