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Dear Coachella,

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You know we love you, but we think it's time for us to break up.

In the last two months LAist probably had more stories (38), pictures, and videos about Coachella and its artists than even Pitchfork, Stereogum, or the LA Times. But unlike those fine publications, we also gave our readers tips on how to best enjoy themselves, where to eat on the drive in, how to get into secret shows, and we even made a mix tape.

However after Friday night, we sold our tickets for Saturday and Sunday's shows in the parking lot for a deep discount and vowed never to come back until either things change drastically (which we highly doubt from the hugely successful festival that has now expanded to two weekends to accommodate country fans during next weekend's Stagecoach), or until we become filthy rich enough to afford it.

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Our first mistake was leaving the house at 2pm and thinking that the 132 mile journey from Hollywood to Indio wouldn't take more than four hours. Ha! It took 6 hours which meant we missed a bunch of acts including the reunited Jesus and Mary Chain.

Fair enough, our bad. And it was our bad that all the parking near the event was filled, so we hiked two miles from the parking lot in the dust field and curved around this place and that place and then alllll the way around the front parking lot to get searched. We had never been groped so, uh, completely, in all our concert-going-days.

Do people coming to see Bjork headline a show need such a once-over? We were later told by people who arrived as the gates opened that the lines to get in at that hour were heinously long, mostly due to the tight security.

But the last straw came when we were confronted with the $7 slice of pizza.

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Now it's true, we are a tad older than the typical demographic that Goldenvoice & AEG probably market to, so maybe the kids today are used to being bent over and fucked in the ass with a $7 slice, but we aren't. Especially after driving in the heat, and paying hundreds of dollars for tickets, and being given the alternative of a $6 wooden stick with some chicken on it.

Don't get us wrong, LAist has love for Goldenvoice, AEG, outdoor festivals, Indio, capitalism, and the free market, which is why we will do our best to restrain ourselves in telling all of them where they can shove their $7 slice, and just leave it to the idea that maybe we're just too old for this shit.

However, what kid has $7 for a slice?

Now the hotel situation in Palm Springs is so bad with $99 rooms going for three- and four-times that price, which means that unless you want to spend $600-$1000 simply for lodging, you either commute from LA or pitch a tent.

And if you're cool with paying someone $45 to let you camp out on their grass in an area where you cant bring in your own booze and you have to park miles away to haul your crud to the campsite, then you truly are a more evolved person than we are. And you probably dont have the high tolerance to alcohol that we do, or the habit of drinking as much as we do when we camp.

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Do we love the bands? Of course. Coachella brings great bands. We wouldn't have picked the Red Hots, but you could do a lot worse. We'd like a tad more hip hop and metal, but we understand how that might attract an element that, well, actually would tell you where to stick your $7 slices.

We love the crazy art, we love the crazy shit to play with and trip out to and eat shrooms around and stare at. We love the vibe and the people who attend.

It's just a royal pain in the ass to get to, stay at, and afford.

So we're out.

Fortunately we live in a city where we can see these bands any number of times in much more intimate venues that aren't outside in triple digit temperatures.

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See ya in the pit,

LAist

photo of the Do LaB (top) courtesy of The Do LaB, photo of Bjork by Susannah Tantensapya via Buzznet