SOC #42: Sheltered Riot

Olavi: "Let me tell you a story about the time my cousin Antonio and I went to the Coachella Music Festival in the summer of 2007. We took a train, then a bus down to Southern California. On the train we met two Canadian dudes from British Colombia or wherever the fuck, and had a long conversation about the differences between our two great nations. By the end of the train ride, I realized there honestly was no difference. Well, they learn French and English in grade school. Anyways, we then had to take a 3 hour bus ride to where the Festival was located. Antonio planned our ride to the place, I bought the tickets for the three days of the festival, and provided the tent for the campgrounds where we'd be sleeping at. This was the first time either of us had been to a big multi-staged music festival. The only reason I wanted to go was because Rage Against The Machine were reuniting for a show since disbanding seven years before. We made it through security with no fuss. I snuck in a flask of vodka, and some cigarettes with tobacco and weed packed in together. After being assigned our camping spot, we started to put up my tent. Antonio ended up doing most of the work, because I started drinking vodka from the flask and became useless. He didn't drink, nor did he smoke anything. A clean cut, smooth sailing guy, my cousin. I thought he'd live it up and imbibe some booze on this trip, but no. He'd say, 'I'm just not into it, Olavi.' I'd say, 'Fine, more for me. You might have to carry me here to the tent tomorrow if I go overboard.' He said, 'Look, you're family, and I love you, but I ain't carrying your fat-ass all the way here. There's security for that.' The tent was up, our things inside the tent. It was night time, so we went to the venders and bought ourselves pizza. He drank pepsi. I drank a Miller. We then went back to our tent and met one of our fellow campers. They said they drove all the way from Oregon. I forgot everything else they said. All I remember was it was two dudes and a chick in a menage a trois relationship, and all I was interested in was the fact they were passing around a weed pipe and they were nice enough to let me smoke some. The next three days were awesome. Saw a lot of great bands, but mostly ones I'd never find myself listening to on a regular basis. There were displays of Art all over the place, structures made by passionate individuals. One was a big locomotive which would annoyingly blast it's horn every ten minutes. I hated that fucking thing. Guess it was suppose to represent humanities horrifying treatment of planet Earth, blah blah blah. Anyways, at the end of the first day, my cousin and I were sleeping in our tent. I was so drunk I slept in an awkward angle where my foot was sticking out the front of the tent. And obviously a damn hippie hoodlum came up and tickled my foot. I jolted awake, saying, 'Fucking shit! Bastards!' The culprit was gone. Antonio said, 'The fuck you bitching about, drunk.' I said, 'A clown tickled me, man.' He asked, 'How?' I answered, 'My foot was sticking out the door.' He suggested, 'How about you bring your foot inside.' I said, 'I got a nice cigar. You wanna have some of it with me?' He said, 'No, you idiot. I've told you, I don't want to smoke anything, I don't want to drink any booze, I just want to enjoy the music. And in order to do that I need fucking sleep, not stay up late smoking a fucking cigar.' I looked at my watch, and informed, 'But it's like, eleven-thirty, man. It's like early, man. Do you hear that outside?' He said, 'Yeah.' I said, 'The people cackling laughter, people singing, guitars playing, and the drums pounding. Those, my dear cousin, are the sounds of life - not simply life - the love of life. They're all making love to life out there, Antonio, and all you want to do is sleep.' He said, 'You're drunk babbling, and everyone out there is on drugs. The drums don't even have any fucking rhythm. My mother would be disgusted by those fools.' I said, 'You know, your sister would be proud you came to Coachella with me. The last thing she told me was to get out of the house and do things. I'm sure she said the same thing to you.' He said, 'I know. I just don't want to get drunk or high.' I said, 'You don't have to get drunk or high. Look, man, lets share the cigar I brought, and walk around the campground for an hour, until the cigar goes out, then we can go to sleep.' He said, 'I don't want to inhale that shit.' I informed, 'Cigars are for the taste, you don't inhale the smoke.' He finally sat up in the tent. I sat up as well, reaching in my backpack for the cigar and my lighter. I said, 'This could be the only one you'll ever smoke in your entire life.' We spent the rest of that first night wandering around the tents, puff and passing the cigar back and forth. I smoked it more than he did. When we stopped to watch a bunch of morons on shrooms try to play their instruments, I asked him, 'How you like the cigar?' He said, 'It's okay, but I don't find it appealing.' He then gave out a small, genuine cough. I said, 'Even tomatoes aren't for everybody.' The next morning, before they let people back into the festival, a girl came up to me and asked if I had shrooms. I said, 'I don't do shrooms.' She then said, 'Why?' Then continued to walk around, inquiring if anyone had shrooms to spare. A year later I would find out why shrooms were loved by millions of drug abusers. Later that day, at the Stephen Marley concert, a man was walking around the crowd, holding up a sign that said: I need LSD. And, yes, a year later I'd find out why people enjoyed that shit. That night I drank a few beers, a strong Bloody Mary, and passed out, sleeping like a dead man, dreaming about a field of daisies being crushed by an armored tank. I woke up the next morning truly rejuvenated. Antonio told there had been a near riot at 3am. Riot police showed up. The campers, those stoned idiots wouldn't stop with the drums, so people who lived in homes near the festival called the cops. The stoned idiots threw bottles at the police, calling them Nazi's and yelling obscenities about their mothers. A helicopter flew overhead with the guy who ran the Coachella Festival yelling into a bullhorn, calming down the crowd of idiots, telling them to go back to their tents and to please be quiet. 'Peace and Love is what we should be about,' he had said. Antonio said, 'I can't believe that shit didn't wake you up.' A year later I had forgotten about youth's desire to treat stupidity like it were just another night club to do ecstasy in. My cousin had not followed me down such a path. His sister would have been proud."