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The Definitive Guide to Attending This Summer’s Music Festivals


Buy a plane ticket to Los Angeles. Rent a car from the Enterprise booth at LAX. Make sure it’s a truck of some sort—an SUV should be fine—and request air conditioning and a CD player. Demand that the woman at the booth read the first three pages of the introduction to the Penguin Classics edition of Saint Augustine’s Confessions aloud to you, right now.

“Why?” she’ll ask. “I should get security—”

“Forget it,” you’ll say. Get the keys and haul ass to Tijuana. You are not fucking going to Coachella.



Find a cool, carpeted spot at the Brooklyn Library on Grand Army Plaza, preferably near an exit, maybe underneath a table. Don’t move from that spot, there could be a fire.



The phone number to Domino’s is (718) 972-3733. Re-up your minutes on your phone: there’s a T-Mobile store on Fifth Avenue, and you’re probably going to need a lot. Buy as many minutes as they’ll sell you. Like a fuckton of minutes. Use a stolen credit card, whatever it takes. Call Domino’s.

“Forty pizzas, please.”

“Where to?”

“Prospect Park lawn.”

“You got it.”

Repeat this same phone call from early morning to late at night. Don’t stop until every single person at Googamooga is fed because god knows that no one there is actually getting food any goddamn time soon. You are the Mother Teresa of pizza. Mother Terpizza.



This is in Delaware. 



When you get a chance (take your time, no hurry), listen to every Phish b-side, live recording, and unreleased single that you can find. When you’re done doing that, read every post in every Phish phan phorum on the internet, and respond to comments that you find particularly insightful or touching. When you’re done with that, set up a parody Twitter account called Bill De Anastasio, and tweet between 100 and 200 mediocrely funny mashups of Trey Anastasio quotes with Bill de Blasio quotes. By the time you do all of this, enough years will have passed that you’ll die quietly in your sleep of old age, and PhishandChips459 will post a sentimental memorial to you on the phorums. You were remembered fondly for being “super chill.”

Rest in peace.



Jane says
I’m done with Sergio
He treats me like a ragdoll
She hides
The television
Says I don’t owe him nothing,
But if he comes back again
Tell him to wait right here for me
Or just
Try again tomorrow
I’m gonna kick tomorrow
Gonna kick tomorrow”

Find Jane. It’s your only hope.


Previously: A Day in the Life of The Dopeass Tea Wizard

Photo via patries71/flickr.

Dayna Evans is a writer. Find her on Twitter here.


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