one city block, one million hipsters

as far as i can gather, summer in chicago is about two things: triathlon training and outdoor festivals.

to appease n, my second favorite wicker park hipster (after m, of course), i'll lay off the tri-training-talk for a bit and focus my attention on the many shades of chi-town music fest (sorry n, you make fun of my blog, i make fun of indie rock).

put on your best pair of vans and stretchy black jeans, folks. comb your hair over your eyes, don your best scowl, and head out for the cosmic center of the super-edgy: there's just no better people watching anywhere in town than at the milwaukee/damen/north intersection.

the wicker park festival was everything i'd imagined it would be. even the babies were dressed better than i was. of course, even the hipsters are subject to the occasionally fashion glitch - as n so aptly put it, "what's with all the guys in the weird short pants?" apparently nobody told him about man-capris, once the haute-couture staple of boys town, now plaguing ukrainian village and beyond.

don't get me wrong - i had fun and the music was good, even if kk and i were the only ones spazzing out like freaks at the dirty dozen brass band.

lets move on to lollapalooza. it's hard to follow up my blogmate's clever intro, but i'll do my best.

there was a lot of controversy about lolla this year. at $195 for a 3-day pass the line-up left much to be desired, especially following the previous two years of indie rock heaven. we all pretended like we were above it, but in the end we couldn't stand to let it go on without us.

though i fully backed my good blogmate's description of the alternateens in their festival best, and her prediction of their down-trodden and sunburned demise, the weather skewed the results. don't get me wrong, by friday night there was enough heat stroke and stumbling drunk for everyone to get their fair share, but saturday was so rainy and miserable that on sunday everyone was back out in their finest micro-minis and bikini tops. so much sunburn, such nasty port-o-potties. in case you were wondering, the hipsters all stayed home, having opted for the much more respectable pitchfork, leaving me alone with an army of uber-frat (thanks, nm, for my new favorite adjective).

i don't even know what to say about the music. even weirder than pearl jam as the headliner were throngs of adolescent girls who broke down the doors at 11AM so they could be in the very front row. how people who were still in diapers during the glory days of 10 and the original lolla are the new pearl jam fan base is mysterious to me, but then again, so was the entirety of the teenage cohort (apparently regina spektor is this year's angsty high-school girl icon - think tori amos... or maybe ani difranco).

there were some nice surprises, including paolo nutini and the aforementioned regina spektor both of whom were so charming and adorable that i had quite the internal debate about which one i wanted to take home and stuff in my closet. i was unabashed in my love of snow patrol (they're cooler when you realize they're irish), even though i knew full well i was losing lots of hipster stock by picking them over yeah yeah yeahs. i'd like to think i got some of it back at interpol, where i not only enjoyed the show, but almost managed to keep a straight face. great music, but seriously? so much three-piece suit and scowling. how broody can one band be?

so there it is. n, i hope you're happy, because i've got lots more to say about how much my knees hurt and my evolving close personal relationship with my bottle of ibuprofen.