So, it is no secret that I love times eleventy seeing shows, live music is healing and thrilling, and I will totally travel for fab concerts.
Will stand in the rain for hours and hours, no food or sitting, fending off doofuses
(http://www.iwantanintern.com/2012/10/dude-wheres-my-car-phone-friend-and.html) if awesome music is happening.
But get this?
While onslaught of weather and mud -
No onslaught of a bit of food or water -
Total onslaught of doofuses -
is something I am happy to deal with, if the end result, after an hour and a half of dragging filthy, muddy, starving self out of festival park is the assured access to lovely hotel room with shower, food, bed, NO DOOFUSES.
Totally worth it.
So when I see a lineup for a music festival that has, like, every band I either love, love love, or fifty eleventy love on it?
I am in one second emailing Matt and my Bestest Music Friend Ever K and her cool husband to plan a road trip.
Except, those three people are smarter than me.
In like, 10,000 ways, but in this case, they investigated the lodgings around this delightfully flush with awesome music festival.
And there is a glaring omission in the lodgings offerings.
No hotels. At all.
The choices are this:
First, I am a reluctant camper.
I have, and will camp, if I have to.
I have done several Girl Scout camping trips in the last few years.
And while I adore the absurd puppet shows and love saving girls' ponytails with my beauty products, I actually do not like the camping part.
Tarps and shacks and tents and moldy bedthings are not my first choice.
However, the Park Ranger with the ridiculous accent and sluggish manner was no Giant Lineup Of Indie Bands I Love.
So, maybe the camping would be okay, if excellent music and friends and fun included?
I camped on my Beloved Cross Country Road Trip after college.
We even camped in the WORLD'S SMALLEST THREE PERSON TENT EVER.
In the heat.
At the Grand Canyon.
And I lived to tell the tale.
Granted, I tried very hard to convince my friends that half of our cooler space should be reserved for my makeup bag so it did not melt.
They did not humor me on this.
And they remember it, and bring it up, but whatever.
Anyone knows you put your makeup bag in a cooler if your only other choice is a car baking in the 900 degree Arizona summer "dry heat."
So, maybe camping is not my thing.
2. But Glamping?
That is totally not even an actual word, or activity. No such thing.
That is MADE UP.
By people who have been watching too much Glee and think anything can be mashed up together.
Glamourous and Camping do not mash up.
They are polar opposites.
I mean, the New York Times has an aspirational photo of Glamping, which is very British Royal Family Goes On Safari, with the 50 staff members out of the picture holding peeled grapes, umbrellas, and other necessities.
That is not the worst thing I ever saw, but I am suspicious that whatever is not shown in this image involves mudslides, Port A Potties, and Doofuses.
And I am wise to be suspect.
Because the music festival's definition of Glamping is:
That is totally not the same thing.
And where exactly, is the Glam part of Glamping?
Not the red solo cup/tank top scene I am seeing.
That is because Glamping is not a real thing.
And though these affable fellows have a flower on their table, which is a nice touch, I am not sold.
And clicking my heels together, wishing on a star, and saying chants is not producing a Four Seasons, or a Three Seasons, or really, any season other than Suspiciously Terrifying Buggy Muddy Doofus Riddled Season.
I will keep trying to magically make an option that does not have a variation of camping, or made-up pretend subterfuge disguises for the exact same thing as camping involved.
Totally could use that intern right about now, just saying.