Weekly Volcano Blogs: Walkie Talkie Blog

June 1, 2006 at 8:55am

Sasquatched!

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Gingerknoxx_9 Permanent Lipstick by Ginger Knoxx
Editor's note: Ginger Knoxx went freakin' nuts with the word count this week.  The first part of her column is posted on the Weekly Volcano's Myspace site.  The remaining part â€" her adventures at Sasquatch! â€" follows below.  Enjoy.

Saturday, May 27
Just like Christmas morning, The Italian and I woke up way too early to jump in the car and drive the short distance from Moses Lake to The Gorge for Sasquatch! Festival. Breakfast, coffee, newspaper, shower, dance naked in the bathroom while pretending to sing into hairbrush to Madonna's "Like A Virgin" playing only in my head, and it was finally time to leave. Easy drive, easy park - although I want to know why it takes 23 kids in orange vests waving flags to guide cars one by one into rows in the grass in a highly visible area. Then the line. I said THE LINE. You stand and wait; the why has always eluded me. After looking at the sky and enjoying some people watching, I was bored. Aha! Press tent and will call here I come and good-bye long line. A scant two minutes in the will call line and we were in the next section of THE LINE. Lame. Talked to Pappi Swarner on my fancy new cell - it takes pictures - before the reception crapped out (that would be the last audio communication with him, little did I know). The Italian and I headed straight to the right after entering the (prison compound) Gorge and beelined it for the liquor garden. I just should have put a big sign on my forehead that read "Alky." We were the only people in there (no lines). I learned from last year - when Pappi, Matt D, Rob A and I saw Pearl Jam for my birthday - that the booze that actually makes it into the mixed drink cup is much less than what you get as a shot, so I went the neat way and couldn't believe how freakin' watery that vodka tasted. I paid $8 for watered down liquor served in a plastic thimble. Hell has a place for those folks. We switched to Molson Tall Boys ($8.25 each, choke) and headed for the main stage and British export band Gomez. The Italian happened to spy GO MUSIC strolling by, and even as loudly as I can yell, he still didn't hear me so we had to go track his laptop toting "I can't drink yet. I'm working" ass down and make him come watch with us from the middle of the floor smack dab in front. Gomez was great! Bummed a little because they didn't play some of our favs, but it was stellar to see them live. They've never gotten the attention they deserve. The sun beat down on the top of my head, and my black backless shirt was hot enough to burst into flames. More beer please. Oh, you only take cash? Here you go. That's a 20 - why's my change $3? - oh right, $8.25 a beer. Guzzle and repeat till our wallets were empty of greenbacks. Chain smoke. Guzzle. Chain smoke while in line for 35 minutes for the ONLY ATM INSIDE THE GORGE. No exaggeration here, folks. I am now such good friends with the girl behind us in line that I'm in her wedding party this July.
The ATM line ran right in front of the PETA booth. A patchouli smelling acolyte tried to pawn anti-meat stickers off to her captive audience. Most were noncommittal and just took them to get her to move on with her tireless rant of Meat is Murder - Nothing With A Face. When she came to us and extended one to me I straight up told her I didn't want her sticker because I love steak and I love eating meat and that we just got a brand-spanking-new gas grill for our backyard and we intend to grill flesh on it every single day this year until it's too frozen outside to turn the monster on. I was blabbering, giggling, half shouting, and I totally didn't care. People were laughing either with me or at me - again, totally didn't care. The sun became my ultimate enemy as we were out of beer, cash, and there was no shade in sight, and we were still 15 people back in line. We had moved only three feet. I wished death on the people in front of us, the idiot who thought one ATM inside and two outside The Gorge was a good idea, and the fools at House of Blues for being such money grubbing bastards that they won't put in real toilets because the cost is prohibitive. I got two fingers in the air for you guys, and they are not my thumbs!
Finally, it was our turn at the cash teat. It gave me only $20 and promptly displayed a Call Attendant-Error Message. The damn thing ran out of moolah. I turned around to look at the snaking line of sad sacks waiting their turn and tried to drop out of sight. You don't want to be singled out as the loud-mouthed meat eater who drained the ATM. Food was now mandatory. Swimming vision sucks. The Italian went to handle getting more brewskis, and I snagged some steak and chicken dinners (yeah meat!) for us. Right about this time, Pappi Swarner, Matt D. and his chick, Jennifer Ph.D., rolled up on us as I was licking barbecue sauce off my hand and The Italian was getting worked by a just-turned-21 college girl (go Italian, see you ain't old). We said our hellos, talked all at once, congratulated Matt D. on how fine his girl was and then parted ways with different musical desires taking us in opposite directions. That was the last we saw of them. Cell service absolutely blew, and we hadn't made a plan to meet at a designated time. SOL. Back in the refilled ATM line (what? It was hot, and we drank our money away fast), the PETA girl came around again, and it was more than I could take. I ducked out of line for frozen candy bars and bottled water that I could pay for with my Visa card. Fast-forward about three or four hours and The Italian is beating on the car window trying to wake my drunk ass up. The car, grass and everything was covered in marble size hail. He was drenched, pissed and freezing. Said The Gorge became mayhem when the downpour started; the music stopped, and people ran and crammed under every and any available overhang. People used picnic benches to build forts and had thoughts of rushing merch vendors for a warm, or at least dry, shirt or hoodie. This was not the festival I waited three f'ing years to attend. Every year The Gorge has more rules, costs more, and is more of a letdown. It was bullshit. We bounced. 

Give me a wink and a kiss here.  Knoxx knows.

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