Tag Archives: Coachella

over it


I’m so over fucking Coachella, Burning Man, and any other bullshit that involves a hoard of entitled fuckers eating drugs in the desert pretending it’s art.

COACHELLA LAMEI’m so over Game of Thrones.  Dragon dearth.GAME OF THRONES DRAGON

I’m so over guys who only care about their own orgasm.  The girls in the porn aren’t actually climaxing you lazy, delusional douche.


I’m so over Jenelle Evans getting pregnant.


I’m so over Sonja Evans describing her outdated, ill-fitting ensembles by listing the designers.  “It’s Oscar.”  It’s ugly.


I’m so over people throwing cigarette butts everywhere.  As if the smoking isn’t gross enough.





festival faceoff: coachella v. pitchfork

PITCHFORK 2013The music = Coachella

The sheer volume of performers means Coachella owns the title for superior festival line-up.  From the obscure, to the mainstream, to the reunited, Coachella serves up a summer’s worth of concerts in three compact tightly scheduled 12+ hour days across a polo field of stages.  Pitchfork hosts a number of specifically well-cultivated acts spaced temporally further apart on three different stages situated relatively close together.  Even though Coachella has more musical opportunities, there is no way to see every artist which leads to inevitable disappointments.  Know what wasn’t a disappointment?  The Breeders playing Last Splash from beginning to end at Pitchfork.COACHELLA 2013

PITCHFORK 2013 CROWDThe people = Pitchfork

Chicago gets away with unacceptable bullshit (shitty weather, crumbling infrastructure, violence), but the city’s still beloved because of the charm of its people.  Chicagoans take no shit, but they aren’t fucking L.A. assholes either.  Their midwestern mamas taught ’em right.  The crowd peppered the days with “excuse me” and “thank you.”  Unlike, Coachella, everyone doesn’t stand thisclose at PitchforkPitchfolks mostly keep a reasonable and respectful distance.  In contrast at Coachella, a bitch had her saggy left tit on my shoulder for the entire Foals set.  Even the cops were nicer at Pitchfork.  In a surprisingly good-natured gesture two cops eye-fucking my friend and I pulled out perpendicularly to block traffic so we could strut the crosswalk unscathed.  (Hey Chicagoans – you all walk – stop at the crosswalks.  Crossing the street I felt like a fucked-up sequined version of Frogger.  G-Sus.)


Don’t fuck with Chicago when it comes to food.  We happily feasted on $5 vegan corn dogs and waffle fries from The Chicago Diner stand.  I was introduced to the beauty of Jeni’s ice cream at PitchforkPitchfood reigns.  Coachella offers the poisonous churro, lukewarm water, and chunder-inducing garlic fries.PITCHFOOD

The drugs = Coachella

Basically, people are eating their own hair at Coachella.  Everyone is super fucked-up.  An extremely permissive attitude permeates the polo grounds from security to the fans.  In comparison, at Pitchfork I was lying in the grass extremely faded on edibles listening to Wire when these annoying kids settled in next to us.  One of the girls was one of those narrator-types who wove the word “literally” inappropriately and excessively into every sentence.  “My weed is literally in the grass you guys.” Dude responds, “I want to be rolling so hard that I can’t feel my genitals.  That’s how bad I want to be be rolling right now.”  Obviously, these kids were killing me.  As I lay there contemplating this hell of my own making, I heard a stern female voice say, “What’s in the bag?”  My heart stopped and I kept my eyes closed.  A few beats of silence followed.  Then I heard the annoying nasally girl whine, “She literally just took our weed.  At least we only have an hour and a half left.”  She literally reassured the group.  “She’s totally going to smoke it.” Dude replied.  I have never seen security take anyone’s weed at any show I have ever attended until I overheard it happen to Chicago’s most annoying hipsters at Pitchfork.  I smiled inside at the thought of the security guard blunting up their sack after a hard day’s work corralling doughy bearded white boys around Union Park.  I’m not mad at you Sister Security.PITCHTREE

The Fashion = Coachella

Bless your heart Chicago, style has never been your strength.  I ask you manboys, what is with the super tight denim cutoffs?  This is a very strange not-at-all flattering early 70’s look to resurrect.  Newsflash: 99% of all men look like boys in shorts.  Shorts are a dignity issue.  Dress like a fucking man.  Mostly, it was just a vast sea of unoriginality among all genders.  Don’t worry, we were an island of freshness as I insisted on teasing my reluctant friend’s hair into a major modern beehive.  Coachella breeds its own version of annoying conformity that I wouldn’t at all consider a creative expression unless you consider the art of the coochie cutter the bastard cousin of couture.  However, at least the Coochellites try.  In Chicago, bitches think khaki shorts constitute a style statement.PITCHFORK 2013 JENA

Coachella Highs/Lows

I was so over Coachella for a variety of reasons, I inadequately summarized my experience according to some avid readers.  So here we go with the best and the worst of the weekend.  May it help those of you headed into weekend 2.  Chalk it up to nostalgia, but the Violent Femmes were my favorite act of the entire festival.  Their playlist included everything I could have wished for and more.  They kept it moving and they kept it tight.  The most unexpectedly enjoyable set was Jello Biafra who ranted his hypocritically anti-corporate message on the unabashedly corporate-sponsored Coachella stage without any sense of irony.  Everybody splooged over The Postal Service.  Maybe it’s the residual Deschanel, but that band is just so precious and twee.  I love Jenny Lewis, but I love her more in other projects.  Ben I can take or leave. Phoenix executed in a major way, but there was something so polished about the performance it almost felt simulated.  The random of edition of R. Kelly was surprising for sure.  As was Solange’s cameo with The xx, but Coachella needed to squeeze extra diversity wherever possible in their ultra-white lineup this year.  2013 lacked flavor for sure. As for the Chili Peppers, Anthony Kiedis is the Keanu Reeves of rock music.  He’s a douche de la fromage. Flea rules.



Demeter Clarc Manners Moment: Concert Conduct

When you bump me say, “excuse me.”  When I politely say, “excuse me,” move your ass and let me through.

Don’t come stand directly in front of me, rudely block my view, and then say, “who is this playing?”

Don’t fucking sing along.  Don’t shout.  I could give a fuck about your favorite song in the set. Stop weaving through the crowd holding hands in an obnoxious twenty person chain.Don’t push.  I will shank you bitch.


Sherbert LBC.Man flower power pant.Cute elephant shoes.Stick a dollar in them cheeks. Cheese curdles in the sun ya’ll.

There were some really hideous florescent green knock-off Isabel Marant sneakers attached to this truck stop hooker get up.


Know what is incredibly boring and lame?  Nearly every bitch here is wearing the same fucking outfit.  Dubbed “boho slut” by my witty companion, all these lemmings look exactly the same.  Their uniform of rebellious conformity consists of the following: uterus and asshole revealing short-shorts, fringe bags, and crochet tops.  Not only does it look like an Urban Outfitters catalog exploded all over the polo field, it’s also the same tragic shit these girls wore last year.  Please enjoy these examples of fashion fuckery I covertly captured.

Check out feather butt.

Can’t forget the bathing beauties.

There were few notable exceptions.  Bowl-cut chick is serving me something different here.  I like where cute mint green dress girl is going with her look.

A few guys tried to come with some flavor, but more often than not it read as try-hard stunt queen dressing.  See gold pants man, colorful leggings boy, and fur hat kid for clear examples of this attention-seeking.  My favorite look of the day from a man hands down:  I am a Bear.  Bright Yellow Bear.  Yes Please.

It is a musical festival, so I would be remiss in not throwing a note or two in about the actual performances.  Top of the day – Yeah, Yeah, YeahsMiss Karen O blew us away.  Most annoying = Purity Ring because the whole crowd was rolling their faces off.  Hipster fuck music, gross yo.  As an aside, we all know ecstasy and molly are super fun, but why you would waste/risk that experience on Coachella, where you will most likely end up fucking a stranger in a smelly port-a-potty, I don’t understand.  The desert is really dehydrating enough without the E, but that’s just my personal position on the matter.  Either way though, please stop rubbing your left tit on my back because rolling or not, it feels really creepy.

Meet You At Coachella ~ Friday

Passion PitModest MouseBeach HouseYeah Yeah Yeahs




After finding out my favorite Coachella spot was COMPLETELY reserved by one greedy party for the first weekend, I hit Hotwire in the hopes of finding a hidden deal.  Hotwire yielded favorable results for my recent trip through the Pacific Northwest.  This time, not so much.  During this search, I found the taxes and fees bananas, and significantly more than I remember from previous reservations.  Usually after a booking, I rush to compare the advertised room rate to the Hotwire rate I just booked.  Well this time, with taxes and fees, I ended up paying $13 more than if I had booked directly through the hotel’s site.  This has NEVER happened to me before when booking through Hotwire.  Usually, I get to look forward to a good gloat.   I was robbed of that opportunity, and I’m fucking bitter.  I love a bargain, but you gotta read the fine print, especially with these NO REFUND sites.  $13 isn’t a that big of a deal, but it still just gets my goat.  Gouging hotels rates are just the beginning; the entire experience of Coachella = an unbelievable financial racket.   

it’s hot. do you stink?

Many of us want to get away from chemically-laden traditional antiperspirants, but how do we do this without sweating and stanking like some unwashed dready on Phish tour.  The 90’s are mercifully over.  It’s not a good look.  Or odor.At Coachella, my friend Annie told me this long-winded story about this great all-natural deodorant.  When she got to the end of her description of this magical product, she couldn’t remember the name of it.  Like porn without a money shot, I frustratingly informed her that such a build up without a climax is the conversational equivalent of blue balls.  A few days after we got home, she emailed me the name of her beloved mystery anti-stink – Herban Cowboy. Herban Cowboy makes natural deodorants aimed at men and women, but I prefer the version marketed to men.  It smells earthy and fresh and seems to incidentally mellow the sweat.  I wouldn’t trust it for a job interview or anything, but if you are looking to get away from controversial aluminum-based products consider Herban Cowboy’s vegan, natural deodorant. Why not unleash your natural funk?  Cover up all your pheromones with chemical blockers and you’ll never get laid.