Siren Festival Brings Forth Much Yuppie Fruit

This past weekend was the Siren Festival at Coney Island.  It yielded much fruit, most notably a tan so un-even I thought I had Vitiligo, a hilarious text-message from a friend that read: "I'm in the VIP trying to get an energy drink. This is the lamest text I've ever sent," and lastly, a plethora of Brooklyn yuppies to hate and then some.

Yes, yes, yes.  I am often hateful toward yuppies (especially those that would otherwise not be where I am but are because we happen to like the same things which causes me to have an identitty crisis).  However, the yuppies that were at the Siren Festival just a few days ago were a rare breed.  Why? 1. They were old as fuck.  2.  They were not cool.  Not even in the slightest.  We're talking painfully uncool, here, the kind of people who used to be the kids in that movie Spellbound.  Whenever I am troubled by the people surrounding me, I make sure to ask myself why.  I followed the same practice here.  I wasn't troubled because they were chic and wealthy and at the same music festival.  I was troubled because they were frightfully dorky in a real nineties kind of way.  These were the kids from grammar school that weren't just bespectacled or un-athletic, but also unable to grasp that "Dr." was an abbreviation for "doctor" and not pronounced "Durrrrr."

My lady friend and I were dressed in bathing suits, tank tops and shorts (because it's the goddamn beach, people) but these thirty-somethings looked like they'd packed for a three day vision quest through Appalachia.  If the Siren Festival were held in the desert, maybe I'd understand the giant his and hers Columbia backpacks, but come on, I packed less for Burning Man.  Oh wait, I take that back, they probably wanted to pack a box of wet-wipes, a couple of Nalgenes and a pair of aqua socks just in case.

In the morning, she probably asked him, "Honey, do you think I should pack the aqua socks?"

He answered: "God no, you don't actually think we're going in the water, do you? I mean, it's of the Q train, not the LIRR."

She laughed, "Oh, you thought I meant to go in the WATER. I just meant in case we wanted to put our flat feet on the sand an didn't want to step on an AIDS riddled hypodermic needle! Ahahahahah, we're so happy. Put on that Islands record again so we can get amped."

While they blocked my view with their unbelievable squareness, I even felt a tinge of retroactive sadness for them. If we had been children together, I would have called the guy a real L-seven weenie. But wait. Just as the violinist and violist were about to hit that big chord in the "The Arm," I noticed that they were playing rock paper scissors (they probably call it rochambeau) along with the tempo. Oh. My. Fuck. Rock paper scissors? You're blocking my view and you're playing rock paper scissors? Any benevolence I had vanished. I thought awful and murderous thoughts. My blood boiled. And just as I lowered my sunglasses to give them a good ole fashioned "oh puhlease," the guy high-fived another guy. Wait a minute....there are more? They have friends like them?

Surely enough, they did. It turns out, they couple I had ardently disliked for literally minutes were on a double date with the couple next to us. Now this couple- this couple was a horse of a different color. Sure, the horse was still from Greenpoint, but on it's hooves were a different set of horseshoes. From the head-down, I was able to gather that these were their fashionable friends, the friends that probably introduced these yokels to music in the first place. They guy: an Obama pin, a Greenpoint pin (ahh vindication), a straw fedora, a Hawaiian shirt and Merrells. The girl: a vintage, cotton dress (the ass of which the guy kept tugging at- consequently tapping my arm every time), and high-heeled sandals. High-heeled sandals to the beach; she must read "Nylon's" quick tips for looking taller.

Now before this all seems like I hate people just because they were things poorly or wear poorly designed things that suit them, I should whittle it down to this: The first couple nearly charmed their way in to my heart, that is, before they played hand games and kissed every two seconds. But the second couple- who undoubtedly indoctrinated their lovable dweeb friends with their yupster ways- the second couple represents a larger problem: the scourge of Philistines that attend lots of fun events, yet seem to have zero fun at all of them. The whole time, these pairs were distracted by their dedication to their mates, troubled by how hot it was and ultimately uninterested in the music. Who goes to Coney Island in 100 degree weather just because the Village Voice says so? Hell, even I felt old among all the thirteen year-olds- what did these crowns feel like? By the end of the day, I had nearly forgotten these fools. I think I sweated so much I actually started to sweat out the bile in me, too. Also I got a pretzel, and that will neutralize even the biggest ring-tailed bitches. But I made sure to make a note of it, made sure not to forget it all, partly because I never want to become that and also because I jokingly said, "Man, have so much to blog about."

So there you have it. At least they didn't have kids, right? Oh wait, they're probably "trying." Ewwww.