Do you like sand? Are you a fan of idiots? Are you into feeling like death? Well, my friend, you might just like Coachella. I know I sure don’t.
Do you like muppets? Are you a fan of underage drinking? Do you like an endless sea of flower crown selfies and feeling like you’re stuck in a maze on drugs in an Urban Outfitters? Well, my friend, you might just love Coachella. I know I sure don’t.
Do you pretend to like music? Are you a fan of queues? Do you like dry heat and posing? Well, my friend, just go to Coachella. I know I sure won’t.
So, in case you don’t know, Coachella is a music festival held in the Coachella Desert here in California every year.
Last year I think about 200,000 people went to it, spread out over two weekends. Maybe 200,001, I always forget.
The line-ups are pretty slick.
Best singers, musicians, bands, DJs, yodeling people from all over the globe.
Best of the best.
Crème de la crème.
Top of the crop.
Daft Punk to Kanye West to Beyoncé to Radiohead to Bon Iver.
Basically, it is mighty if you like music and musicians. On paper, anyway.
I like music and musicians (I’m very, very, very unique) but I would never go to Coachella to watch a band.
I guarantee you at least 100 people at Coachella this year think Radio’s Dead are the actual headlining band. It’s a festival for idiots. Jesus, I hate Coachella.
People (no one) often (never) ask me (I have no friends), Murk, why do you hate Coachella so much?
The problem with Coachella, as with most things and places, is the people that go there.
They’re the worst. Absolute worst.
Not there for the music. They’re there to pose. They’re there just to say that they’re there.
They’re there for the Snapchats and the Instagram stories and the flower crown filters.
They’re there having fake fun. They’re there to let you know they think they’re cooler than you.
They’re there because they feel empty inside and need something to fill the hole of nothingness by pretending they’re better and more hip than people who aren’t there.
They’re there being as annoying as humans can possibly be by standing in the desert boozing in the heat dressed up to the nines and trying their hardest to look casual in the hope they might get an invite back to Leonardo Di Caprio or Jared Leto’s after party and pump the night away. And that’s just the guys that go.
All jokes aside, imagine being a guy and posting a photo from Coachella. What kind of upbringing must you have had to end up there?
The women seem to fly in from all over the world just to get the Instagram photos. Everything seems to be a photo opportunity.
Here’s me leaving London going to Coachella.
Here’s me at LAX.
Here’s me driving a rental car, different outfit, obviously.
Here’s me at my AirBnB villa, where I sleep on the floor as I share it with 17 people.
Here’s me queuing up to get into the festival.
Here’s me three hours later still in the queue. Here’s me in a ditch because I took too many mushrooms and I think my face is trying to eat my other face but at least my outfit is on point.
If you’re reading this, Jenny from London, yes, this paragraph is about you.
Am I being harsh?
I can’t think of one person that’s ever gone to Coachella who I’ve liked.
In fact, I can tell exactly who’s going to Coachella before they tell me, based on whether I already think they’re morons or not. Tony. He’ll be going to Coachella. As will Brittany.
And her roommate Todd. Those idiots will love Coachella.
I do know one person who’s going to Coachella this year who I think is sound, but now I’m worried I won’t like them as much once I see them post a photo there, so that’s a shame.
Farewell, Frances (I should probably give her an alias).
One plus of Coachella is that it is renewing my hatred for people. Always fun.
Another plus is that all the annoying people in LA leave town for the weekend.
My buddy Chris D’Elia (nice name drop, thank you) — who also hates Coachella which is probably the reason we’re such good friends — has a stand-up bit where he compares being at Coachella to being a cow standing in a field. There’s more, but that’s the gist. I don’t want to be a cow. I would prefer to do anything — and I mean anything — than to be a cow.
One time, I lay on my couch and my friend came over and shoveled dust into my face for four hours while I tried to watch Radiohead videos on my phone with a bad internet connection. More appealing than being a cow at Coachella.
This other time I drank a bottle of vodka while sitting in a sauna and had drunk girls just scream in my face for 15 hours straight. More appealing than being a dumb old cow at Coachella.
Also, I’ve never been to Coachella. It’s probably unreal.
Once again, I missed out on buying tickets this year, so if you have any VIP ticket hook ups please let me know so I can stand in a field mooing like a cow on mushrooms having the best time.
Mark Hayes is a comedian and author of three books including RanDumb (#1 on Amazon Humour).
He can be found on Twitter, Snapchat and Instagram @trickaduu or at www.markhayes.tv
He’s the best.
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