At the concert. Madness. My two major thoughts are:
1. Why are there so many unattended children? It's as though someone let loose a farm of Justin Biebers. Is it not a school night? Oh, wait, summer. Still, I can't recall a time when my parents would have sent me off, twelve and unchaperoned, to a major concert. Dateline must be here, somewhere.
2. The care and thought that goes into concert outfit selection is mind-boggling. Not only is it considered a rash faux pas to wear a band T-shirt to the concert of the band you're sporting, I expect the rules must go double for wearing a self-distressed T with the name of the band puffy-painted on. Not only are you violating Rule One of concert attendance (DON'T WEAR THE T-SHIRT OF THE BAND YOU ARE SEEING- EVERYBODY ALREADY KNOWS YOU'RE A FAN OR ELSE YOU WOULND'T HAVE PAID CASH MONEYS TO BE HERE), but you didn't even at least spend the 25 bucks to buy official bandwear.
In other news, Florence + The Machine can do no wrong. Ever. She is the perfect love child of Stevie Nicks and Freddie Mercury. I love her forever.
Waiting for U2 to take the stage. Psyched. There are appoximately five bajillion people in this stadium (just an estimate) and the energy is huge. Rock. On.