Coachella 2- Touching Down

The only issues of the weekend came shortly after arriving in Long Beach. Jon and Elliot had a car calamity so they weren't there to meet me. The car rental agency wouldn't rent me a vehicle because, and I quote, "We are big meanies and we hate you." Long Beach Airport closed so I had to wait outside for several hours. And I had a phone conversation which ranks in the Top Five "Jesus, that sucks" calls of my life.

Even after Elliot arrived in his bruised and battered Honda, limping up curbside on a suspicious-looking donut, things didn't immediately improve. Why? Well even though I didn't get much of a chance to explore, I decided LA is exactly as shallow and ugly as I always suspected. If it looks like crap and feels like crap...

It wasn't until the next morning, on the road with the Milkman, headed for the Coachella desert in the blazing SoCal sun, that I started to feel the fog lift. We were about to see a bumper crop of the best bands in the world. Who could stay grumples?