Ain’t no fun

It's A Juanderful Life

While I was busy finally getting some schoolwork done this weekend, many of my peers were basking in the glory that is known throughout the world as Coachella. While I must admit that I don’t always enjoy reading antiquated English literature for hours on end, this past weekend was especially painful.

As I sat at my desk with a copy of “Rappaccini’s Daughter” in my hands, my thoughts were focused on the events unfolding 800 miles away in that magical festival fairyland. “Ah! What I wouldn’t give to be there,” I thought to myself, “among the sweaty crowds jumping up and down to the sweet sounds of that contemporary pop/self-proclaimed indie music.”

For many of us unlucky enough to miss out on what is arguably one of, if not the best music festival in the country, this past weekend was one filled with sadness and longing. Instead of spending the weekend surrounded by music, food and art, we were left to daydream about what life would be like if we were actually there. And as every serial killer knows, eventually daydreaming just isn’t enough.

To counter the effects of the sadness that is a common symptom of not attending Coachella, I tried to completely block the thought of it. Homework obviously wasn’t going to help me get over my woes, so maybe, I thought, heading down to my local watering hole for a drink might do the trick.

At first this was seemingly effective. The loud noises made by those in a drunken stupor rendered the music that was playing over the speakers inaudible. Perfect! If I couldn’t t hear the music, then how can I be reminded of what I was missing out on! But then, as if the guy in charge of the p.a. system read my mind and enjoyed my sorrow, the music was turned up and the sounds of “Nuthin’ but a G Thang” filled the air.

If this was last year maybe it wouldn’t have mattered, but it being 2012, this was definitely a cause for distress. As fate would have it, this was the year that Snoop D-O-Double G -eadlined the final night of Coachella alongside the good doctor. Dr. Dre that is. When I was a child I would stay up all night listening to Power 106 on my boom box with a blank tape inserted, ready to hit record the moment Dre or Snoop came on. I’d blast The Chronic everywhere I went and always entered the room saying, “Guess who’s back in the mothafuckin’ house.” One of my life goals since then was to one day see them perform together.

So this being the biggest reason why I was bummed that I wasn’t attending the festival, my demeanor was suddenly brought down again. Nothing I did could wipe the thought of Coachella from my head. I eventually accepted the fact that I had once again failed in my quest and settled for watching the live stream. Sunday came and went, and Monday morning found me feeling relieved that it was over. I took solace in the fact that I was no longer missing out on anything.

Today some guy in class reminded me that Coachella pt. 2 is this weekend. Way to twist the dagger, asshole.  You can have your holographic Tupac — I’ll just kick it at home with my chronic. Oh fo sho.