Killing Time at Bonnaroo

This seems wrong. I should be out in the sun, drinking a cold beer and watching Charlie Louvin, and I'm here BLOGGING? At least I have an excuse: I'm waiting for my cell phone to charge. Microsoft will charge your phone for free here, trying to show the hippies that they're not ALL evil. That's to be determined, though.

It's hot here. It's very, very hot. Heat index into the mid ninties. The kind of heat you don't want to even drink beer in, just sip on the warm water in your Camelbak (if you're lucky) and hide in the shade made by one of the three trees in the concert area.

I saw the Police last night. My brother in law turned to me mid concert, noticing that, while I was watching, I was doing so with my arms folded.

"Isn't Sting like the number two most hated person on your list?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied. I mean, he's not Bono, but on the pompous-ass-o-meter, Sting scores a near perfect 9.8. And the Police? Well, they sounded fine to me, I guess, but I wasn't converted at all. And they ended their set 45 minutes early, the babies.

But then I went and saw the Flaming Lips, and they were everything they were supposed to be. While the Police jammed their songs out to annoying lengths, the fLips brought a spaceship and giant balloons.

I'm going to see Jim Jarmusch speak in a little bit. It wasn't advertised, so it was a nice treat to find out that he's here.

It's hot. I can't wait to take a shower and relax.

But, on to the show!