Judging by the looks of people, everyone’s favorite thing to do at Electric Daisy Carnival — more than stare intensely at lights, more than dance wildly by themselves, more, even, than model fur boots — is to sweat.
That’s why the burning tree sculpture is so damn sadistic. It’s like a bug-zapper for partiers. Just when it lures you in with all those pretty, fiery lights, it somehow manages the near-impossible task of drying you out even more. We’d weep, but the tears were heat-blasted out of our skull about two hours ago.
The water stations, though, seem to be moving along nicely. Attendants wait, double-fisting hoses, for the thirsty horde to descend. Same, too, the cooling zones. There’s no waiting, they’re reasonably, well, cool, and they come conveniently equipped with a Heineken bar, should you happen to need to leave the Heineken Domes and feel strangely compelled to buy Dutch lager.
Speaking of buying stuff, vendors are wandering the crowds with trays of lemonade and the like. No one’s missing a chance to sell you something at every turn.