Tale of One City

CHICAGO (SKELETOR) -- Day 1: As we approached Grant Park we could hear the music playing, but were left unsatisfied when we had to walk another half mile to the entrance. While we all trickled through the gates, I could smell the beer and smoke (of all kinds) in the air. I noticed while heading to the Bud Light stage where the eels were playing, Lollapolooza in Chicago was one of the few places that you could find yourself staring and the most beautiful person and the ugliest creature on earth at the same time; there was not much in between.

We stopped to rest our already blistering feet in the burning sun and watched the wanna be British rock stars, Aqualung for ten minutes. After two Coldplay imitation songs, the cleanly-shaven lead singer, Matt Hales, introduced his band. To the crowd's dismay everyone in the band Aqualung had a beard except for Matt. Even he introduced them as "the bearded" and "with the beard", neglecting his own absence of such manliness.

The eels were entertaining, as long as you forget about the upstaging band member in a security guard t-shirt and his lucrative kung fu moves. All I ever saw him do were some back-up vocals, and he played the maracas once. I can imagine he was a brother of a real member of the band, and after numerous naggings by their mom, the brother was allowed to get a role in the band. I thought that was fine until he started mock-fighting the other band members, kicking and punching air. Next, in an effort to be humorous, the brother sat down cross legged and meditated for a good five minutes. This was the straw that broke my Camelback; I chose to go catch the last few minutes of Panic! At the Disco instead.

After an uncharacteristically average Ryan Adams show, it was off to see The Raconteurs.

Starved, I need sustenance. Naturally, when in Chicago, do as the Chicagoans do. And do we did, as we helped ourselves to six dollar beef and sausage sandwiches while embracing proudly the mantle of Fattest City in America.

When we finally got back to the apartment we couldn't help but sit down after roughly nine hours of standing and walking. We stopped by La Pasadita, for some of Chicago's finest burritos, and what a better place to go for burritos than Chicago. After multiple self-inflicted maulings on my tongue due to the outrageously spicy salsas we decided to leave the packed restaurant. It was already midnight and I guess more than one concertgoer had the munchies. On our way out we couldn't help but notice a Mr. T look-alike, who displayed a feather-like mohawk and beard that seemed to wrap around his head. As you walked by you had the unquenchable urge to grab his hair to see if it was real. On arrival back to the apartment it was time to sleep, and sleep I did.

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