Sigh. But I'm not going.
Cost was a factor but not really. The early bird three-day passes sold out a year ago for a measly 135 clams, and I'm quite sure I've since spent much more than that drugging myself with Blue Bell's glorious Rocky Road ice cream (my primary sleep agent) and gallons of Lone Star beer (my secondary). But I'm still not going. That's 135 dollars (185 by regular admission) that I could use toward my black sea of college debt or, even better, the Orion Sky Quest XT8i Computerized Intelliscope I plan on buying in order to search the heavens for signs of God or extraterrestrials or my parallel self staring back. I figure amateur stargazing is much more important than aging grunge bands or repaying that spider woman, Sallie Mae. So please, if you go to the ACL Fest this year, keep your goddamned stories of how plush the new irrigated turf was on your bare feet to yourself, and don't update your Facebook or Twitter status with which stage you're walking to either because I'll drive to your vacant home and lay a dead animal on your doorstep.