Sometimes I'm not even sure of where I'm going on a given weekend. This makes conversations about planning my weekend pretty painful for me, as I can neither promise compliance or availability, and offer no real explanation as to why. "Are you available to hang out this weekend, Kaz?
No.
Oh, what's up?
Well, Leslie's in town and there's something we're going to at 8. I dunno what. Should occupy my whole day, though."

If it were up to me, I would of course skip to the good part, which I suppose I could do for all of ye here in prose, but simply don't care to. The preamble is largely my point this time around, so you're getting all of it.

I awoke bleary-eyed and multiple times this morning, each time expecting some kind of action. I had made plans to do things in the afternoon despite my own expectations of how much warming up is actually needed to motivate the intended cavalcade into action to get to an evening concert. I had no intention of making the plans for the morning, as I hadn't even gotten to bed myself until 3AM or so, and sure enough that's looking like tonight's prospect as well. Each time I awoke expecting the need to take action on my plan to get moving in the afternoon to make it in time for Leslie's event, involving the whole Rosbolt clan. So when Josh was leaving for work, I awoke, checked the clock, went back under. A noise? The phone? Let me check the time. The time says I have one new text message. I check it. I go back under, now dismissed from my afternoon plan by the intended visitee. Maranda calls later anyway and explains in voice what she had already explained in text, sounding on the whole much closer to human than earlier. Getting your teeth out will do that. At least the pain killers for afterward will.
But really awake this time, I showered and called Les and explained that I was from that moment on available for their little plan, which I had only had a foggy idea about up to that point. I try to treat her to my presence whenever I can, because she is most commonly located in Texas, which is from what I can gather an awful place to be, let alone deprived of my presence. So off we went to the Rosbolt clan headquarters to gather and await the exodus to Shamrock Fest at RFK stadium grounds. The family are fans of Great Big Sea, staged to play at 8. They drive us in the family van, a massive SUV with a satnav system with a sassy voice for you if you don't follow her exact orders (it is called nüvi and I have talked about this before, I think.)
There were bands, as you may imagine.
When we got there, someone was on the large stage on the left subbing for The Tossers, who didn't make it. They were ok. It was afternoon, and people were in carnival mode, taking their kids around in strollers and talking politely at drinking pisswater beer steadily (offense intended toward Bud Light in this case, although some VIPs were walking around with red stuff and black stuff, presumably Killian's and Guinness) at the heinous rate of five dollars per almost twelve ounce. Bleh. We were pretty far back, the lead singer was sitting down because he had electric small pipes. They played some of their own shit and some popped-up modern updates to irish folk music drinking songs. Didn't catch their name.
Then there was a small band called Icewagon Flu on the small stage to the right. The lead singer thought he was too cool for school. The backup singer and washboardist and fifer resembled Spencer, so someone remind me to tell him to be a rock star. They were adequate and full of themselves and played Old Dun Cow for us, which was fun. Matter of fact, they may have only done folk songs. Hrm.
Then there was a big band on the big stage again (such a caste system to this business, gross). This was about the time I realized I had missed Jimmy's Chicken Shack, stationed somewhere way else on the grounds. This was a Virginia based band called Carbon Leaf, and I had heard some of their shit on the way in. They also sang Belfast Belle like Flu had. By this point, our clan had moved closer to the stage. Matriarch wanted to lean on the railing for support, so before Carbon Leaf was done, we were at the front row, which is why my ears are still ringing now, I savvy. But about the band? Carbon Leaf was basically excellent, and anyone who wants modern folk music should take a listen.
Then back to the small stage, clan still stationed in front, The Pubcrawlers came on. Now, for a band to play rock versions of irish folk, they need basic rock instruments and basic folk instruments, meaning at a minimum, drummer, lead singer guitarist, bassist, and one small accordion, fifer, pipes, or violin. These guys had all of that, and rythm guitar, yuke, lead singer holding nothing, and backup singer, also with guitar. That meant they were practically cramming the stage. It was a sight. The lead singer was really angry and sang about becoming a pirate.
Finally back to the big stage, where the main attraction, Great Big Sea, played. They also rolled deep as far as rock bands are concerned. From the left, you had bassist, lead singer rythm guitar, guitarist, and etcetera folk instrument guy, with drums behind. The difference with GBS is that they all could and did sing, making their folk music and drinking songs sound more like songs. You could even make out most of the words, although by this point I was right beside the speakers, so it took me halfway into the song to realize I was listening to Mary Mack. Gurk. And I like that song. After their main jag, they brought Russel Crowe on the stage for an encore. He picked up a guitar and sang a Johnny Cash song with the band. Carbon Leaf came up to sing along on stage with them. Its the kind of thing you have to go to concerts for, and everyone in my party was geeking out about it the whole time. Crowe sounds much more nasal over the live mic, and was sporting a jock jacket, apparently for a rugby team that he likes.

All of that was enough to make the night enjoyable in the face of all of the following that until then I had been set to bitch about to Les and everyone else in general:
It was filthy. Even before we got there, it was evident people had been drinking in the parking lots the night before and no one had cleaned it up. There were almost no trash cans, so people just discarded cups everywhere, which piled up downhill, near the stages.
The crowd was a bunch of frat boys. Inside and out, there was clearly a strong push to be a male and have no regard for your fellow man, but only to swill pisswater and act rowdy. A certain level of that is fine, but this was just obscene. Where did the girlfriends and wives go, I wonder? Darkness fell, and suddenly there was nothing but frat boys everywhere.
Getting beer spilled on me, fine, expected. Likewise with stale cigar and pipe smoke and cigs all over the place, and likewise to the trash cans no ash pits. But come on people, smoke pot on your own time! And in your own quarters. This wasn't even the right kind of music for getting fucked up, and we're surrounded by the metro police just outside the stadium. Like I don't have enough bad smells around me with all your rank shouting asses.
Also I hadn't eaten all day, and am probably going to wait until tomorrow for that. I didn't want breakfast, lunch, nor dinner to be funnel cake.
Altogether the crowd was the kind of shit that makes bands not want to come back. Well, bands that are worth a damn, anyway. The Pubcrawlers seemed to like all the moshing and subsequent fights people were getting into. Security had to pull more than one drunken dancing idiot off of the stage when Carbon Leaf and GBS were playing. I swear I can't go to a concert in the metro area without some idiotic clique of white people bitching the whole thing up. Oh yeah, and you could use this method to tell who was event staff and who was attending. I saw perhaps two black patrons in the great big sea of concert goers.
And really, I only complain about the moshers because at one point, Great Big Sea was playing a slow, sweet tune, and being unable to mosh, the dedicated drunken moshing pubbies took instead to flipping off the band. No one is making you listen, mate. Go start a fight with the event staff or something. How the fuck are you supposed to flip off a band at a concert? Start clapping in rythm before my star power runs out, or take a hike already.

I wouldn't expect the good bands to come back, which is a shame, because they made all that bullshit worthwhile and wholly endurable.

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