I know, I know, you are all Coachella-fatigued. Tell me about it. This is the last Coachella-related post, promise. Just thought you would like to know a few of the less advertised secrets of the Coachella festival.
Most of the hot guys were gay, most of the straight guys were doughy. Seriously, most of these guys are in their twenties and thirties and have love handles. Not cute. Ratio of hot girls to hot guys 20:1.
Coachella has a reputation for being a celebration of drugs in the desert. True, the attitude towards drugs, grass in particular, is quite permissive, but considering the heat and intensity of the experience, the kiddos by and large kept it together. That said, I did have a little fainting spell myself after a bad churro. Stay away from the churros, cinnamon and sugar dipped Styrofoam. Special shout out to good Samaritan “Joey” who lent a hand to my panicked pal while my brain rebooted. 
The dominant fashion silhouette was 80′s, 80′s, 80′s. Think high-waisted shorts and booties. Lots of shorts, lots of legs. Some good legs and ass, lots of mediocre legs and ass. Some bitches just straight up wore a 2 piece bathing suit.
Who rocked? The Rapture, Wild Flag, Santigold, Girl Talk, Florence and the Machine and EMA. 
Who disappointed? Gotye, Pulp, SBTRKT, and ultimately Dre and Snoop who basically did a cheesy medley of popular rap hits over the last 20 years, some theirs, some not. For the record, the Tupac hologram was an abomination. 
The single most annoying thing about this whole festival is the overlapping sets. Every 50 minutes it’s Sophie’s Choice. Do I want to see The Rapture or Mazzy Star? For $329, I shouldn’t have to choose. By the way, The Rapture delivered one of the best sets of the day on Friday evening. 
The second most annoying thing about Coachella is everyone’s blasé attitude. The crowd isn’t there to see just one act. For each entertainer, a cluster of die hard fans gathers towards the front, and almost everyone else could give a fuck. Some artists work to win the entire crowd over, and others seem defeated by the unrelenting heat and too-cool-for-school vibe of the sweaty masses. Seriously, they could announce that Jesus, Whitney Houston, and Santa were going to sing a medley and the level of enthusiasm would amount to a few sparse golf claps. Jesus, who cares about Jesus? I saw Jesus front row in ’99. 
Third, I’m not so sure about the second weekend format. All the artists kept referring to deja vu feeling of performing two weekends in a row. It ain’t deja vu for us mutherfuckers. Keep it fresh. Give us a worthy experience. As you know, we are all so jaded out here in the desert sun. 
Hate to kick it off with such an obvious recommendation, but do consider Jay-Z and Kanye’s Watch the Throne. Never thought these two massive egos could fit comfortably on one collaborative effort, but somehow they managed to pull it off. The album ain’t half bad. Not as great as Twisted, but also not a complete waste of time.
The Rapture shows progress on In the Grace of Your Love without abandoning their clangy roots. This collection of songs is a little more mature and melodic than previous offerings, but still full of energetic fun. Good thing we got something new from The Rapture because now every time I hear Echos I can’t help thinking of Misfits (the awesome show, not the band).
Mz. Anderson’s Past Life Martyred Saints is every bit as bueno as the critics say. Won’t bore you with a gush, but getcha some of this goodness for sure.
After wrapping up with the adventures of Portia’s binges and purges and unable to wait idly for Matched (November 30th), I stumbled upon Blind Descent: The Quest to Discover the Deepest Place on Earth. 
Right off the bat some under-prepared, overconfident Hoosier (God Bless Indiana) plunges to his death when he fails to properly secure his rappelling equipment. No time for grieving; the big concern is how to retrieve the body. Apparently, unrecoverable dead bodies make the Mexican government nervioso.
One explorer compared the mega cave to a “dragon’s asshole.” We really need to work this evocative phrase into the vernacular. 
Above is the altar where the Cuicatecs sacrificed children in religious ceremonies. Locals still consider Cheve a sacred place and don’t take too kindly to all these desecrating gringos. 
Accidental death, child sacrifice, oh, and I forgot to mention The Rapture, a nitrogen-induced hysteria that causes cavers to go crazy (and I’m not even half way through). This book rules. 
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