It all looked so good at the start. I would leave my conference in Oakland just in time to hit the Pitchfork Music Festival on the 18th and 19th by flying into Chicago at 6:30am Saturday morning. Well, that part went off without a hitch, but I didn't anticipate how ass-draggin' I would feel, which threatened to derail the whole fest. But after a nap and a Dunkin' Donuts infusion, I was ready to tackle my third P4K (which was a "just me" fest this time). And the weather was perfect: overcast and 70 degrees both days. [Clouded and cool can also summarize my overall attitude, too.] I arrived Saturday in time to watch Fucked Up roar their way through a set of high-energy hardcore with a few rock flourishes, and while they were engaging, I was awash in the old-guy sensation of watching history repeat itself with a few wiggles left and right. This feeling only grew in intensity during the next set ( The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart ), which was a mash of Ride, Th...