Finding Waldo

One more post before I get to the band review for the Hoot. I guess I just don't want to do that. Anyway, today is a take on those who weekend-warrior themselves into trouble. We call them "Waldo".

Who's Waldo?

One thing that seems to appear at every festival or jam-band parking lot is that one guy/girl that didn't know their psychic limitations and over indulged on something. Maybe it's a person standing way off by themselves screaming into the air, or a person passed out under a car, half-eaten hot-dog still in their hand or simply someone so messed up they are simply mumbling and drooling. Boo and I call this person "Waldo" in memory of the one such case that landed in our camp at the Black Sheep Family Reunion last Summer (See: Black Sheep Family Reunion).

Hoot
The 2015 Hoot had a Waldo too. Waldo and his girlfriend set up their tent near us that first day, and set immediately to drinking. I'm totally down with that. For a 3-day music festival, though, pacing is important and food is a necessity. They had neither, and quickly found themselves on the ugly side of the generally groovy support staff. Admonished multiple times, they were threatened to be kicked out of the festival for repeatedly peeing on the road rather than walking the shorter distance to the flush-toilet restrooms. Awesome. At one point, we spotted Waldo barely sitting upright on the hill so we gave him some water. He wasn't able to form words, but there was clearly gratitude on his face. We think they were ultimately kicked out because when we arose on Monday morning, they were already gone, though they had been raging the night before when we went to bed. Neat.

Like I said above, there's usually one at every festival. The Hoot is rare in that the indulgence is usually very low, and the crowd is calm. Don't get me wrong.. its a party, just the party-goers know their limitations. Except for the inevitable Waldo.

Four Peaks

I think the Four Peaks Music Festival was the exception that proved the rule: we couldn't find Waldo. There were lots of partiers. On that first night, we couldn't go more than 10 minutes without hearing someone shouting "One!... Two!... Three!... Four Peaks!" from the distance. Hilarious. There were plenty of Walking Dead in the camping zones in the morning, slowly shuffling from their respective bedrolls to the porta-potties or the food vendors. At no point, though, did we see anyone completely blotto, incoherent or out of control. Like all the other festivals we go to, there was a White Bird tent, so maybe the White Bird volunteers were able to find Waldo before we did. Maybe we just simply didn't venture out from Hapy enough to do a real search. I'll just go on believing that it was a festival of fest-hardy folk who knew their limitations, had a f-ing blast, but never got too over the top.

That's it for today. I'll keep searching for Waldo. Boo and I scored an unexpected invite to the NW String Summit, so it looks like there's at least one more festival for us this summer.. so, we'll have at least that one more opportunity to play "Where's Waldo".