We wait. This is what it has come down to. We are at a small baseball stadium somewhere south of Boston (Brockton; Campanelli Stadium). Usually, this is a local baseball field, but last weekend, the B-52s performed here, and tonight, so we hear, Bob Dylan and Willie Nelson will be performing. But that’s hours away, and I’m having trouble believing it’s really true. For now, it is us and a crowd that is growing considerably, winding our way around the stadium. Many people have brought chairs, picnic baskets, blankets etc. They hang out in groups, giving other people the eye-ball from beneath their leather hats. Those of us who came unprepared, sit on the hard dirt or cement, the unforgiving sun searing the skin, getting hotter and hotter and knowing what it must be like to be a hot dog or some kind of grilled food. Come to think of it, there is some weird funk in the air that smells a lot like grilled food, but I have this awful feeling that it is some collective BO from the sun, sweat, and frankly, what is an edgy and somewhat hostile crowd. It’s like an old photograph from the sixties – the women with their sort of blonde hair and leather hats and crochet tops; the men with knitted caps and tie-dyed shirts. Take that photograph and bump the contrast down and the brightness up so high that it is almost a white out: good. Now you begin to see the white heat of the sun. We wait here for hours. (more; click link) http://blogcritics.org/archives/2004/08/13/094138.php
