Coachella 2011: Hello, I will be your constant companion for the next 72 hours


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Hello, friend. I am your security bracelet for Coachella. You may know my distant relative, HAL 9000. Do not be alarmed at my presence.

For the next 72 hours, I will be attached to your wrist, through rock ‘n’ roll shows, showers that wash off the desert dust and sunscreen (only to return tomorrow), pool party rendezvous, an ill-advised tangle with the CoolHaus ice-cream truck, sleeping (if you get to partake in such a thing) and anything else you do while in Indio. (And don’t worry, I don’t judge... nor do I tweet or blog or talk to your mother, much.) Stare into my hypnotizing blue eye...


....yesssssss. I know things about you: That you were born in California. That you enjoy the contoured blues of the Black Keys. That you once saw a cat with six-fingered paws. Imagine that!

OK, I don’t know all that. I made it all up. All I know is that you bought a ticket for Coachella 2011, and my microchip will help you get into the festival. When you swipe me against a gate at the entrance, I allow entry into Coachella’s palatial entertainments, its bounty of rock treasures, people-watching (whoa, a guy in blue face makeup and a yellow cape! A girl in furry knee-high boots! Six beautiful blonds riding in on tricycles!), tempting food trucks, chill-out tents, fans blowing sweet cold mist, and architectural contraptions that pop and blink and whirl.

Welcome, my friend. Enjoy the desert magic, and protect me well.


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-- Margaret Wappler