Well it's Tuesday of Lollapalooza recovery week and many of you are back at work today and miserable. While I did not attend this year, I do have fond memories of Lollapaloozas from years passed and all festivals in general.
Today, instead of dusting off my resume or forging fake receipts for the accounting department, I've decided to finally share the story of Coachella 2015. Enjoy.
"I would go back."
I'm stuck in traffic heading east on the I-10 trying desperately to get to the Laker game.
"I mean, I missed a lot week 1."
My friend Kevin is sitting shotgun chewing on some beef jerky and covertly drinking a 40 of Coors Light. He has just returned from Coachella weekend 1 and won't stop talking about this Scandinavian kid called Kygo?
"What's a Kygo? Is it like an instrument?"
"No you dickhead, it's a dj that plays trop house. All the kids are into it."
I had made the decision not to return for a third consecutive trip. I had convinced myself that I was "over it." Coachella is typically an expensive weekend of heavy drinky, hard drug use, extreme heat and sandstorms. Sure it's fun, but I had bounced around a lot in the spring and was looking forward to a nice weekend at home.
"The bottom has fallen out of the ticket market too. I think we could probably get in for $250."
I have now parked in a lot right next to Staple's Center and cracked my 40. The Lakers are shitty this year and no one wants to go to the games. That includes my boss and his second row seats.
"And we could camp basically for free. All we would need is a tent, a wristband and beer. I think we could do the whole weekend for $400."
I check the line-up and browse it for a moment. I don't really care about who is playing, if I go it's for the party. It's so I can take pictures, it's so I can say I was there. My Facebook pic is a year old at this point, this would be an opportunity for an upgrade.
We go into the game and have a couple more brews. The Lakers get destroyed, we dip out early to go to another bar.
"$400?"
"Maybe $500..."
"Ok fuck it, let's go."
Wednesday night we decided to go, Thursday I acquired us some tickets and Friday we left my office at 6pm with the following in tow:
-Case of water
-Case of beer
-handle of whiskey
-tent
I had a backpack that I had filled with everything pink I own and I think he brought the bag he had used the week before. Four hours later we were in Indio.
Friday:
My first order of business was acquiring drugs. That's the one downfall of winging it, you can't just pick up a few moonrocks at the Palm Springs 7/11 on the way in. But it's a rave right? It's a sellers market and I am flush with cash. We parked next to a shaggy haired blonde kid and I made my first attempt.
"Hey man, you got anything extra to sell?"
"Sorry man, my buddy called me to say he had an extra ticket. I quit my job at In-n-Out and drove straight here."
"Oh, that's...dedication."
"No man, it's cool...I don't want to flip burgers anyway, I wanna be a cop. But, hey by the way, can I have a beer? I'm only 17."
0 for 1.
We make our way into the festival and completely bypass finding our camp or setting up a tent. Fortunately, we are able to sneak a few water bottles of whiskey in, so if I won't be able to roll I'll at least be able to drink myself into oblivion. Eventually we made our way to the Sahara tent and a Coachella miracle occurred. Laying on the ground right in front of me was a small ziplock baggy with a mysterious substance inside.
I could see the scenario play out in my head. Some amateur in swim trunks tucked his bag into a pocket not realizing how shallow they were. During an especially heavy drop he started jumping, jumping, until his bag fluttered to the ground for me to find.
It was destiny.
Sure it could have been heroin, it could have been poison. What type of idiot finds something on the ground and eats it? This idiot. I picked it off the ground and ate it...
And it was dirt.
Just a bag of dirt.
Of course it was a bag of dirt, formerly it was likely a bag of weed or ecstasy pills. But now it was litter and in the madness of a dance party, it had filled with dirt.
0 for 2.
Ok so Friday was somewhat uneventful. We managed to see AC/DC. We played Thunderstruck during Thunderstruck! That was cool!?
But the important part of Friday was this: We found our camp. We set up a tent. We would live to fight another day...
Saturday
If you haven't camped at Coachella, I cannot stress how hard it is to sleep. Every night at 3am there is a silent disco that takes place in the middle of the grounds. People take acid before going to this and then dance around with headphones on for a couple hours. Afterward they go to their camp sites and blast deep house until the batteries on their iHome die.
This leads to thumping bass playing throughout the night that leads to a crescendo of car alarms around 6am. You've likely been awaken by a car alarm before, it sucks, you get over it and you go back to bed.
Once you're awake in the desert, there is no going back to bed.
At 6:01 I was awake and heading for the showers. Of course I immediately realize I had forgotten shower shoes and this point was driven home to me when the drain to my shower was clogged with condoms. This means now I have some other dudes cum on my feet and reminds me that I didn't get laid the previous evening, not the best way to start a day.
There is a peaceful silence that lasts from about 7-8 in the morning. It's as if you are actually in the desert, far removed from civilization. You take a moment to appreciate the beauty. But then some enterprising hero throws on a Thomas Jack track and reminds the entire campground that you are after all at a music festival. And like the first child awake at a slumber party the energy becomes contagious and by 8:30 a full blown party is underway, hangovers be damned.
As the campmates (whom I was yet to meet) started to wake up and cook breakfast, I quickly realized three things.
1. Everyone at my campground was in college.
2. Somehow I had already lost my phone.
3. I hadn't actually packed anything other than all of the pink clothes that I own. It was meant to be a joke, but I over committed to the bit. It would be pink all weekend, including but not limited to 2 swimsuits, a sweater vest and a pair of pink shorts that is still bloodstained from my last appearance at Little 5.
I was predictably irked about my phone and my lack of practical packing. But college. College? A PLACE WHERE I WAS KING!! You know what matters in college? Physical attractiveness. Coolness. Ability to party. So I'm like 2 for 3. It should be a good weekend.
To protect the innocent, I'll kind of glide over the crew. Everyone that we were (kinda) camping with was from San Diego. Some were undergrads, others PhD/MD candidates. I was literally with brain surgeons and sorority girls. I like to think that I'm kind of in the middle on that spectrum, but everyone was there for a similar cause, get fucked up and have a good time.
By 9am beers were being shotgunned, the undergrads were hoovering lines of cocaine and I felt like I was on some sort of gonzo MTV Spring Break, this was not my previous Coachella experience.
By 9:30 one of the sorority girls has gone too hard, the paramedics come and take her away in the golf cart ambulance. Horrible people that we are, I don't even think we stopped our game of flip cup as they strapped her to a stretcher and dragged her away. I suppose it was understood, Coachella culture, only the strong survive.
An hour passed, Fireball was consumed, UV rays absorbed, drugs ingested. By 10:30 our 18 year old friend comes bouncing back from the med tent.
"Hey guys, they said it was an allergic reaction or something and gave me a shot of adrenaline. Where's the blow?"
I guess that kind of response means it's time to head into the fest.
The most stressful 10 minutes of Coachella is the walk from your camp site to the venue. As you stroll past elaborate set-ups from the seasoned veterans; part of you wonders if you partied hard enough to go in yet. Sure there is beer inside, but it is isolated and costly. But the other part of you is ready to see some live music and dance.
It's fascinating to see all the different people that meet in the desert for this 72 hour party, strangers coming from all walks of life. Absurd fashion statements are prominently displayed everywhere. Witty tank tops, topless women with body paint "free the nipple" and an emerging trend of under butt or "ass cleavage." Myself, in all pink with my arms painted 'TEXAZ FOREVER' I fit in just fine.
We get to the gate and everyone takes a deep breath as we pray to the rave gods that all of our molly gets through security. It does. The party begins.
I still didn't have any drugs, too afraid to ask the cool girls from San Diego State, but right as we walk to the first tent our little friend with the mild overdose earlier winks at me and slips something into my pocket.
*****
Once inside my memory melts into a mural of colors and vibes. I don't remember specific artists, I remember feelings. Even thinking of it now, it's like a certain nostalgia of something I can't remember if I dreamed or lived.
But this is what I do remember.
1. At a certain point everyone paired off with a chick. It's not a rave without a dancing partner. The 'molly wife' I ended up with was camping next door to us and unfortunately she had come with a guy, who was none too pleased to be ditched. Half of my day was trying to sneak away and make out while he wasn't looking. Also she was 21, so like half my age plus seven. I barely passed.
2. The Do Lab is awesome. There should be more instances in life where you are sweaty and someone blasts you with a water cannon.
3. We saw Axwell and Ingrosso which is basically Swedish House Mafia. When Swedish House 'reunites' in 3 years, a ticket will be more than $250 and will not be a three day event.
4. Try the Coachella diet! You eat nothing, smoke a ton of cigs and dance like a maniac, come Monday you'll be skinny AF.
Actually don't try the Coachella diet, it will leave you hungover for a week.
Saturday night after the show, everyone retires back to camp for a little late night drinking followed by super sweaty gross hook-ups. I had work Monday, so I imagined my Coachella was over. All in all, a good time. Better than expected for sure, going to Coachella with one friend and a bunch of strangers is great, I saw exactly the music I wanted to see, was able to behave as if I would never see any of these people again, highly recommend. I took a rare hit of a joint and cashed out, tomorrow would be a rough drive back.
Sunday
"Hey man, what if we stayed for Drake?"
"Isn't he last?"
"Ya, but I missed him last week and then we can see Kygo too. It will be fine, we'll leave RIGHT after. I'll stay sober, we'll get back to LA at like midnight. You can sleep on the way back."
"Ok, I guess that's fine."
Well you can imagine how well that shit worked out.
I would not be lounging on my couch all day full of alcohol poisoning and severe anxiety. With our ice long gone, our canopy blown away, I would be sitting in the desert sun, drinking warm Budweisers. Hooray.
There is an inherent sadness with the last day of any trip, but especially Coachella. Lots of people start to leave because they have adult responsibility on Monday. The campground empties out, leaving behind a wasteland of destroyed tents, broken coolers and hundreds of thousands of cigarette butts.
The best way to take your mind off of this last episode of The Real World is to distract yourself by drinking more than you should on the sabbath. Hell, I think I even drank a warm bottle of blush wine.
In anticipation of leaving the minute Drake went off stage, we completely packed up our campsite, so that all we had was an empty cooler to sit on. With no toys left for drinking games and no battery left on our speakers, we somberly passed around a near boiling bottle of vodka in contemplative silence.
By the time we entered the festival, I could barely stand, not from drunkenness but more so exhaustion. I had slept probably 7 total hours the entire weekend and put nothing in my body except for booze, I was physically shutting down.
We saw Mo do her Diplo song, Kygo played his big song. Drake kinda sucked, but whatever, I was ready to get the fuck home.
When we finally get back to the camp site we hear that as a safety precaution, no cars are permitted to leave until 3am.
Jesus Christ.
I fall on the grass and fall asleep for the next 4 hours.
Kev shakes me awake at 3:15.
"You ready to get out of here man?"
"LA by midnight?"
"Oh fuck off let's go. We've gotta give this chick a ride back to Palm Springs too."
Of course we do.
The sun is rising over the Palm Desert as we finally make our way to the 10. We drop a nice Asian girl off at a house in Desert Hot Springs. The doors are locked.
"Oh, it's fine, I'll just sleep on the boat."
Why there was a 26 foot cabin boat parked on the driveway, I didn't think to ask.
The 110 mile trip took just over 4 hours and I am dropped off at my office at 7:15, coated in dirt, smelling like a sewer and still proudly sporting "TEXAZ FOREVER" on my arms from Saturday. Happy Monday.
Monday
Somehow I am the first person in my office. I go to make coffee and then immediately retreat to my office to take a nap under my desk.
At 9am, someone pokes me awake, it's one of my coworkers.
"What are you doing down there? I tried calling you this morning, my car broke down."
"I don't have a phone."
"What happened?"
"The desert swallowed it."
Mercifully, I am sent home to take a quick shower. I manage to get most of the paint off of my face, but the Riggins endorsement stands true. I'm also able to pick up an old phone from a friend and then my situation starts to come crashing down on me.
I don't even know where to begin.
My decision making is at an all time low, my anxiety is at an all time high and I'm trolling around Venice with a fucking iPhone 4.
I don't even have any chargers for an iPhone 4.
I threw them away so that I could smugly tell iPhone 4 people that bit of news years ago when I upgrade to my 5. The joke isn't even relevant anymore, no one has asked me for a 4 charger in 18 months. Now the shoe is on the other foot.
So I get back to work and my boss is standing in my office unimpressed.
"You know, normal people can't just use the excuse that they're hungover every Monday and hope people will take pity on them."
"I know..."
"Did you at least have fun?"
I think so?
I'm not even sure why as I'm sure my phone is for sale in some Inland Empire kids locker, but I log onto FindMyiPhone as a formality and wouldn't you know...
My phone has been found.
In Bell Gardens!
What the fuck is Bell Gardens?
*Googles*
Oh! Bell Gardens is like the real life Vinci from True Detective season 2? Heavily populated by lower class Mexican Americans with a high percentage of gang affiliation.
But I had an address, so fuck it, I drive down to Bell Gardens.
I arrive on a street behind the Bell Gardens Casino (this is where they shot the Vinci Gardens Casino) at around 9pm and knock on a door. A couple pitbulls frothing at the mouth try to tear down the screen as an older gentlemen approaches.
"Hello?"
"Hi. Um...my iPhone was found here. Do you have like a son or something?"
"Did you leave it here? Were you at the casino?"
"No, I uh, lost it 2 hours away from here at a concert in the desert."
"Well then why are you looking here?"
"I don't know, I got this email."
I show him the email, he thinks it over.
"I have a nephew who listens to music. But you don't want to talk to him. He's bad news."
I think it over and come to the conclusion that the nephew turned my phone on his uncle's house, found that it was locked and likely destroyed it. Probably for the best that he didn't answer the door.
"You shouldn't come around here late at night my friend, it's not safe for you."
"I apologize, this was a mistake, thank you for your time sir."
I race home, certain that I'm being tailed by a '76 Cadillac with Latin King affiliation. I don't stop to breathe until I've crossed Lincoln Blvd in Venice. The Crips here like me. We have a truce. They will protect me from the Bell Gardens gangsters.
Tuesday
I get to the Verizon store Tuesday morning. I'm clean. I've shaved. My arms have no writing on them. If you squinted a little, I might actually resemble a normal human. I've got $800 in my pocket for a new phone.
We'll do this trip for like $400, $500 tops.
Ya $1500 later here I am.
"Hey man I need a new iPhone 6."
"Cool, do you have insurance?"
Insurance?
Holy fuck, I haven't lost a phone since college. What is this insurance you speak of.
"Uh, maybe? Can you look it up?"
"Ya, you've got it. Go to this website, it's like $100 they'll overnight you a new phone."
Another Coachella miracle! I take a moment to laugh at myself that I had endangered my life by potentially storming the house of a thief in the ghetto (alone) for a hundred dollars.
I take a deep breath, as I walk out of the store. Today is a new day, my depression rinses away and I realize that everything is going to be ok.
The sun is out, I'm young and single living in the greatest place on Earth. Only 51 more weeks until next year's Coachella.
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