When I bought that metallic American Apparel bodysuit for Halloween back in 2009 I was so very certain I'd find another use for it. For six years it's sat in my drawer, waiting to see the light of day again.
Then it dawned on me: Coachella. THE musical festival of the year – where all those bad ass foodie-indie-model-daughter-of-a-Baldwin cool girls flock to. A second chance to squeeze into that leotard and relive the glory days of drinking from open containers in open spaces with open-minded people.
Coachella. Because, let's face it, I'm not hardcore enough for Burning Man and lack the skill set needed for SXSW of mixing binge drinking with networking.
Coachella. Hell yea.
Na, forget about Coachella.
"Why?" you ask. Well, for one, because it's become a co-sponsored, brought-to-you-by, impersonal, tweeny La La Land that attracts self-proclaimed "music enthusiasts" who adore Haim and have never heard of Quarterflash or Heart. And because I live in NYC and can experience a lot of the "cool perks" that Coachella has to offer in my very own backyard (no need to travel all the way to Cali for some Five Leaves. To be honest, I'm not 100% sure it's worth the trek from Astoria to Greenpoint).
Forget about Coachella because it would've cost me a fortune to get to, only to realize how much I despise the heat and lack of personal space. And because if I really want to listen to its lineup perform from a mile away, all I need to do is go to Governors Ball in NYC, which is less than two months from now.
Forget about Coachella because, let's face it, at this point in my life I've had plenty of that type of fun (perhaps, even, a little too much of it) and it's time to gracefully pass the baton (and bong) to those Baldwin babes.
Forget about Coachella with me and consider doing any of the following instead:
- Check out the new Basquiat Notebooks exhibit at BK Museum.
- If you're lucky enough to still have one, call a grandparent and ask them about all the crazy shit they've seen. Seriously, you basically have a personal Yoda at your disposal. Milk it.
- Binge watch Freaks and Geeks on Netflix for both an informative and entertaining history of classic rock, and a reminder that, even though you feel your youth slipping slowly, the mid-20s is far preferable to the insecure, awkward cluster that was high school.
- Plan a legit relaxing escape with the money that you saved by not going to Coachella. FYI flights from NYC to Curacao are $300 right now. Get. On. It.
Oh, and Swiffer your apartment, you gross human being.