So, other than the Mitch Hedberg in the car ride, the death of a perfectly good phone, me helping the groundscrew pick up garbage while sobering up during the Shins, and my long lonely run to the bus to get back to camp after the Flaming Lips, I think I covered Saturday as well as possible.
Well, except for the Capri Suns.
Oh, everyone in my party mocked my inclusion of that fruity pouched drink, even going so far as to keep a tally on my left forearm complete with bosomy stick figured upside down face courtesy of Kari. She knows how I like my stick womens.
Anyway, when I got back from the Flaming Lips, I was stumbling back to camp. Not from alcohol - that had exited my body hours ago - but from complete and utter dehydration. I only had a cup of hot chocolate and a small bottle of water to tide me over those last handful of hours, not to mention the after-effects of prolonged alcohol drinking. My body was failing fast. Luckily I had the refreshing sweetness of my last two Capri Suns to keep me stable until morning.
Poop one occurred sometime around 7 or 8am, after Sarah entered the Suburban and noticed not my slumbering body in the back seat. After freaking her out with my freakish sight, I took to my package of carrot sticks for nourishment. Tempered that with peanut butter Oreos and more spicy Doritos, then it was time to drink.
So, I think I made it to 10am before I started drinking, but I can't be sure. We hung around camp for a few hours, me getting toasted on the last of my Jack & Coke before switching to Vodka-Select (that being the Safeway Cola variety). Hammered a few more of those down and it was time to boogie, sometime around 3pm.
Caught the Arctic Monkeys for their big single and not much else. Actually, there very well could've been more, but by that time Joe, Maddie and I were all smoking cigarettes and drinking out of my smuggled alcohol container. It was time for The Decemberists, so Gretchen and Sarah (the sober-er ones) led the way.
OK, so we lost Joe and Maddie, but never fear. Once inside the pit area, I told Sarah and Gretchen I'd go find them. I just ended up sitting down outside the pit, drinking my alcohol and smoking my cigarettes until they happened by complete chance to walk by. The three of us entered the pit again, right before the show would start, so we were stuck in the back area. That would be the last I'd see from Sarah on Sunday.
After we rocked out to The Decemberists and met up with Joe's old roommate from years ago, I told them I'd go out and buy more soda for my alcohol. I assumed I'd have either Joe or Maddie following me. No dice. I turn around at the concession stand and no one's there. Then I realize I'm powerfully low on cigarettes, so I made the long trek to the convenience booth.
And they were out. And I bought that damned chaw. And I damn near threw up. But still, I couldn't find my party. I returned to the pit for Matisyahu, was absolutely blown away. A little over halfway through his set, the skies opened up and a rainbow shone down on the horizon to my right. I couldn't tell what was being said from the stage, but I'm sure it was uplifting and somewhat religious.
I left after Matisyahu to go piss, still not able to find anyone, then went BACK to the pit for Queens of the Stone Age.
Now, all day I'd been wearing my black, long-sleeve Pearl Jam shirt around my head like a turban. It was to keep the sun out, but I also felt cool in it, so fuck off! Also, I had my blue rain jacket (the one I purchased for Costa Rica) tied around my waist. Keep that in mind, because they would both be lost by the time Queens of the Stone Age said their goodbyes.
I decided, "What the fuck, I've never been in a real mosh pit before; why not throw down with some uglies?" Drunk logic. Right before they started playing, I'd just finished the rest of my alcohol. It was party time. But, I've still yet to be in a real mosh pit, as this was more "Everybody rush the stage, push against your neighbor as hard as you can, and half-ass fucking crowd surf because you're all idiots." One time, some kid fell down ON my fucking head and I heard my neck crack in about 7 different places. After that, I had at least one arm up protecting my head for the rest of the show. I was crushed pretty good, but there was no real violence involved. My glasses were bumped from my head a couple times, but that's about it.
So, I understand losing the shirt/hat/turban, but fuck, I had that jacket tied around my WAIST! Maybe I didn't double-knot, but come on.
So, after that show, I was sweaty and spent. On my way out of the pit, I saw Bianca and someone who COULD'VE been her friend. She would later tell Sarah, "Yeah, I saw Steve. He was WASTED!" I told Bianca I had to go, I was losing articles of clothing left and right.
Went to pee, then settled in the back of the pit area again for Death Cab. I'd seen them before, twice actually (once with Sarah at the Paramount that was VERY spectacular), and they didn't disappoint. But, after that, I was dying. My body was caving in on itself. I couldn't stand anymore, so I sat in the way-back of the pit area against the fence and awaited my eventual passing out.
And, like a beacon from Heaven, Gretchen happened to walk by me! I said hello in between bobbing my head in and out of my crotch, barely clinging to consciousness. She stood by me, the good friend she is, saying she lost people during the Queens show I think. Anyway, the last act was coming up, and I was taking every opportunity to sit until he came on stage.
Beck. Beck and Puppetron! Puppets, dressed like the bandmembers, all playing along with the actual band, on a video screen (and on the stage as well). That was sweet.
And, as soon as Beck took the stage, I was up on my feet and jumping up and down again! It was a miracle!
OK, not really, I was touch and go for a while. Some songs I'd feel like a million bucks, some songs I only felt like a hundred. Some songs I was in debt again, it was really weird. But, by the end, the worst was past.
Oh, and for anyone who cares, after Beck, I hung around for about 15 minutes scouring the bottom of the pit area for my shit. I found my Pearl Jam shirt in a heap (and a pronounced funk), but the jacket was lost. I'm pissed, I was gonna use that jacket a shitload this summer!
We made the march to the bus, waited for two bus-loads to fill up and take people to camp (while I'm freezing since I lost both my shirt and my jacket). Luckily, we got behind some people Gretchen knew and they lent me a grass-filled blanket. Hey, it was warm and dry, I'd take it.
The night ended with Gretchen and I, head-to-foot in her tent, both of us freezing and me trying desperately not to wake the entire camp with my snoring.
Again, up at 7am on Monday, an hour later we were gone. Taco Time on the way home; got stoned; Taco Del Mar in West Seattle; got stoned some more; Pagliacci Pizza for dinner; got stoned some more; and passed out.
I'm out of weed now, but Jake's cousin will get us more. Not this weekend, but the next. A 40-sack. FINALLY, someone up there likes me!
Right now, I'm in a state of perpetual calm. I finished "A Confederacy of Dunces," and now I'm on to "Dr. Sax" by Jack Kerouac. Reading like a FIEND. Not writing much lately, though. I think my brain just needed a refill of new literature to absorb some new spectrums.
I'm out like gout