Struggle Begins at the Roots

If you don't already know, the Roots are quite the hometown heroes here in Struggledelphia. Not only is the band from here, but they play here all the time and are considered native sons, as much a part of the landscape as the liberty bell, or cheese steaks or really plump people eating cheese steaks. A lot of people know the Roots, in fact, I know a guy who used to work with Tariq at a Whole Foods in South Philly. So I'm practically a member of the band. Anyway, because the Roots like the city and the city likes the Roots the concerts they give here tend to be well attended and fairly awesome. So when my friend Mariel offered me a ticket for Saturday's Second Annual Root's Picnic, I was all over that like brown on rice. (I've been trying to eat healthier.)

Here's some things I'd like to share with you about the Roots picnic. One, it had a delightful array of bands playing, beginning with the Roots, who brought New Kid on the Block Donny Wallberg. So that was pretty much the best thing that has ever happened ever. Two, it had an equally exciting array of places to buy, among other things, belts, baked beans, and beer. Three it was profoundly populated with hipsters, people from New Jersey, hipsters from New Jersey, and a disturbing amount of children under the age of 4. By our second beer, Mariel and I were actively staring at one particularly stunning Kevin Federline wanna-be as he balanced his baby, his cigarette and his corn on the cob while his wife/girlfriend/baby mama gazed on, drinking her Bud Light.

Now, I don't really hang around with that many people from my old high school, because, well, it was high school. So you can imagine my surprise when Mariel and I were practically assaulted by a group of wide-eyed youngsters screaming our names. Bemusedly eying these pimply people, I realized that I had been a senior in high school when they were freshmen and sophomores. Lovely, I thought, small talk with people I barely know. However, my dismay turned to delight when I was informed by two of the girls that they had smuggled vodka into the concert, past the frisking guards, by putting it in plastic bags and hiding those bags in their underwear. Awed by their ingenuity, I couldn't help but laugh. Vodka in their underwear. Now how come we never thought of that?

Being a struggle means you can just take pictures of strangers. Clearly. Because that's what I do. Am I crazy, or is that guy totally KFed?