The Strange Thing I Realized At The Firefly Music Festival

 June 26th 2014 

Story originally written and experienced: June 19th-June 22nd 2014























I went away. To a music festival.

A small one.

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Just a few friends…


With some badass people. In a badass place.

In case you're wondering what perfection looks like.

In case you’re wondering what perfection looks like.


And it was epic. And it was dirty. And it was fun.

Yes Michael, we know.

Yes Michael—we know.


But only because.

We dined like champions:



Spent quality time with long-lost amigos: 

Together at last.

Together at last.


You can run Bob, but you apparently can't hide.

You can run Bob Saget, but you apparently can’t hide.

Optimus Prime in a mank-top. Classic.

Optimus in a mank top. Classic.

Soaked in the scenery:

Greenery indeed.

Green landscape, indeed.


Pre-gamed like animals: 

Bucket hat + Hula Hoop = We can't be tamed.

Bucket hat + Hula Hoop = We can’t be TAMED.


Went to a silent disco for an undisclosed amount of time and didn’t pass an ounce of judgment.


Well except…

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Caught up on the glory days:

Yup. Not much has changed.

Yup. Still assholes.

Spontaneously concocted a make-shift salon since the nearest shower was a mere 2 miles away:

Rinse. Lather. That's it. We're out of water.

Rinse. Lather. That’s it. Abort. We’re out of water.


Saw a lot of balls:

The more, the merrier.

The more, the merrier.



Got lit:

lit up

What a smoke show. 

And alas, gave rogue shoulder rides to an excited lady hippie…only to realize she left more than just a thank you note behind…

Forget me not.

The one that got away.


Thing is.

The trip was 4 days but it sort of felt like 8. We saw some shit. Did some shit. Didn’t shower. Barely ate. Drank a lot. And danced a lot too—solely surviving on the basics of good friends. Chips. 2 t-shirts and a tent to call home.

Home sweet tent.

Home sweet tent.


Clean porta potties were a luxury, non-soggy bread was a treat and any semblance of a decent physical appearance was theoretically thrown out the fucking window.

  Because quite frankly.

no fucks


 And I guess the strangest thing about the whole experience wasn’t just the music, the booze, Bob Saget

Never forget.

Never forget.

Or even Optimus Prime in his PJs.

Never forget.

Business casual.

But rather realizing.

How little you really need to stay happy. have fun. and just care a lot less.

How peanut butter sandwiches and 5 hour energies can count as breakfast and sleeping on the ground can feel pretty awesome too. How it’s pretty remarkable how quickly clean clothes become overrated and a balanced diet seems irrelevant when you can live off of good jokes and live music instead.

So thanks.

To the killer crew who made me realize that being epic and dirty might just be the best way to be.

 And that means you:

Al, Lark, Vince, Drew, Galen, Sarah, Jordan. Silvia, Jared, Jonathan and all the other amazing badasses we met along the way.

firefly tent crew

Hey thanks.


And of course:

uncle jesse

We should do this again sometime.