#But what is their angle with the whole giant rabbit bringing treats?

[emmi-kat]

I feel like the Santa Lie is likely responsible for a lot of people losing their religion.

I mean, you tell a child that an omniscient bearded being is watching over every aspect of their life to judge whether their actions are good or bad and whether they will be rewarded or punished when the time comes only to reveal that it was a fairytale that you had made them believe all along for funsies, do you really expect them to continue believing in the bigger omniscient bearded being watching over every aspect of their life to judge whether their actions are good or bad and whether they will be rewarded or punished when the time comes?

"Fooled me once, ma! I'm not falling for that one again!"

#Christianity #Religion #Christmas #What is the lore with the easter bunny though? #I know the Pagan origins of the symbols of the bunnies and eggs and chicks and the name in the first place #But what is their angle with the whole giant rabbit bringing treats? #I don't remember any stipulations about being Naughty or Nice or anything like that #He seems less insidious than Santa to me

[kylewritesaboutthings]

Riot Fest 2016 - Day 1

It is 12:30pm and it feels like a jellyfish is hugging my balls. “Does it look I’m hiding anything in my crotch?” I ask my girlfriend Rachel. My hangover tells me that I’m being more paranoid than I should be…this isn’t my first rodeo. As a Polish punk there are few things I love more than combining my passion for subverting authority with my love of saving money. Which brings us to this point: waddling through the security line at Douglas Park for the first day of Riot Fest Chicago with a half a liter of Jameson saddled between my thighs.  We’ll go ahead and skip past the other illicit substances safely concealed between my size 11 boot and right foot. Like my literary icon Hunter S. Thompson, I feel it is best to experience a story when seeing it from an array of angles, even if those angles are all within your own head.

Like every time before this, my shitty acts of smuggling go off without a hitch and we are now inside the park with the (surprisingly) rarest of Riot Fest beverages: the elusive brown liquor. Unfortunately the time spent waiting for the rest of our party to shuffle through the GA entry line has caused us to miss ska heavy favorites, Big D and the Kids Table, but we take solace in the fact that like checkered vans and skanking, they will be around until the end of time. With a shrug of ‘oh well, next time’ we cut our losses and head to the nearest beer tent to get the day started off right. As we’re nursing the poor decisions of the previous evening (hence the reason why we didn’t have a full fifth of Jameson), I take the time to appreciate the fine work of the folks at All Rise Brewery who once again came to the park to vend their quality, local, higher alcohol percentage beers before we settle into a weekend of $8 Tacate tallboys. Driven by the fresh breath of alcohol into my system and an inability to read a schedule like a normal human being, we split up and I head for the Rise stage because I am not missing a god damn minute of the manmade hurricane that is the Dillinger Escape Plan. As soon as I arrive at the stage I realize two things: this is where all the #summergoths are hanging out trying not to get any color to their skin and that Dillinger Escape plan isn’t going on for another hour. Oops. I take the inaugural sip of my whiskey pouch and head back to the heard, congratulating myself on my skills of shitty espionage and the money I will save because I’ll have Jameson with me alllllll day. What is the old saying about counting chickens? 

I find my friends watching Diarrhea Planet kicking off the Rock Stage, a large pop up stage that only a band with four guitarists can make look like the midsized club in whatever the hell town you’re from. Think the Subterranean in Chicago. Think the Triple Rock in Minneapolis. Think the White Rabbit in San Antonio. But that’s the price that DP pay to layer 4 guitars over one another, and they do it well. Ripping through song after song in their short 30 minute set, singer Jordan Smith takes a very brief moment to apologize “for being so terse”. This will become a theme over the weekend, as everyone but the headlining acts receive a smaller set than usual. Such is with festivals. But unlike most festivals, the bands at Riot Fest put the pedal to the metal and wasted no time with banter and pleasantries. Except for The Hives, but more on that in the next installment. 

After a little while we start to wander over to the Story Heart stage, tucked in the back corner of the grounds behind the Ferris wheel. This is where all those bands in small type that come at the end of a lineup announcement “who you haven’t heard but have totally heard of them” spend the weekend. This time it is the bad ass girls of Bad Cop/Bad Cop who, by the looks of the crowd upon arrival, have had a lot of people take the plunge to actually listen to them.  It’s a great thing to see, as they are lovely people who make ripping, catchy, harmonized pop punk. Their energy is contagious and the tides turned pretty quickly from ‘recovering from last night’ to ‘in it to win it’. While they rolled through favorites like ‘Nightmare’, ‘Rodeo’, and ‘Anti Love Song’, we rolled through whiskey and beer and high fives. 

Luckily the Rise stage, where Dillinger Escape Plan were set to melt faces in an ever setting changing of time signatures that would make a symphonic composer shit themselves, was a hop, skip, and a jump away. More beer, more whiskey, some air guitaring, and some 7/5 timed headbanging ensued. Have you ever wanted to give yourself whiplash? Try headbanging on time with DEP. Ben Weinman is an absolute madman and musically/theatrically they are one of the most interesting bands in metal. A little bummed that we missed the usual destruction that comes with a Dillinger set (it is RIOT fest after all), we meandered back towards the Rock stage to see GWAR do their murderous space alien thing. With a fresh set of politicians to eviscerate, we knew we’d be in for a treat. I can’t tell you what they played, but I can tell you that when you start a set with a decapitation of a president that soaks the first 30 feet of the audience in fake blood…you’ll be in for a good time. Hillary and Trump boxed, with the former ripping the intestines out of the later. 

We now reached the point in any good afternoon of day drinking where you realize that if you don’t eat, you will be in serious trouble. Luckily some holy deity created tacos and soon I had crammed three of them into my facehole while I caught at least one side eyed look of horror from the carne asada vacuum that I had become. Whatever. If you wanted to see someone eat gracefully, you should have come to a festival of thousands of drunk punk kids. Take that, whoever you were. It was not the time for napkins, it was the time for drunken nostalgia. Set Your Goals, the only acceptable twin vocalist band, was back and they were playing just a beer stand away from where we were currently located. It was about this time that my ‘stockpile’ of whiskey had completely run out and we were running on full cylinders…each cylinder being a 16oz can of Mexican PBR. 

Luckily I had been tipped off ahead of time that they would not be doing the ‘Mutiny’ album in full, so I was able to enjoy their career spanning setlist for what it was. They did hit a number of jams from that album, making me even more excited for their fall run in which they would go cover to cover on what is one of my favorite pop punk albums of all time. A great band for group vocals (see: two vocalists), the whole front of the crowd was a giant sing-a-long of big ole dorks like myself who were excited for the Bay Area favorites to be back in action.

The next few hours were pretty hazy, but this is what I remember of them: • Never get a gyro at a festival, it does not come off a spit and no matter how drunk you are you will be disappointed. • Jimmy Eat World still puts on a great live show and everyone ever still remembers all the words to ‘Sweetness’. • Refused is fucking dead and they should have stayed dead. • I still don’t get Ween. • The Flaming Lips play the same god damn setlist every time they play Riot Fest. Or at least that’s what it sounds like. Just play that song about the robot, already.

After giving up on seeing music for the day, I decided that the press tent was the place to be and snuck Rachel in with me, brushing past the security guard vigilantly checking wristbands with a mutter of ‘it’s cool, I’m with For the Love of Punk and she’s helping me interview Andrew WK’ or something of the nature. HST would be proud. After a short potty break, I then learned the three greatest words I would hear all weekend. Press. Happy. Hour. Less than 10 minutes into entering the press area we were posted up at a table with 5 beers each, or roughly $80 of #preferedsponsor tallboys. Somewhere, HST and my extremely Polish grandma were smiling down on us…proud in their own way. 

Taking those to go, we found the rest of our group and spent some time chatting with our good friends Max and Emily, who help make Riot Fest happen. I will take this time to apologize to Max if I drunkenly said something shitty about the lack of portapotties instead of congratulating them on their excellent layout, somehow reuniting the Misfits, and graciously helping our winter fundraiser for the Bernie Sanders campaign by providing two 3 day passes to raffle off. Sorry Max! More to come on the very large number of things Riot Fest did right this year. 

By the time we finished chatting them up, we missed our mark of leaving before the bands finished up, hearing Fat Mike yell something inaudible to a crowd already starting to head for the gates behind us. Like a boozy salmon in a stream of cheap beers, we flowed out of the park and into the evening…everyone fairly confused but optimistic that we were all going to get rides to wherever we were going. Luckily the fine folks at Five Star Bar had that taken care of, as we hopped about the shuttle service they ran all weekend from the grounds to their Pop Punk DJ night hosted by super-secret special guest DJs, who were not so secret after Set Your Goals announced mid-set that they would be there spinning tunes later that evening. 

As always, an absolute blast was had at Five Star Bar as everyone mingled, met out of towners, and subsequently talked them into shots of everyone’s favorite dumpster liquor…Malort. The gentlemen of Set Your Goals were very nice to oblige my request of ‘Detroit’ by Fireworks, to which I sang embarrassingly loud level. They also had the rap airhorn cued up next to Spotify and every so often (or all the fucking time) we caught a blast of BWOW BWOW BWOW that truly was the cherry on top of the evening. A 3am drunk uber later, we were in bed eating Kumas mac and cheese. And if that isn’t a great way to end an evening, I don’t know what is.