My First Bonnaroo Experience

The first thing I want to say is, if you've ever contemplated going to Bonnaroo - do it. Just to say that you did. Just so you can say you were there; you were part of this dirty, beautiful, musical mess.

The second thing I want to say is, if I never have to use a friggin porta-potty again in the entirety of my life, it will be too soon.

Bonnaroo is a place like nowhere else. It's an adult amusement park, a modern-day Woodstock, a playground where everyone is your best friend and where you can whole-heartedly buy into the notion that music changes lives, makes families of strangers, and alters the way you see the world.

You can be whoever you want, wear whatever you want, do whatever you want without repercussions or judgements. It's a freedom so rare in the modern chaos of our lives that you feel like you've entered a foreign country beyond the limits of laws and normalcy. It's incredible and moving and like nothing else you've experienced.

Now, to be fair, it's also harsh and dirty and loud and overwhelming. The most extreme variants of the human condition are on display unapologetically and you are, in fact, sharing portable bathroom facilities with 100,000 of your best pals in 90 degree Tennessee summer heat. I was uncomfortable and anxious a lot of the time.

But there were other times, like when I was standing in a crowd of tens of thousands staring up at Paul McCartney singing Hey Jude, swaying and watching people raise their lighters (actual lighters, not cell phones), that I felt just how vast we all are. How vast music is. It sounds so...existential...but I felt so connected to everything. And I wasn't even under the influence of narcotics. I was just under the influence of the music and the people and the sky. Tiny lanterns floated above all of us as the show was going on and it was just so beautiful. And I felt so lucky to be apart of it.

I mean, Jesus. It's Paul McCartney. The Beatle. Best buds with Clapton, Hendrix, and Dylan. I heard Blackbird. Live. It's an experience I'll never forget as long as I live.

Paul's show also provided a stark and welcome contrast to the over-abundance of electronic sounding, synth pop, techno dub step manufactured music created by DJs that sound like same hour-long track over and over that took up most stages after 11. I've been informed by my much hipper friends that this is what's cool now. And I'm sure it is, especially if you dig glow-sticks and day-glo paint. But that part of the festival just wasn't for me.

Other highlights included Local Natives and Cat Power, laughing harder than I have ever laughed in my life around our campsite with new friends, and being reminded that people en masse are still capable of being kind, open-minded, welcoming, and good. Positivity is a force that's too often squelched by traffic jams and jobs we hate and the constant pursuit of money. Breathing it in was as refreshing as cold water in the middle of the day.

So in conclusion, I got to spend 4 days re-learning the idea of being completely present, of what community means, and how powerful patience and a sense of humor can be.

I learned how much I hate sleeping on the ground, but if I'm tired enough, I can actually sleep anywhere.

I learned I don't mind heat half as much as I mind sweat. And that make-up and showers aren't as necessary and crucial to my building relationships as I thought.

I'd say that makes me pretty fortunate.

Happy Bonnaroo!

xo.

Some of the Things I Should've Said at Your Funeral

Dear Daddy,

Two years ago, just a few days before Father's Day, my world cracked open and you were gone.

I don't remember the last time I talked to you before that. But I remember the last time you called. I didn't answer the phone.

I miss the way your feet shuffled across the floor when you walked, usually in the middle of the night, up to raid the fridge. It never occurred to me then me the reasons why night after night someone wouldn't be able to sleep. All I know is that I felt safe knowing you were standing guard over us.

I miss that one time on Christmas Eve when you walked out of the bathroom with your face covered in shaving cream, trying to get out ho-ho-ho, and our laughter making it impossible. I know that's the dad you wanted to be all the time. And I also know how hard that was for you, now, looking back on it.

I miss that time you danced with mom in the garage as the sun went down, me watching from the tailgate of your red Chevy pick-up truck. Now every time I hear “Brown-Eyed Girl” I smile and kinda cry because it reminds me that despite everything, you did love mom more than anything. Or you tried to at least.

I miss the deep scruff of your voice and your crappy handwriting and I think sometimes about how scary it is - the notion that I may one day forget how you sound.

Most of all, I miss the things we'll never get to do. The things I'll never get to tell you, the aisle you won't walk me down, the advice you'll never give me.

Don't get me wrong, I'm still mad at you. One day I hope I'll figure that whole forgiveness thing out. But today I'm still mad. I fight the thought that you gave up because it makes me white with rage and I try everyday to trust that you truly did the best you could and that the other stuff was just too big.

But regardless of everything, I miss having my dad. I miss you, today and everyday. There are still moments that buckle me out of nowhere. The world is field of land mine memories. But I'm strong and resilient and wise and tough. And at least some of that is because of you.

So just know that I love you. And I always did. Even when you were an asshole. And I hope wherever you are, your feet don't shuffle in the middle of the night anymore.

I hope you're still.

Forever and always,

Your little princess

"In the happiest of our childhood memories, our parents were happy too." -Robert Brault

Parachute Pants Revisited

While I do spend waaay too much time putting outfits together and trying to look as cute as possible while maintaining the appearance of effortlessness a la Jennifer Aniston, one fashion rule I always follow is this: comfort.

I don't care how much it costs, how amazing it makes my ass look, if I can't move in it, if it can't withstand the inevitable wrinkling it will endure in my car, I'm not interested. A little intentional slouchiness never hurt anyone. In fact, if there was a way to justify pajama bottoms as interview wear, I'd be the first on the bandwagon.

Alas, I doubt Conde Nast would be at all interested in my shiny resume if I showed up to their offices sporting my softest pair of Joe Boxer PJ pants*.

Thank GOD that the fashion world has finally decided to merge the  two concepts (comfort and style) and create what I think may be the best variant of sweatpants/bellbottoms/skinny jeans ever in the history of time.

Ladies, gentlemen, lovers and friends. I present to you ... the harem pant. Am I going jogging? On a date? To a concert? To the DMV? MET Gala? You don't know. And that's the beauty of these bad boys. Ultimate versatility.

All these can be found at Urban Outfitters.

And these are available at Free People.

Now, before you say anything, I do realize that the cut of these pants is a little hard to pull off if you have the hips of anyone over 12 and you're under 5'10. However, I also know that life is short...inso facto, we should all feel free to wear whatever the hell we want. Inso facto, I'm buying some.

Proportions be damned.

Bring on the Parachute Pant 2.0.

*Thanks to my grandmother every single Christmas Eve, I own at last count, 15 pairs. Oy. Love you, Maw.

Cheers dears.

xo.