Tuesday, May 9

Sunday

BSMF Sunday was a pretty good time. I say pretty good because I didn't see anyone to get too excited about. Eisley was pretty good, and I was impressed that they were able to hit all those harmonious high notes. I caught some of Robert "Wolfman" Belfour right about the time I got a call from my brother, who was there with some friends. He hunted me down and proceeded to pester me to buy his 18-year-old ass some beer. I am not going to incriminate myself by saying that I did. Four times. I ate a big salty pretzel and drank a SoCo Hurricane, sat down for about 20 minutes of Booker T and the MGs, and then went to look at hippy dippy shit to buy. (I got a sarong and two square paper lanterns.) I had to pee and, upon exiting the port-a-potty, tried to leap over the mush and mud and slipped, nearly falling face-first into it. I am totally fucking awesome.

Ashley, my daylong companion, wanted to see Yellowcard at 7, so we hung out near the back of the gathering crowd so as to have an escape route. She watched, happy to finally be entertained by someone she'd heard of, and I sort of spaced out and watched the kids do their weird kid thing. God, how did I manage to get so out-of-touch so quickly? Youth scares me. I also spent some time marveling at how much their crazy extreme violinist reminds me of Poindexter's triumphant electrofiddling in Revenge of the Nerds.

We didn't stick around for Blues Traveler (meh) or James Brown because by that time, we were red-faced (I have a delightful set of tan lines thanks to the purse strap I wore across my chest), tired, and — speaking for myself — a little cranky and in need of some me time.

So, yes, it was fun. Despite drinking two hurricanes and a couple of beers (yeah, you read that right — BEER, motherfuckers, ugh!) I never quite caught a buzz. I didn't have enough money to drink much more. The weather was nearly perfect — it was overcast and pretty cool and not too wet. It got crazy crowded by the end of the night, but during most of the day it wasn't too bad. I saw a lot of dumb T-shirts and even two women (girls?) walking around wearing black leather bustiers on top of white T-shirts. Fashion forward, as always.

I doubt I'll climb all over myself to go next year unless there's a band I care anything about. I went, I saw, I witnessed people get powdered sugar all over their pants. Success.

And now I can't stop thinking of BAMF when I see BSMF.

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