I'd be a fool not to go, right? Even with airfare running $350 and a hotel which Michelle probably would finagle something cheap, I'm looking at $900. Add a couple days worth of food/merch and whatnots, then that's going to push me over the thousand dollar mark. Multiple that by two and it's a couple grand at the minimum.
Still, I tell myself, that's not a problem. We have a specified vacation savings fund and there is money in it, but it's earmarked for the Stone Roses concert in June. There is also a savings account designated for emergencies/household problems. When I log into my bank's website, I can see the amount in the latter account and my mind is already in the middle of the desert bouncing like a fool to whomever is on the stage.
It's time to make the call. I inhaled slowly, filling my lungs with oxygen enhanced hope as I dialed Michelle's work number. A plan of attack has been formulated, counterarguments prepared and even though she can't see me, puppy dog eyes at the ready. So confident am I, that I open my desk drawer to pull out a bottle of sunblock I keep at work in case I have to run home on bright day. "I'm going to need this," I laughingly tell myself.
The phone rings.
She answers. "Hi babe, what's up?"
I ask if she's sitting even though there is a 90% chance she already is. She's at work, not playing tennis after all. After she confirms that she is seated and, should the power of my news overwhelm her senses, she would not have far to fall.
Phase 1 (aka My List): List all the bands I am excited about. Don't give any context, just ramble off 40 band names, of which, she might have heard of eight. She's got better things to do with her life than follow every flash in the pan band the music promotion industry says are amazing. Sensing her bewilderment, I transition to phase 2.
Phase 2 (aka Her List): Again, mention those eight bands knowing that she really only likes four of them. "You like Wu Lyf," I'd argue. "They're the band that sounds like the singer is ripping his throat out." There is a moment of silence before she asks me what the call is all about. An outside observer might think she asked that because she's annoyed with me, but I know the truth: she's intrigued. With the fish on the hook, I hit her with phase 3.
Phase 3 (aka Hyperbolic Statements of Interest): I tell her it's the Coachella line-up and remind her, although I have never been and have told her that I really don't like the idea of concert festivals, that going this year is the single most important unresolved thing in my life right now. "You don't even like festivals," she'd say. "You get all ermy in crowds." She's clever, that wife of mine, so I hit with phase 4.
Phase 4 (aka Personal Improvement): 2012 is my year to tackle some of the things I've been putting off for a while: grad school, learning how to draw, expanding my culinary repertoire, going to wildly expensive concerts. See, the pre-2012 me would have said he hated going to shows with more than 250 people. Not because it's a scene thing, but more that he likes being able to see the band and, more importantly, easily navigate back and forth from the bar. However, that's all changed. I'm embracing throngs of people (not literally, I'm still working on my germ phobias.) Although I don't explicitly say it, I do suggest that not letting me attend the 2012 Coachella would be a hindrance to my self-improvement.
At this point, all my chips are in. I've played the excitement, intent and personal growth angles and there are no more phases left. No additional phases could possibly be needed.
Michelle, for her part, really only needs one phase:
Phase 1 (aka Reality): I should learn to be more judicious with my wants/needs, especially when it involves spending money. Either that, or I just need to find a job that pays me more than embarrassing so I have money to spend how I'd like. But, I work in a poorly paid industry and although job satisfaction is good, my paychecks aren't. No matter. We save, scrimp and cut coupons and still manage to lead a good life, materialistically and otherwise. With that bit of background, she scuttles my idea with a list of ways our money is already spent.
We need a new oven. We also need to have our driveway repaired, a fence put in and some hardcore landscaping I have zero intention of doing myself. Our hardwood floors should be refinished and the plaster walls could use some work. Those things are as fun as they are cheap. Those are practical purchases that improve an investment, not improve my social calendar.
It's easy, I invented a scale of how great spending money on home repair is:
And, yet, I hate myself a little bit a lot for even using the phrase "protect our investment." I do it, I'm responsible and, generally, don't sequester myself to a dark corner of the basement (the same one I where I wanted to put a sink) to throw a temper tantrum. That phrase is something people who bore me say but, as much as I want to deny the reality, I can't.
As anyone who has ever purchased a home knows, it's a stupidly expensive proposition. Even beyond the mortgage and interest/principle, there are all manner of repairs, all of which are boring. Dismally dull. So dreary are these expenditures that you might begin to resent the contractors doing the job. "Oh, they'll use this money to get drunk or go do something awesdome," you'd think.
But, on the other hand, I love my house. It's so lovely coming home to it, it's cozy rooms containing the memories of our lives. And there are lots of memories, mostly the good ones you tend to remember. If I were to do a graph showing the assets of these moments compared to potential memories of a concert festival, there would be no comparison. Three days can very rarely compare to eleven years.
The worst part of all this is that it makes Michelle feel like a kill-joy bringing it up. She feels like she's the one squashing my dreams and that isn't the case at all. The truth is, I would have come to that realization eventually. Unless you're the favored son of a dictator, chances are your days are filled with financial comparisons. Should I get the 40,000 mile maintenance package on the Mazda or should I buy a ticket to the West Coast? Do I need a $40 rib roast or will a pack of hamburger be alright?
I guess, for me, it's forcing me to be patient, to see how events unfold. Immediate gratification is still sexier than its delayed counterpart, but, when a moment which allows a bit of reflection presents itself, the payoff can be so rewarding.
That said, I'm buying a scratch off after work in hopes of using the proceeds for a ticket.
Coachella sucks unless you are a swell like Dita Von Teese or Keenue Reeves and that skinny trick from that Japanese Bill Murray movie who tried to sing Tom Waits tunes. If you are a normy it is hot expensive and the sound is bad. You're treated like cattle and there is no free love.
ReplyDeleteLike that cheerleader in high school, some things are better left to the mind and unrequited.
You make Coachella sound like flying Coach class.
DeleteI always think I'm going to be followed into the lavatory by some hot, young air waitress, but instead, I get to use it after some German named Eberhardt the Gaseous.
House stuff always needs doing, even if you spent the next 100 years doing bits around the house, the walls would need painting again and there would be something that needs attention. If you want it, why not?
ReplyDeleteCould always consider my good friend visa. You only live once as far as we know.
It goes without saying that I would be saying the complete opposite to my own husband. If he wanted to go, then of course I would be saying the same as your wife.
Gary has a fair point. Every festival is like that these days.
ReplyDeletePlus, the state of the latrines us, the proletariat are obliged to use, would make you literally fall apart and harbour an excrutiating turd for three days.
Not comfortable.