I spent Sunday night watching a livestream of people disembarking from a private jet at a regional airfield in Oklahoma. I wasn’t alone – hundreds of others had gathered there, and who knows how many were following online like me.
It was one of those moments when you step outside yourself and realize the absurdity of some things that mean so much to you. You may be fighting to the death over whether Panic’s best performance of “Love Tractor” was Raleigh in ‘07 or Cain’s Ballroom in ‘96. Suddenly it hits you that you’re overly invested in arguing about the superiority of variations of a piece of work by artists you will never even meet.