I was feeling a little deflated after a rough run in the morning heat and post third iced coffee, was nearly ready to tackle the Googs.
After a long walk to the festival site, dreaming of how the day would unfold in drunken, satiated splendor, I saw the line to get into the festival grounds. I was apprehensive, but hopeful. Little did I know that that line would be the (second) most pleasurable Mooga experience of the day.
Once I got in, I went straight for the port-a-potties. NO LINE! Score. Used tampon on the seat. Fail. I quickly cleared my bladder in anticipation of filling up on beer, eyes closed to avoid the unsightly mess (pretty early in the day for utter portapotty destruction).
My friends and I did a walk around. Realizing that there was a three line minimum for alcohol – post entry and port-a-potty lines – I accepted that I was gonna tackle this experience sober. No booze, on to food. I ordered some souvlaki. Meat on a stick. Simple, elegant, fast food – enjoyed by our forefathers’ forefathers. Those lessons have been passed down generation after generation to the point where cooking meat on a stick is genetically imprinted in us all so even the lowliest of vegan can handle the process.
35 minutes later, I realized that my brain was cooking in my head, I still did not have my meat on a stick, my friend was gone, never to return and I could get any of the food served at Mooga-land in Williamsburg, on my own terms, with alcohol.
After I left, feeling dejected, sober and dehydrated, I realized that my favorite part of Googa Mooga was the part where I told the security guard “No thanks, I don’t need a reentry ticket.”
And so it was.