Music Festivals Aren't for Bovinophobiacs

Silent Disco at Treasure Island
 (photo courtesy of Fit Fun and Forever Young)

Contrary to popular belief, you don't just lose brain cells while attending music festivals. Here are twelve things you will learn while frequenting San Francisco music festivals and two that will always remain a mystery:

1. Listening to The xx without a significant other present, or the prospect of finding a significant other in the near future, will cause you cry yourself to sleep that night.

2. You will be scolded for throwing up in the recycle bin rather than in the compost bin.

3. Fuck the Scared Straight program. All troubled teens who are on the brink of dropping out of high school and/or royally fucking up their lives, should be required to spend three days standing at a music festival. Afterward, it can be explained to them, that the extreme exhaustion they feel and the sharp pain traveling up through the soles of their feet and shooting into their lower back, is the same sensation they will someday experience when they have no degree and are stuck working softlines at Walmart.

4. That girl is not overweight, she's just wearing tribal patterned stretch pants. 

5. It's best to attend festivals where you have no interest in seeing the headlining band, so that you can leave before the festival is over. This makes it easier to avoid exiting while harboring a persistent fear of being trampled by belligerents, or being forced into overly intimate encounters with strangers on shrooms. 

6. Wherever you find a grown woman hula hooping, you will also find drugs.

7. Making your child wear sound blocking ear muffs does not excuse the fact that you brought your child to a music festival. (Outside Lands 2011 - I had never heard a toddler laugh so loud. I'm pretty sure it had something to do with the same contact high I experienced which, caused me to later eat an entire box of Kraft's Macaroni and Cheese).

8. It's called Treasure Island, because it looks like it's been raided by pirates with baseball bats and spray paint cans.

9. If you're looking for an Asian person and/or a pre-teen, follow the faux fur monster hat.

10. People will pay hundreds of dollars not to listen to headlining bands. They will instead, wait hours in line to hang out at the silent disco.

11. You either get good looks, or the ability to create chart topping indie music, but not both. For example, I was unpleasantly surprised to find that Best Coast is not comprised of several energetic, hot blondes prancing around with fresh tans. The music duo is actually made up of one, less than moderately attractive blonde with a Xanax hangover, paired with an overweight gentleman who very well could have served as the model for the hairy bear on their album cover.

12. You will be late to work on Monday.

These two remain a mystery:

1. How people who live in San Francisco, work in San Francisco and spend most of their free time in San Francisco still just can't get enough of it. They still have lots interest in purchasing both artwork for their home, as well as personal apparel that portrays San Francisco.

2. Whether the black shit that coats the inside of your nostrils at the end of a festival is actual dirt residue, or the remnants of the body odor, weed fog and theatrical smoke your lungs have been filtering for the last 48 to 72 hours.

Stay tuned for more on how I now completely empathize with those suffering from Bovinophobia; most commonly described as the fear humans experience when they feel they're being herded like cattle. No fucking joke, it's a real phobia. And, after attending more than a few music festivals, I totally get where Bovinophobiacs are coming from.

Hugs? No, Thanks. I'll Take Drugs Please.

I can't remember the last time I enjoyed a hug, unless it came from someone who I really wanted to have sex with. I think my dislike for hugs started when I was in third grade. My teacher would stand by the door as we exited the room at the end of each school day and give me and my classmates the option for "a hug or a handshake." I would approach her and hold out my hand, always opting for the handshake. Each day without fail, she would grab my hand and pull me in for the hug. Instead of being flattered by the fact that she liked me so much a handshake was just not enough, I would completely dread the encounter. From my third grade perspective, hugs were for grandmas and Cabbage Patch Dolls. After all, I had known her less than a year, she smelled like White Diamonds and forced me to square dance to polka music on a regular fucking basis!

What I did not fully appreciate at the time, on my third grade teacher's approach to goodbye greetings, was the fact that she at least gave us an option (even though she never respected my goddamn decision). Mrs. ForcedIntimacy was really onto something. Because, the thing I hate most about hugs is that when someone goes in for one, no matter how much you dislike them, there is no way of escaping. Even if the perpetrator is Lucifer himself, the only way to refuse a hug is to literally duck under the person's arms and run in the other direction. Although, this duck and run approach would prevent you from bumping nipples with Lucifer, it's admittedly more awkward than just giving the damn hug. So, my request to all serial hug offenders out there is to start granting me and other hug haters (there are others...many others) an option.

Your next greeting would go something like this:

1. Approach the person you would like to kiss bellybuttons with.
2. Think about all of the different greeting options you have.
3. High five them and walk away...because high fives are fucking awesome.
4. Scratch that giving options bullshit.

And, the next time you would like to sexually assault someone with a hug, ask yourself the following questions:

1. Has their mother just died?
2. Has it been 2 or more 4 + years since I've last seen them?
3. Am I passing them drugs?
4. Does this person without a doubt want to have sex with me?

If the answer to any of these questions is yes, then go right in for the rib rub.

Loophole -  If I'm drunk you should always hug me, because, odds are, I'll want to have sex with you.

Stay tuned for more on side hugs, and how if your mother has ever given you one, she doesn't love you.

Hair Lesmorphia

Millions of lesbians around San Francisco and throughout the world are now suffering from hair lesmorphia; a condition where your half shaved head is in a stage of awkward regrowth. Others may not be able to witness the remnant inch and a half or so of this seemingly risque haircut due to the fact that you can easily conceal it by simply adjusting where you part you hair…but it's there, and it's awkward. I am one of the millions of individuals currently suffering from hair lesmorphia. I will admit, I was a little late to the game on this half shaved hair fad. While, many have surpassed the point of awkward regrowth and have successfully moved on to wear their hair in a high messy bun or a ponytail, I unfortunately have not. May this put forth a sense of solidarity to all of those living with this fully concealable (unless you're riding your bike) yet ever limiting hair condition. Let's look forward to the days when we can blissfully part our hair at any angle. 

Stay tuned for more on profound (insert romance language here) wrist tattoos…