Chapter Four: I Hate the Fucking Eagles (2013 continued)

They’re all standing in line to see The Eagles. It was one of the longest lines I’ve ever seen in my entire life, honest to fucking god.

(I hate the fucking Eagles)

Side note: I only asked one person to go with me to Summerfest this year. As much as I love my people, there are only a few I actually crave to be next to….Mostly, I prefer the company of music in solitude….

T-Shirt #6: There is no finish line.

#17: The casually walking and talking pace.

T-Shirt #7: Keep Calm and Carry On

Who the fuck started this Keep Calm craze?

At what point does “cute” officially become “annoying?”

9 times out of 10, if you’re a couple in your mid-40’s and you’re holding hands, you’re probably drunk.

Just saw a couple in their 60’s (not holding hands) walking together with genuine, wrinkled smiles. It’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen in my life. Honest to god.

The bass player for The Eagles could have walked right past me, and the fuck if I’d know.

Sunglasses off.

It’s a bit scary, making all this eye contact.

One out of every 250,000 girls is right for me, I figure. Maybe half a million.

Trust me.

It’s me, not you.

Don’t look down.

Keep your head up, girl. You’re beautiful.

(Own it!)

T-Shirt #10: (Cool story, babe. Now pass me the remote.)

The baby in the stroller smiled at me, turned to her mom to get her attention, failed, and smiled at me as she took off.

T-Shirt #11: Keep Calm and Kill Zombies

T-Shirt #12: Single and Ready to Mingle Fuck

#18: The I’m listening to my radio, trying to look important, I’m a police officer in training walk.

Two bearded, pot-bellied, mid-30’s, (Chicago cool) Bro-mance-sters were walking with a strut, drinking their beer, and smoking matching cigars. They could’ve been holding hands for all it’s worth.

(I love this fesitival with all my heart. )

Teenager. Full body laughing with braces. Beautiful. Soak it up, child. Soak it up.

Seriously, most of these (adult) couples are pretending. Holding hands and pretending to be happy.

“Where’s that remote, mother fucker?”

With plates of food and on-going conversations, the smell of donuts, and a light breeze off the lake.

All of this.

All of it.

It’s so fucking beautiful.

Some Brazilian guy and I just had a moment. He pointed at me and smiled, and I did the same.

(I can’t stop laughing about this.)

And the 16-year-old girl with the cowboy boot strut is lost and on her cell phone.

Go fucking figure.

T-Shirt #13: This is my weekend shirt.

I ended up here, at The Rebel Stage on Milwaukee’s lakefront, on a beautiful summer Sunday night, listening to Coventry Jones, probably 53 years old, playing his acoustic guitar, singing, “Like a Rolling Stone” to a drunken few, and this writer thinks Jones is pretty fucking cool to be doing this, and definitely worthy of lamb meat.

“Like a rolling stone.”

I’ll continue to walk further and further away, and the music will fade.