Last week, the outdoor horror that is the Taste Of Minnesota returned for another long weekend of greasy food and free music, and I woke up on Saturday fully intending to go see Blue Öyster Cult. I had been planning on it for months, and had even recruited Joejung to accompany me. Because if doing something stupid (like seeing Blue Öyster Cult) is fun, doing something stupid with Joejung is even better. But when I woke up that day, I was cranky. It was hot out! And I had to haul it down to the riverfront to see Blue Öyster Cult. It was the very first time I had ever felt burdened by my web site. "I want to stay home, but I have to go to work." I didn't even bother to call Joejung because I was too crabby to talk to people I like.
Part of the inconvenience factor of my planned trip stemmed from the new festival location. It used to be on the grounds of the capital on the north side of downtown St. Paul. That meant I could park at the giant Sears store for free, run across the street and see some music. No fuss, and certainly no muss. This year I had to check the festival's (horribly designed) web site to see where I could park. The festival was now on the south side of downtown, on a freaking island. No free parking anywhere nearby! Aargh! The site suggested parking in a ramp and then "hopping a trolley" to cross the river. What? Things I don't do include hop trolleys.
I lucked out and got street parking five or six blocks from the bridge I needed to cross, so I didn't have to entertain the trolley idea for a single second. But I did have to walk five or six blocks in stifling, oppressive heat. I don't live in Minnesota for the disgusting summers. I live here for the three seasons that are leather jacket weather. I like the extra pocket space I have available when I wear my jacket. Anyway, it was hot. Did I wear shorts? No, I don't own any. I don't wear shorts for the same reason I don't wear my a-ha shirt. My pasty white skin is best viewed through a pinhole in a paper plate, or you could experience severe corneal damage.
So in blue jeans, black t-shirt, and black boots, I set off to see Blue Öyster Cult. Walking over the river, I took note of the fact that the bridge sloped very steeply downhill, therefore the return trip to my car would begin with a nasty uphill walk. It was also downhill to the grounds, meaning not one, but two uphill climbs. Not good. Not only was it eighty-five degrees (Fahrenheit) with a blazing sun, I have a fairly poor fitness level. I'm going to go out on a limb and suggest that if my diet consisted of more than cigarettes and diet cola, walking uphill wouldn't scare me so much. But I think I'll blame the heat exclusively.
Since I had scrutinized the map of the grounds when I was looking for parking, I also knew where the stage that contained Blue Öyster Cult was located. I headed in that general direction, making note of the fact that lots of guys who looked like Blue Öyster Cult fans (moustaches and mirrored sunglasses) were going the same way. Sure enough, I came to a large clearing, and there was the stage. And not a lick of shade to be seen anywhere. There was one giant tree way, way back from the stage but people had already planted lawn chairs under it. No shade for me! And I was getting sweaty!
It was about 5:00 (the scheduled set time) but Blue Öyster Cult hadn't gone on yet so that gave me a chance to lurk around. I was looking for signs of the Cowboy, Richie Cunningham, and/or CEB, because they had been very excited about being able to see Blue Öyster Cult for free. I prowled around the outskirts of the crowd, and after about thirty seconds started wondering if I should even bother staying. It was too hot to smoke. If it's too hot to smoke, that means it's too freaking hot. I stopped to ponder my situation, and just then I felt it. One single drop of sweat rolling down my spine into my lower back. That decided it right there. Spine sweat=time to leave.
I was once again passing the large tree when some ominous keyboards started. I stopped immediately. Should I stay? Should I? The keyboards were awfully ominous! Then the announcer, in a big booming announcer voice, said, "Do you know why we're here?" and I started thinking, "Oh, please say 'to rock.' Please say 'to rock.' Please, please, please say that you are here to rock and I will stay." But the announcer never did say why they were here. Instead, he introduced, "From New York City, the (Some superlative. I can't remember if it was incomparable, or amazing, or what.) Blue Öyster Cult!"
They kicked into some song that I don't know and I went back to wondering if I should leave. A light breeze blew by at that very moment and it almost fooled me into feeling less sweaty. But it was still clear to me that I was losing liquid at such a rapid rate, if I sat through a set that lasted an hour I would turn into a Rocksnobs Raisin right there at the Blue Öyster Cult show. So I had to make the choice. If I stayed, I would have to go buy a beverage. Since I was at a food-oriented festival, you can't just go buy a beverage.
First, you have to go to a ticket booth and get your cash converted into tickets. Then you may use your tickets to buy a beverage. Last year Joejung and the New Guy did some math, and figured out that by paying with tickets, a twenty-ounce bottle of soda that normally costs a dollar in these parts costs three dollars. But there's nothing you can do! You can only buy stuff with tickets, and they will charge whatever they want and you will pay it because your only other option is to pass out from dehydration at a Blue Öyster Cult show!
So there I am at a Blue Öyster Cult show, trying to figure out how much lemonade I will need to drink to keep me alive through said show, and is it really a free show if I spend ten dollars on liquids? As I was doing elaborate avoid-heat-stroke math, I spotted CEB! At least I think it was CEB. I spotted his fabulous shiny hair from fifty yards away. And that's shiny as in clean, not shiny as in greasy. If I had been looking for a greasy guy at Blue Öyster Cult, I never would have found him because he would have blended in with all of the other Blue Öyster Cult fans.
Suspected CEB turned to talk to the dude next to him. Suspected CEB was wearing sunglasses. I have never seen CEB wear sunglasses. He was in disguise! But it appeared that he was talking to Richie Cunningham! I decided to go say hi. Then I realized that not only was I leaving, I had moved from crabby to surly. The last thing I needed to be doing in my state would be plow through a Blue Öyster Cult crowd to poke CEB in the arm, glower, and announce, "I'm leaving." Plus last time I left someplace because it was too hot (three days earlier) he picked on me for it. ("Well Frosty, you going to melt?" "CEB! I think studies have shown that I am so sweet I will indeed melt." I left while he was still trying to figure out if I really believed that.)
Also, I didn't want to get peer pressured into staying because I just knew that if I passed out from the heat, CEB would just giggle and ask me, "You're going to write about this, right?" Or he would never let me forget the fact that, "I had to get paramedics for you and I missed the drum solo." I don't need that!
So off I went, up the hill from the grounds to the terrible, terrible walk across the bridge. I was trudging uphill, there was no shade, and my inner monologue was composed entirely of swear words and the thought that I used to own Some Enchanted Evening, which is a Blue Öyster Cult live album, so maybe next time I have the urge to see Blue Öyster Cult I will just play that record instead. Halfway across the bridge, LCG called.
Me: (Whiny as you please. Whinier than when I was waiting for Audioslave tickets. Because that time I was cold. I would much rather be too cold than too warm.) "It's hot."
LCG: "Where are you?"
Me: "I'm leaving. There is a limit of what I will do for my site, and I discovered it today. I will go to the Kelly Osbourne show, I will go see Guns N' Roses, but I will not sit through a Blue Öyster Cult show in July, no matter how free it is. I'm hot."
LCG: "Call me when you get back to your car."
I staggered back to my car like William Shatner lost in the desert, and turned on my air conditioning. The abrupt temperature changed screwed me up, and I realized I was in danger of getting hypothermia. I could feel the skin wanting to fall off my face. When I arrived at LCG's house my face was an abnormal shade of pink, and it wasn't sunburn. It was some sort of heat rash. I had several glasses of water and washed my face and I was downgraded from pink back to pasty and from surly back to crabby.
So I didn't manage to see more than one and a half Blue Öyster Cult songs, but I did avoid heat exhaustion. Although I talked to CEB the next day, and he is convinced I should have stayed. He thought it would have been great if I had collapsed from heat exhaustion. "Think about it. If you had, you could have called your article Burnin' For You."