Ironpalooza

I would rather have a urinary catheterization than go to an outdoor music festival. If I can help it, you won't find me within 500 miles of Bonaroo or Coachella or Godstock or Namblabonanza. Unfortunately, I couldn't help it on Sunday when my wife dragged me to The Mile High Music Festival.

Now, despite my Hebraic background, I'm not that cheap. Still, the thought of paying $85 a person (plus service charges, parking, overpriced hamburgers, and way overpriced beers) to stand on a giant field with 50,000 assholes in hundred degree weather seriously made me cringe. Luckily, I have friend who's deaf.

For some reason, in Colorado, if you're deaf, you get free concert tickets. Yes, it seems like a sick joke. However, when my deaf friend decided he wouldn't have any fun if he couldn't hear the music, I was more than happy to take his tickets. Seriously, if I would have paid two hundred bucks for the hell that was the next 7 hours, I would have killed somebody.

Anyway, when we arrived at Dicks Park (I'm not kidding about the name), I was directed to park in the North Lot. I had no idea that the North Lot was very North, like Wyoming North. Of course, they had no trams or golf carts or even wheelchairs. By the time we got to the entrance, I had logged a good 4 miles on my Birkenstocks. My feet were covered in blisters, I was sweating profusely, and yes, my taint was chafed. I was in no mood for a "rockin' good time". Of course, my wife was raring to go.

So, we signed our way through the handicapped entrance (we were supposed to be deaf, remember?) and we entered a sea of white people. At the prices they were charging, it's no wonder the Blacks and Mexicans stayed home (once again proving that minorities are smarter than Caucasians). Everywhere I looked, I saw faux-hawks and butt floss and concert T-shirts (including some that were bought that day -- the ultimate faux pas of concert style). I wore a shirt that that said "You Have Bad Taste In Music". That's right, I was wearing an ironic T-shirt, which is another faux pas of concert style, but it felt oh so good.

The lineup consisted of John Mayer, Dave Matthews, some shitty band I've never heard of, another shitty band I've never heard of, The Black Crowes, and yet another shitty band I've never heard of. You can imagine how stoked I was.

My wife thinks John Mayer is a dreamboat. So, that was the first show we attended. We were so far back that, even on the giant screens, John looked like a spec of dust. It wasn't his size that upset me though, it was his music. Within the first moments of hearing his Oprah-fied dirges, I felt like I was growing a clitoris. The only singer-songwriter I like is Cat Stevens. He became a Muslim. That's fucking tough. John Mayer is no match for Yusef Islam.

After that show, my body was not a wonderland. I was hot and tired. Luckily, my buddy who's paralyzed from the waist down rolled up. He had VIP passes for us. Court ordered community service finally paid off. In the VIP Lounge, I cracked my first smile. There was air conditioning, free booze, a masseuse, and a bidet. And, we were far from the masses I deplore so much. There was even somebody I could send into the trenches to get me a turkey leg. The only problem with the VIP Lounge was that eventually, we would have to leave the VIP Lounge.

Next up was The Black Crowes. I actually never minded them until Chris Robinson married Kate Hudson. That whole rockstar-starlet thing irks me. If he wasn't in The Black Crowes, Goldie Hawn's daughter would have called the police if she saw him smoking a joint anywhere near her Aspen lawn. Regardless, the show was pleasant enough, especially with one woman feeding me grapes, while another one gave me a pedicure. I've said it once and I'll say it again, court ordered community service rocks!

Time passed slowly. We saw one shitty band after another, while waiting for Dave Matthews. I can't believe I just wrote that. I actually waited for Dave Matthews!!! He plays music for white people who don't have a single creative bone in their body. It's like all of Dave Matthews's fans decide, "Y'know what? I'm done listening to good music. I'm just going to settle for crap." Well, I was stuck listening that crap. By the end, I felt like poking a scalpel into each of my ear drums (allowing me to to legally get free tickets for these horrible events).

Eventually, the day was over. I was ready for a bubble bath and a cup of warm milk. Before that though, I would have to trek four miles to the car with people who like Dave Matthews and John Mayer. Then, of course, I would have wait in traffic for four hours with those same purveyors of bad taste.

The saddest thing about the whole day was that I wasn't the only one who had a shitty time. It seemed that everybody expected it to be awesome, but their hopes were shattered by the crowds, exorbitant prices, scorching weather, and horrible music. Do yourself a favor - next time a big humungopalooza comes to your town, stay home and watch bowling on television. Believe me - you'll enjoy yourself a lot more.