Tuesday, September 25, 2012


You may be cruising Facebook today and noticing that lots of your Jewish friends are making ironic comedic posts on their Facebook walls (Sorry for partying LOLZ) and that all of that person's Jewish friends are liking that post. I did a bit of research into it and it turns out that Tuesday at sundown to Wednesday at sundown is the Jewish day of Atonement. Now I know what you're thinking, that sounds pretty rad, take a Wednesday off paid and watch that sick James McAvoy film that got snubbed for best picture.

Unfortunately that is not the case, it's a day to apologize. Now if you are Jewish and work a full time job, you're having a pretty solid fortnight. Last week you got to take Monday off for Rosh Hashana aka your New Year and now you are taking a midweek sabbatical the following week. You guys have it figured out. And not only do you benefit from your own double whammy, you will gladly take the Christmas/New Years break too. And we wonder why Jewish people run the world, it's because they are smart enough to demand an additional handful of days off each year. Well played.

So I thought about it and I realized now is as good a time as any to think about what I'm sorry for. I've had a really hard time toeing the line lately between living as recklessly as possible, but remaining a productive member of society. But in that logic my life seems to be a living contradiction.

Let me explain.

Last week I was made full time at work. Instead of just being a PA for this production company I am now straight up this dude's assistant. What does that mean? Not much, a $25 bump in my day rate and I get to work in between projects if he can afford it. Regardless, it was an event worth celebrating in my eyes, so to celebrate establishing myself as just a tad bit more grown up than I was before, I immediately went on a 5 day bender culminating with me swimming in the Pacific Ocean in my jeans Saturday morning at 10AM drinking a bottle of wine. That is not how someone my age is supposed to live, even if they are celebrating something.

Furthermore, Friday night I accosted my neighbors for not staying up later than 4am to party with me and I took a Craigslist ad out Saturday afternoon when I couldn't convince anyone to go to beerfest with me. I become with myself Sunday evening and deleted it, but it went something like this:

Bros of Craigslist. I come to you in my hour of need, I am seeking a fun group of debaucherous kids that are down for whatever. I'm 25 and I like to drink...a lot. I give zero fucks in almost any situation. I exist for the soul purpose of having fun. As I have grown up my friends from the frat and girls that I went to school with have become disgusted with my eroding morals. I have similarly grown disgusted with their notions of maturity and responsibility. I look at babies and wedding rings and I want to vomit a four loko on them. I want a group that can commit to going out every weekend night, hard. Day drinking and rallying, Hitting on chicks without any dignity or regard for others. My current friends are great, but we're just slowly starting to drift in different directions. I want to be worse than I was in college, not this hybrid of yuppie America that society deems the hip twentysomething. Please respond to me with a picture of what is in your fridge right now and a crazy story from last night. I will respond if interested.

It was the most pathetic thing ever written. I would honestly have had better luck cabbing it to campus and buying a bunch of under grads a round of shots. It was a low moment for me. And I think that's what I'm most sorry for. Sure I have said inappropriate things to people in the past, but whatever, I'm a writer, I believe in freedom of speech and the freedom to react to that any way you chose. People have the right to be offended, but that's on you, not the offender. People are offended by the way I live my life, I'm offended by 3rd trimester belly photos on Facebook.

However what I am truly sorry for, is expecting people to conform to my standards. In college I was a leader, not so much because I was smarter or more anything than people, I was just the loudest and maybe the tallest and most outspoken so people conformed to my will. As I have grown older I have lost that power and it causes me to be super angry and insecure sometimes. The people around me that I care about have told me I am intimidating and brash, like I'm scary or something. And that really bothers me, so what I intend to do in this coming year is to live my life exactly how I would like to live it. If that involves raging until the next day, so be it. But I won't drag anyone else down with me unless they want to come along for the ride. I can't expect my peers to feel the same way I do anymore. Different strokes for different folks. I live a manic lifestyle, I've become quite bipolar, it's almost as if I'm devolving into one of those insane writers. I stay up for 42 hours writing something, decide it's shit and delete it. Not that I think that in order to be creative one must behave like Hunter S Thompson, but it kind of seems that's the road I've chosen.

In closing, I apologize to all the people I have hurt and offended over the years. I don't intend to be rude, that's just who I am. I am no longer going to bitch and moan about your lameness, I will not drag you to the dark side, but on the flip side, let me be me and reserve your judgment for someone who gives a fuck.

Friday, September 21, 2012

Sticking it to the man: The Incredible true story of how I told the Bloomington Police Department to suck it

You like it when I sprinkle in the deep shit once in a while ya? Well this is not that. Let's celebrate the first day of fall with a little story time. Throw another log on the fire because this one is a bit long.

The day was September 30, 2008. I forgot to call my dad and wish him a happy birthday, I was generally in a shitty mood because some girl I liked didn't like me back. It was nothing serious, we were basically friends that had hooked up once or twice but I wanted something more and got shut down. Hard. So I did the only sensible thing and walked to Big Red to buy a fifth of vodka. I promptly returned home, locked myself in my room and drank the whole thing while watching an old episode of The OC.

Now I have drank when I was upset before, but never like that. Like that is the most depressing thing I have ever done. So pathetic. It was a Tuesday night so I'm sure not everyone in Shingles was raging, but I'm sure I could have convinced someone to hang out with to make me feel better. But no. I literally locked myself in my room and drank an entire fifth with the soul goal of getting blind drunk so I wouldn't think about this chick.

After I finished the bottle I sprang up and walked to Kilroy's. Some time during that tenuous 50 meter walk I realized how drunk I was. I looked like hell, I may have even been crying. So I walk into Kilroy's and the first person I see is this girl from Freshman year that I used to hook up with. I immediately walked up to her and propositioned her for sex at which she quickly denied my request.

So a quick denial, Kilroy's was otherwise dead, I said fuck it got a slice from Uncle D's and decided to go home and collapse. I go home, go to bed, the end...or is it...

I come to and I'm in handcuffs on my front porch. Apparently I had been sleepwalking and took a piss off of the Shingles balcony to which a Bloomington Police Officer took offense and arrested me for public intoxication. I am in nothing but a t shirt and boxers mind you. I honestly thought that the arrest was some sort of prank, it wasn't until I got locked in the drunk tank with various scourge of Bloomington, IN that I realized it was for real. I could go on for hours about the crack heads that were in there, or the guy that chose jail time over probation because he just couldn't stop doing meth, but we'll save that for another day.

So you know how it goes, you wait in there for fucking 20 hours or so until your BAC drops below .05 and then you go to an initial court hearing a few days later, pay your fine and sign up for diversion. I did all that and it was all good, every interesting person should spend a night in the tank. Yay me, scratch it off the list.

But then there came that little issue of doing my alcohol bullshit classes. I signed up for a weekend course. UGH, but like whatever. The thought of missing an entire weekend gave me such extreme anxiety that I wanted to die, but I committed to getting it over with.

Then my frat scheduled our Christmas formal on that exact fucking weekend, and god forbid was I going to miss out on that, and the idea of going to it sober was out of the question, so I did the only rational thing. I wrote on a naked pledge "Will you go to the formal with me?" and sent him streaking through Gamma Phi and blew off my alcohol classes like a fucking boss. No big deal, I have a whole year to deal with this shit.

I'm sure you can see where this is going, instead of dealing with the legal matter at hand, I went on living my life. Flying around the country interviewing, drinking and completely dominating the social scene (This is documented I was actually ranked number 1 for 2 weeks in March as the most socially relevant person at IU. Granted I did the rankings myself, but I doubt you would find many that would dispute this.) More or less I forgot all about that alcohol class.

Flash forward to January of 2010. I'm ripping sake bombs at Nobu in the Bahamas. At that exact moment there is a knock on the door at Shingles. It is a squadron of police officers ready to conduct a raid of the house to serve me a warrant and arrest me. The Sigma Chis increduously respond to the cops, "he graduated, he lives in Chicago. Go away." They search the house and find nothing. Said Sigma Chis call my friend in Milwaukee, who in turn calls my friend in the Bahamas to tell him that there is a warrant out for my arrest. "I'll tell him in the morning, I think he just took ecstacy, was the response." Again more indicative behavior of my "zero fucks given" lifestyle.

We all agree that I'll just deal with it when I get back to Chicago because it's highly unlikely that the Bloomington Police Department has the resources to send a squad car to the Chicago Executive Airport and arrest me as I step off a private jet. That would be a bad ass way to get arrested though, very Pablo Escobar.

Then comes the whole "getting back into America" thing. I was held at the Bahamanian border for an hour while they customs agent pondered what to do with me. I was a wanted man and they had me. But thanks to an AWESOME law that states that no one can be detained for a warrant that is more than 350 miles from their current location, I walked free. Suck it.

So you probably think that the first thing I did when I got back to Chicago was hire a lawyer and deal with this right? After all Chicago is within 350 miles of Bloomington, if I even got stopped for a traffic ticket I would be held in a fucking Chicago prison for up to a week until Bloomington could come claim me.

But oh no. I play with fire bitches. I said fuck it, and did nothing. I kept living my life. They called, I pressed ignore. They sent threatening letters, I set them aflame. In many ways it was like dealing with an annoying creditor. And you may think I altered my lifestyle a little bit. Drove slower, stayed out of Indiana, at least avoided Bloomington.

Ya fucking right. I hated the real world so much that I was down there every weekend my first year out. My best friend lived there and there were still chicks down there that remembered how cool I was (note you get chicks based on coolness in college, in the real world it's based on practical matters such as income and job stability.) But even further more you would think, well at least he was careful in Bloomington. Doubtful, I blacked out, woke up in parking lots, got in bar fights, I was on a crash course with disaster.

For 2 years I was right under their fucking nose. Not being able to find a dead girl who was purposely hidden by sketchy drug dealers is one thing, but I was throwing a very public party in plain view. Every several months the warrant would expire and they would issue a new one with a fresh failure to appear charge. What started out as a couple afternoons learning about liver damage alcoholism blah blah blah I'd rather be doing backflips off of a boat turned into serious charges and thousands of dollars in fines and possible jail time.

But they never showed up. Every time I saw a cop car drive down Burling I would think to myself, "This is it. Today is the day I go down." But then I thought, I just won't answer the door. I'll go hide out at a different apartment for a few days. They will never fucking catch me, I'm Frank Abignale Jr. Or there was this past Little 5 when I literally was so drunk that my legs stopped working and I fell on my face in the police parking lot and then crawled behind a dumpster to give myself a pep talk. You are a fucking man. YOU CAN WALK. Surely someone in the station saw that? Nope.

So I move to California and I am officially out of the danger zone. But every time I fly home or want to go back to college and bang chicks my brothers age, it will always be looming. If I ever get a job that does a background check, I'm likely fucked right...

So I thought. One day my mom sends me a letter. It is basically a big fucking white flag. They gave up. They dropped the charges. They knew they were never going to catch me, and besides I was just a kid drinking away his sorrows because some girl didn't want to give me consistent blowjobs. They have meth labs to shut down.

I am a free man. I felt like Walter White in the season 5 finale of Breaking Bad. So what happened with that whole legal situation in Bloomington? "I won."

Let this be a life lesson to every one of you, that if you hold out long enough, you will win the war of attrition. And you know I hope next time I'm in Bloomington I get pulled over for running a stop sign or something. "License and registration please...holy fuck, it's you." Yah motherfucker, it's me...and I beat you, so suck it.

Have a nice weekend everyone.

Tuesday, September 18, 2012

If I knew then...

If I knew then: An open letter to my former self.

Dear 21 year old me,
I can't believe you fucking thought about flying home to Bloomington for little 5 when you were abroad. Do you realize that you just got back from a vacation of a vacation of a vacation? College is a vacation, studying abroad is a vacation, and when you would jet set every weekend to some new European nation that was a vacation from abroad. You were basically in the 3rd level of some crazy Inception party? Never mind, you'll understand that reference in a few years.

So here is the thing. I'm writing you this letter because I know things now, that you didn't or don't. You are entering your senior year of college and you think that you are probably going to straight into the strategy department of Proctor and Gamble (spoiler alert: You are going to fuck around in Chicago all summer and your internship will go mediocre at best, it's cool, when you don't get the offer just tell people you weren't into selling cancer sticks, they'll totally support you) Not going to happen. What about an agency? No. Buyer at some major retail conglomorate? No, the economy is about to collapse and none of those fun jobs are going to exist. In fact none of those cool "marketing" jobs you think you are going for happen without an MBA. If you want to you could probably switch your major to ops and get a few interviews with big 4 consulting firms in Chicago, but that will really cut back on the amount of partying you are going to be able to do in the next 4 years.

Yes that's right, believe it or not life continues after college. You have a little bit of money, but unfortunately because of that you have a little bit of responsibility. That whole thing where you just went out every night and threw everything on the family credit card? Ya, that shit is about to end, really quick. When you get your first call from Chase and realize your mom didn't cover your last month's payment, shred that shit immediately.

So this is what's up. You are going to get a shitty job in Chicago, start raging a lot to make up for your apathy towards this whole life transition, but at some point you are going to have to man up and grow up at least a little bit. People are going to change, not everyone will hop on board with your hedonistic lifestyle, I'm not telling you that you have to change or adapt to the people around you, just don't be surprised when certain people stop answering your texts on Friday nights. Believe it or not, there is a faction of people out there who don't subscribe to the "flatlines until 6 in the morning" lifestyle.

You're early 20's are fucking weird, you are going to still have random one night stands with chicks you meet at bars, but you will also have to lie to coworkers about drugs and why you're late. Your boss won't be impressed by the fact that you had to kick a girl out of bed after going on a "purple drink" binge. Road trips are still fun, you can actually pay for a vacation or two and you're still living with your college friends most likely. It's just that now you have to cram a week's worth of fun into 2 nights instead of 6. It grows tiresome.

People will eventually drop off the band wagon, maybe they'll move in with a significant other or they'll just see the value of staying in on a Saturday night and watching a movie. It doesn't mean that everyone else is lame or that you are a psycho, it's just that people start valuing different things. Things will be strange, you may even find yourself falling in love for the first time, but eventually you are going to start realizing that Chicago isn't the place for you.

And then one day you'll sack up and decide to move west, leaving everything you care about, everything that means the world to you back in the midwest...but you just go because you know it's where you need to go to chase your dreams (that and you may or may not get fired because of a blog very similar to this.) You'll realize when you get there..."well what the fuck, why did I bust my ass getting a Kelley degree for only to make 25k at a dead end sales job and then move to Los Angeles where I want nothing to do with business." Little tip pal, there is NO money in being a struggling writer. Well maybe if you fucking sell something but good luck. You are going to be super broke. The people in LA will be nothing like you and it will be frustrating. There will be high school drop outs that are infinitely more successful than you. People won't know where Indiana is.

But every day could be the day you break. So for the next 4 years, just don't worry about trivial things, job, friends, money. Don't worry about a fucking thing, because some day you'll be sitting here in LA one day away from catching a star.

25 year old you.

Wednesday, September 12, 2012

Clock Punchers

99% of my readers live in the midwest. The reason being is that 99% of my friends live in the midwest. I haven't really caught on here, it's not so much that being extremely fratty rubs people the wrong way out here. I might intimidate some people because I am large and imposing and most the people here are Jewish and frail, but I think the issue is deeply rooted in that I haven't had a coworker since I moved here and my best friend in LA also has no coworkers.

Thus I hang out with my 6 college buddies in LA And that's fine, we rip it up and we live on the beach, but I tell you this because I primarily write this blog for people that live thousands of miles away from me. Once in a while I like to give you a little peek behind the curtain. One because I think it's interesting, two because I am secretly recruiting you for my LA takeover.

The first thing I want to address is clock punching. None of you pretentious fucks in Chicago like your job. You work for a bank or some PR firm, you have a nice view, but at the end of the day, it would be better to sleep in until noon and then go to the Cubs game. Actually, scratch that. Not even getting drunk at a Cubs game is fun anymore. But you could perhaps go see a movie or visit the zoo and this would be vastly more enjoyable than balancing a quarterly budget.

Lots of your friends from college went to college to become teachers, mainly because they didn't want to have a real job and they figured they would marry into money eventually. But neither of those answers are socially acceptable so most people went with the "I want my summers off" excuse. That's fine, because working fucking sucks.

But did you know...most people in Los Angeles don't work full time?

Tada....the secret is out, you can live in LA comfortably and take a week off every month.

There are 2 sides to the entertainment industry. There is the development side. That would be like the people that work at studios, networks even talent and management agencies to a certain extent are on that side of the glass I suppose. Then there is physical production. These are the people that actually make the movie. This includes directors, actors, gaffers, best boy, propmaster, on set pa (ME) and all the other fucks that make a movie happen.

What's interesting is most of these people are all independent contractors. They are hired on a one off basis to work on a project, they get a ridiculous daily rate and probably work on average every other day. Sure there are gaffers (they handle set electrical work) out there that work a full schedule, but regardless they make $700 a day. So if you feel the need to work a week and live off your post tax 3 grand for the next 30 days you can do that. Or you could work a month straight and then go to Tahiti with a pile of cash.

There are no rules. Lots of these people get into unions and what not so they can get health care and all that good stuff, but really unions exist only to fuck producers into giving the members more money. If a meal is served more than 6 hours after a call time (when you have to arrive to work) BOOM meal penalty, more money in your pocket. Work more than 8 hours? Time and a half. Work more than 12 hours? Double time. Work 16 hours in a day? TRIPLE FUCKING TIME.

Fuck salary. So a gaffer with a $700/12 day rate can easily walk away from one day of work with a thousand dollars after a long day of shooting...and he's a glorified fucking electrician.

You want to make it in LA? Learn about lighting? Drive a truck, buy a camera. Learn final cut pro and hang out in an editing bay. $400 a day to grip. To fucking GRIP! Do you know what a grip does? He literally moves the lighting fixtures around and takes naps in between takes. Sound guys, that hold the fucking boom mic can make $500 a day.

Sure there is no job security, and there can be a lot of time in between jobs. Bogus right?
False! Every motherfucker in CA is collecting unemployment. Production companies will even work out shady under the table agreements with people to pay them for "production supplies" or "kit rentals" instead of paying them for work so the prod co can save on payroll tax and the employee can stay on unemployment.

It's a crooked machine, but this is how to survive.

I'm not saying that everyone should aspire to hang shit in the art department or join the teamster union, I'm just saying that if you enjoy movies and have a serious appreciation of 5 day weekends, you don't have to be a 6th grade math teacher.

And if you think that you may get bored in between jobs I suggest acquiring a musical instrument, a surfboard and a netflix account...and maybe even paying for premium porn because those days off are fucking great.

Monday, September 10, 2012

More like Bro Fest

The spin-off is already in development. It focuses on me traveling around the country visiting my pals and burning down whatever city we go to. It's like Real Housewives but we never fight and we solve all of our differences by drinking more and turning the music up louder.

Ok so that's not a real tv show, nor would it be entertaining to more than like my 8 single friends who still act like they are in college. But this is a real tv show/concert tour. It's amazing how you can make something spectacular when you put your mind to it. Anyway, if any of you have heard me drunkenly blabbering about this tv show over the past 6 months, this is it. And if you have wondered who Sydney and Vender are, well now you know. It's funny that the bulk of the trailer focuses on them, it's as if they don't think an upper middle class white bro is the most interesting character. I demand a re-cut that features more American flag tank tops and flat lines. No? Maybe episode 2 we'll do a more bro-centric take on things.

Until then enjoy Sydney's tits and Vender's Asperger's. (Kidding) Thanks for your continuing support of Glowfest and electronic music. See you all in West Virginia.

Yes, I know how to embed video. Be impressed.

Thursday, September 6, 2012

Single Dude defines...Killin' It

I've had this blog for a few years now and I'm not the best at having any sort of continuity or recurring theme. Much of what I write is unjustified ranting that I try to squeeze in the genre of social satire, but truth be told I don't even do a very good job of staying within the lines of that. I guess I'm like a bro-y Andy Rooney, I just get on this thing and spit what's on my mind for 30 minutes and hope people like it, or at least read it and have an opinion. Even if your opinion is that I'm a self centered egomaniacal fuck face, I'm glad I've got you thinking, it's better than trying to reach that diner at the end of the sky in Dolphin Olympics 2. The shit you read here will not enlighten you, it is not going to get a bunch of reblogs or your friends might not email it to you on a bad day, this isn't Thought Catalog, but I am going to try to become a bit more consistent in my format, even if it is filth, it should be filth with a center thesis. This blog is life in the fast lane. It's not as snarky as Betches, it's not as over the top as Bros like This and it's not as commercial as TFM. This is me, my thoughts on us. Enjoy.

"Bro, fucking killed it last night."

Killed what, like went full Bateman and stabbed a homeless man? Did you perchance feed an ATM a stray cat, did you get charged fees on that my man?

What the fuck does it mean when someone says "killing it" these days. You hear it all the time anymore. This weekend was so sick, we killed it. Or come over man we're killing it.

I'm going to take a moment and try to whip out my 8th grade sentence diagraming skills. Let's take a look at that first sentence.

This weekend was so sick, we killed it.

Right off the bat, I can tell you that this is going to be fucking difficult. That's one of those sneaky compound sentences (not to be confused with a complex my non-AP class friends) A compound sentence contains to completes subjects and predicates (read noun and verb) In the first half of the sentence, the subject is WEEKEND. The predicate WAS. So is an adverb or some shit and sick is like a indirect modifier....oh fuck it. This isn't working. Let's try synonyms. We killed this weekend. We murdered this weekend. We assassinated this weekend.

So it's basically a phrase that people that rage use so you know how hard they raged. Saying this weekend was cool, WOULDN'T EVEN BEGIN TO EXPLAIN HOW AWESOME IT WAS.

Now I get it, telling people you had a swell weekend is fairly vague. It's what you tell a co-worker after you fucked a hooker and paid her in meth and decide you don't wish to divulge that information. But telling people you killed it is approximately the opposite. It implies that you did a bunch of meth, punched a cop and had sex with a prostitute without even being charged.

Now there is nothing wrong with alluding to mischief, that's what this blog is all about, and I have nothing against people that like to use euphemisms to be succinct in how they choose to express themselves, but I'm calling the bluff. "Killin' it" no longer an acceptable response. You can use the phrase, but I won't nod as if I know that "killin it" is code for the fact that you burned your unemployment check on a gram and a new pair of jeans and then charged your meal at Boa to your Cal Advantage card (food stamps.) Shit, that's a Tuesday son, I need details.

This generation has become so obsessed with this ragey irresponsible lifestyle the whole art of communication has been lost. I have friends that run around and say nothing but "see ya" like they are a fucking Pokemon and don't know any other words. I'm fairly sure the people that throw this phrase "Killed it" they're kind of hung up on the phrase as a lifestyle. So what is the perception of the killing it lifestyle...I'll give it a go and see if you agree.

People that are "killing it" perceive that they are going 100% all the time. Things are going their way, they are doing just awesome things. Naked women, fast cars, drugs, alcohol...the elements of an R rated action movie, that's fucking us man. WE ARE ROCKSTARS. We go to bars and spend MONEY. Ya we're going to pay our rent a week late because of it but fuck our land lord, he's a dick. He made me uninstall the outdoor speaker and said the fog machine was a fire hazard, and he talks like a bitch, I don't have time for him, I'm going out tonight with my boys! We're finding some sluts, popping some bottles and STRAIGHT KILLING IT. Staying up absurdly late, playing music so loud that my ears literally start to bleed. Fuck the neighbors too, they're all fucking gay. I'm going to break something...WHY? So I can INSTAGRAM IT AND SHOW ALL MY FOLLOWERS HOW HARD I'M FUCKING KILLING IT! Oh fuck ya I invent shots, with weird names that are super gross and have like AMF levels of alcohol in them, PUT THE FUCKING SKRILLEX BACK ON.

Ok, that was starting to sound like a mixture between a blacked out me on steroids and...no that was just a blacked out me on steroids looking for a crack fix probably. But just keep in mind, next time you're at a concert and you see 2 little 16 year olds pop hits of acid, high five and scream "killing it" think, are they really? Or are they just celebrating their own mediocrity. Now I'm off to the pier to go have a swell evening.

Ya right, I'm fucking killin' it.

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

North Coast Wrap Up

I'm in the midst of day 2 of what will presumably be a 3 day hangover. I treated my body like a 10 dollar whore all weekend and now that I have stopped putting controlled substances in myself, key components of my body are shutting down. I spent my Labor Day laboring in pain as debilitating stomach aches claimed any attempt to relax. It's ok though, it was all worth it. 3 years from now I won't remember how terrible my hangover/withdrawal symptoms were, I'll simply remember the awesome times I had with awesome people.

So what was so great about this weekend? North Coast is the real deal. The North Coast Music Festival (NCMF) is a perfect example of how music promoters have adapted to a change in musical tastes. 3 years ago when I first heard of the NCMF it was a shitty festival no one really cared about, living in the shadow of Lollapalooza which is just a month earlier. The line up consisted of aspiring dj's, indie rock bands and tier 2 rappers. Groupon would practically give tickets away to get people to go and I would typically travel somewhere for Labor Day weekend, most likely a lake.

In 2 years NCMF has transformed into arguably the most enjoyable summer festival in Chicago. Sure Lollapalooza still has 200,000 people flood Grant park each year but everything that sucks about Lollapalooza seems to be lost at North Coast, a smaller more intimate version of what has become an increasingly electronic music festival. What are the problems with Lolla? $300 tickets, stages miles apart and heat in the upper 90's.

Conversely, I got to North Coast about 6pm both Friday and Sunday. Friday I paid $30 for a ticket, Sunday I jumped the fence, because I am still a bad ass. Several $6 beers later I had a somewhat reasonable weekend. I was able to see about 8 acts and I raged my face off. What happened after 10 pm each night was a total black out but I know for a fact that I spent one night sleeping outside my old place in Chicago. Friday I believe I went to Gamekeepers, not sure what happened on Sunday, it was a certified bender.

Pretty Lights, Steve Aoki, Axwell, Mord Fustang, Paul Oakenfold, Steve Angello all gave me an hour of their best most rave-worthy hits and my body still hasn't correctly re-adjusted to a normal equilibrium, I expect bass drop and progressive chords to surround my daily life. What this weekend really opened my eyes up to though was the type of person is attending these festivals. It's funny there has long been a big gap in the level of raging between men and women.

I don't see it anymore.

I think maybe even 5 years ago it was viewed as trashy for a girl to get super wasted and go to a show like this. Since the rise of this magical pill called Molly that gap has shrank considerably. Bombs, rolls, ex, whatever you want to call them, I'm fairly confident that at least 40% of the crowd there was on some type of hallucinogen or upper....and that doesn't even take into account other psychadelics or even pot.

Look, I don't advocate drug use. Anyone that wants to get theirs, I will never judge, but it is kind of mind blowing how popular it has become amongst a generation. Especially interesting is the rise amongst women. I know plenty of people who would maybe get drunk and occasionally get high but that's it. I think that's where most rational people draw the line. The prospect of jamming something up your nose is after all, gross. But now these magical pills that make you feel good, see vibrant colors, enhance a musical experience, well it's taken over the 20something crowd. For every beer I saw at Union Park I saw 10 bottles of water, proving kids aren't even getting drunk anymore, they're just trying to get a roll going and have a good time. I see a decreased presence of violence, I see an increase in general good will amongst strangers. Even if you checked your Instagram stream you could feel the good vibes, these shows are sweet.

Not trying to be preachy, just wanted to point out a trend I saw. Will EDM be the next disco? Is the bubble going to pop? I'm starting to think maybe not. The people that go to these shows really love it. I was a non-believer. I used to be the guy complaining about the tracks sounding like Transformer battles. But now I get it, it's fun to take your shirt off, get sweaty and dance around with your friends.

Chicago never ceases to amaze, I will not soon forget the Labor Day weekend of 2012. Well I've already forgotten a big chunk of it, but I managed not to lose my phone or wallet and I'm going to make it back to LA with almost all of the clothes that I packed. Now I think I'm going to take a nice long walk along the Lake front before my flight home tomorrow morning and say one last farewell to the midwest summer.