Both Saturday and Sunday, I went down to the Chicago Celtic festival. More kilts than you can shake a stick at. Usually on really tough looking guys with shaved heads and tribal tattoo work, with blue-haired well-pierced girlfriends, with bagpipes redone in American Chopper style.
The overall feel of the festival, though, was that of every music festival I ever went to in rural Ohio, with that hippy-crunchy feel, and wonderful weather, but minus the fierce clouds of mosquitos*, and minus the really uncomfortable parking arrangements characterized by a twenty minute walk from someone's back pasture, dodging said mosquitos and semi-fossilized cowpies and poison ivy in the underbrush.
The other thing the event reminded me of was the early 90's, when the best music in the world could be found in Athens, GA, and every railway trestle or semi-abandoned building reminded you of "Finest Worksong" or "Love Shack" or "Closer to Fine". Sexy, late summer, staring up at the underside of tree branches, lying in a hammock holding someone you love while the party goes on inside the house, music.
*My friend Dave misheard me when I said this, and asked me why I thought it was so great that there were "more Cheetos" at this event than any other.
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