People weave among each other, seeking out and selling bootleg shirts, pins and paraphernalia.
I come from an extended lineage of expert side-eye cutters, and I put their matriarchal gifts to use on a regular basis. You shove your way to the front just to talk over the band? As for the noodling—well, jerking off should be limited to private settings, with consenting partner(s) optional (the partners, not the consent).
So, you’re a hula-hooping white person with dreadlocks? My hatred becomes amplified if it’s a white dude with an electric guitar.
I find this particular extension of male ego and guitar-god fantasy exhausting.
Despite these flaws and my preconceived notions of Phish being mostly hippie bullshit, I hope tonight will be a learning experience.
This is, remember, a world about which I know almost nothing, mostly due to the above afflictions.