As I near the Harvard Athletic Complex for the third and final day of the Boston Calling Music Festival, I hear a Red Sox game playing on the radio. As a Yankees fan, I’m obligated to hate the Sox, yet instead, the broadcast gives the city a pleasant, cozy feel. I must be going soft.
Outside the Athletic Complex, I’m feeling a bit lost until I spot a guy about my age and an older woman (his mother?), both of them wearing King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard shirts. I follow them. These are my people.
As I combine with the tide of eager concertgoers, two things occur to me. First, that I must look like a complete tool, what with my clear drawstring bag packed with SPF 50 sunscreen, water bottle, and box of tissues. Second, that I forgot to pack my cough drops. (I’ve got some sort of cold.)
Juice opens the day on the Red Stage. They’re energetic and fun, with three lead singers and a guy on electric violin who’s absolutely nasty.
I try to navigate around a metal barrier protecting the center of the viewing area, but I’m informed that’s reserved for VIPs. Now I feel like a pleb.
Not even a full minute later, I leave this note for myself: “And by the way, where are the bathrooms?” I consult the festival app, but my phone is getting sluggish and I realize it must be overheating. So am I, since there’s a high of 87. Next priority: Finding something to drink.
I discover the bathrooms, which end up being a small village of portable toilets. On the way back to the Red Stage, I notice a woman in leather pants.
…Leather pants? I reiterate: It’s 87 degrees out. When does fashion supersede personal safety?
You know you’re in Boston when the line for the Dunkin Rewards Lounge is 100 people deep.
And now I purchase my first beverage of the day, a Truly Strawberry Banana hard seltzer. It costs $12.50, which really irks my inner cheapskate. What’s worse, it tastes not only…