"Your feckin' right, man."

Thanks for backin' me up, Ozz-man. When we first arrived, we made an earnest attempt to tailgate... we really did. True, it was 12:30 in the afternoon, and the conditions of the parking area for the PNC Arts Center could adequately be compared to the surface of Planet Mercury. It was so effin' hot. I made it through half of a positively gargantuan sandwich I bought back in Astoria, and a couple of Coors Lite. I was still on my second wind, but I could feel some weariness creeping into my old bones... so I tried to stay focused.

Ron was so cool to talk to. 53 years old and still rockin' out. He had a lot of great stories about all the shows he's been to. He was telling us all about seeing The Doors, Queen, Ozzy, and The Who. But he was still as giddy as we were over the prospect of catching the legendary foursome from Birmingham kicking our ever-luvin yankee asses all over the New Jersey countryside. We were so positively stoked.

We finally decided to bag the faltering tailgating venture and head into the grounds. After slathering on about 8 gallons of SPF 3 Billion sunscreen, I joined them at the outskirts of the second stage of Ozzfest, where some of the smaller bands performed a series of 45-minute sets. Mastodon and As I Lay Dying really surprised me, and I made sure to keep poking Louie in the arm, reminding him about all the songs he's going to have to burn for me. I was fairly impressed with those bands, but it was Killswitch Engage that really made me a believer. I'm definitely excited to see what they have in store for the future.

Breathing in the happy vapors common to all rock concerts... (can't quite place the smell... it's not exactly tobacco... but it puts you in a very mellow mood indeed!) I positioned myself about 10 feet in front of the stage, awaiting Rob Zombie to arrive. I had never been on the floor for Zombie. So I was excited to experience Zombie up close. The floor was pretty brutal, and I was quickly reminded why I don't go onto the floor too often, as cretinous crowd surfers crashed over and through the audience members at the front of the stage. I found my thoughts slowly and irrevocably moving towards murder...

A little sidenote, here: I absolutely loathe crowd surfers. I find the act incredibly inconsiderate, rude, and selfish. Not only are they inconveniencing other audience members by expecting them to pick up and carry their filthy, sweaty body, but they're physically endangering others by landing on unsuspecting people's backs, heads, necks, and faces, either with their appendages or their frickin' heavy-ass boots. When I was seeing Metallica at Woodstock '99, I was wearing my glasses (long story). I was five feet in front James Hetfield... and having the time of my life... when SLAM!! a dumb-ass teenager with giganto boots lands squarely on the back of my neck, sending my glasses flying into the darkened abyss of stamping feet and churning bodies of the crowd. After frantically and vainly trying to find them amid the tumult of the mosh pit... I ended up experiencing the rest of Woodstock '99 half-blind. All because of a god-damned crowd surfer.

And now, I take it upon myself, as a personal vendetta, to assault any crowd surfer that comes my way to the best of my ability. In the past, I've torn off sneakers and hats, and thrown them out into the crowd, I've sidestepped crowd surfers and allowed them to fall headfirst to the ground, and basically do everything in my power to sour their rude and self-centered experience of crowd surfing.

Well, Rob Zombie's set was no different. I quite satisfactorally punched one guy squarely in the nuts, and performed a DDT on another moronic sap that had the misfortune to come my way. This dufus had it coming, as he kicked me in the face as he was coming by. I managed to get my right arm over his midsection, and then dropped all 230 of my pounds toward the ground.

That was a very satisfying thud, indeed.

Maybe you think I'm vicious. Maybe you think I've taken this too far. Perhaps. But please refrain from judgement until you've had some sweaty, drunken, former-high school-football player land on your head while you're trying to sing along to one of your favorite bands that you paid good, hard-earned money to go see.

Be that as it may... I was thoroughly exhausted by the end of Zombie's set. So was Rob. He had some great lines:

"Man, it's hot. You know what I see? A lot of pale white guys that are getting a really bad sunburn. Hey you, buddy! You, in all black. How often do you go to the beach? I'm guessing 'never.' What the hell are you doing out in the sun? And you! Count Chocula! How often do you go to the beach? I think I'm going to petition to have Ozzfest in December. What do you guys think?"