On day two of Lollapalooza I set out to find the tattoo that stands out, the one that says, "yeah, you old fart, you think everyone regrets this decision eventually but here is artwork for a lifetime." Lollapalooza is certainly the place for that quest; I saw at least a billion. But not one went beyond the expected and ordinary. Maybe it's hidden so that only lovers will ever enjoy it. I hope so.
I did see a Chicago flag belt buckle; I'd never seen one before. Here it is without the human. The first star is for Fort Dearborn, founded in 1803, the second for the Chicago Fire of 1871, the third for the World's Columbian Exposition of 1893, the fourth for the Century of Progress Exposition of 1933.
I saw one good t-shirt, a category more depressingly obvious and ordinary than tattoos: "Because, without beer, things do not seem to go as well." I like its polished sense of dramatic understatement.
And I was stretched out in the sun on the wall of a stairway, listening to Gypsy punk band Gogol Bordello, when a young hipster with muscles and a grin looked at my socks and said, "best socks in the place." Then he was gone up the stairs. It was one of those odd fillips that makes one feel at home in a strange place, and I'm grateful to him.
As for Gogol Bordello, it was the best live musical performance I've ever sat through, so that even if I don't find that tattoo, the adventure will have been worthwhile.
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