Chill With The ‘Chella

Ya know, I’m down with this music festival whose name it shares with the valley where it takes place out there happening right now as it does every year. I know there’s a boatload of bands and it’s hot and bottles of water are $20 dollars and the porta-potties are filthy and there’s a whole buncha ancillary shit happening that’s now and wow and far too bitchin’ for someone in my middle-aged demographic to understand.

As such an old fart, you’ll just have to grin and fucking bear it when I beg and plead for everyone to just shut the hell up about it.  I see one more front-row POV freezeframe of some apparently pixel -worthy musician I don’t know or recognize and I’m gonna hurl.  Or worse: a turn-around snapshot of a vast audience in various stages of passing out and or appreciating said musician (98% of whom are far too wasted or dehydrated or both to not look like they’re dead and just don’t know it yet).

It’s a fucking concert. You’re there. I get it. Now put the camera down and enjoy the show before I get really mad.

Kthnxbye.