Live Hate
We just returned from joining one million of our closest friends on the Benjamin Franklin Parkway for the Live 8 show.
My fellow Americans: I hate you. I hate your sweaty elbows that elbowed me constantly. I hate your food stands selling roast corn and cheese fries and $6 cups of sugar water masquerading as lemonade. I hate your ice cream stands. I hate your picnic blankets on the blacktop in front of the giant television screens. I hate your values that urge sixteen year olds to get boob jobs and then wear bikini tops as 'shirts' at public events. I hate the glassy stares you get after you've walked through the firehose shower set up by the Philadelpha Fire Department.
I especially hate those dudes at the outskirts of the show, the ones wearing t-shirts emblazoned with "Hustler" or "Player" or "Pimp," who filled a U-Haul truck with pallets of small water bottles and sold the water for $2 a bottle. Sure, it's capitalism. But you guys just suck.
Live 8 was unbearable. It was hot, it was stinky, and you couldn't see anything because the giant TV screens were in the dead middle of the Parkway and they totally blocked the stage. We tried to get further up, closer to the stage, and at a certain point the crowd wasn't actually moving forward, it was just pressing in on itself so that all the stinky sweaty bodies were just crushed closer together. Worse: the crush happened around people blithely sitting in lawn chairs, pretending to have a good time. Worst of all: I was stuck for a while near a group of about a dozen people singing along to Toby Keith (or is it Toby O'Keefe?), and two of the guys were trying to spin all the girls in the bunch. Now, why do you have to twirl around at a packed concert? Especially if you can't dance? Note to that big bunch of sunburned white people: I hate you.
My fellow Americans: I hate you. I hate your sweaty elbows that elbowed me constantly. I hate your food stands selling roast corn and cheese fries and $6 cups of sugar water masquerading as lemonade. I hate your ice cream stands. I hate your picnic blankets on the blacktop in front of the giant television screens. I hate your values that urge sixteen year olds to get boob jobs and then wear bikini tops as 'shirts' at public events. I hate the glassy stares you get after you've walked through the firehose shower set up by the Philadelpha Fire Department.
I especially hate those dudes at the outskirts of the show, the ones wearing t-shirts emblazoned with "Hustler" or "Player" or "Pimp," who filled a U-Haul truck with pallets of small water bottles and sold the water for $2 a bottle. Sure, it's capitalism. But you guys just suck.
Live 8 was unbearable. It was hot, it was stinky, and you couldn't see anything because the giant TV screens were in the dead middle of the Parkway and they totally blocked the stage. We tried to get further up, closer to the stage, and at a certain point the crowd wasn't actually moving forward, it was just pressing in on itself so that all the stinky sweaty bodies were just crushed closer together. Worse: the crush happened around people blithely sitting in lawn chairs, pretending to have a good time. Worst of all: I was stuck for a while near a group of about a dozen people singing along to Toby Keith (or is it Toby O'Keefe?), and two of the guys were trying to spin all the girls in the bunch. Now, why do you have to twirl around at a packed concert? Especially if you can't dance? Note to that big bunch of sunburned white people: I hate you.
posted by meredith at 7:17 PM
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