This halftime show performance by a group of Pop Idol losers from the Netherlands just overtook Roseanne Barr’s disgraceful rendition of the Star Spangled Banner as the most painful thing I’ve ever listened to in my life. The only thing worse than the singing in this video is the third guy from the lefts dance moves. Seriously, what are you thinking?

Having spent the past week piecing together nights I barely remember with photos and stories, I have come to the conclusion that Rocklahoma did actually happen, and it was the most awesome experience of my life.



After making the long trek out to Oklahoma and briefly having my luggage lost by NorthWest, we collected the White Shark from the car rental desk and were on our way to Rocklahoma! The festival grounds were about an hour outside of Tulsa on a vast piece of farmland. Not wanting to make an ordinary entrance, we decided to let our 5am arrival be known by driving around the site blasting music as I “teen wolfed” the van. People were surprisingly receptive to our entrance, raising their beers as if to say “we deem this acceptable behavior.”

Once our tent was set up, I attempted to inflate my sleeping arrangement in the back of the van only to find out that the supposed “stowaway” seats decent into the floor would be foiled by an after market steel bar blocking it’s path. After a few forceful motions and choice words, the seats were out of my way and I was fast asleep. This would be our home for the rest of the weekend:



After only a few hours of sleep, I was awoken by music blasting from our neighbor’s site. Time check: 9:30am. I crawled out from the back of the van, cracked open a Bud Light, and introduced myself. We had 3 sets of neighbors adjacent to our site. To our right was a guy from Phoenix who made the trip alone. He told us he didn’t drink, but seemed content eating a large tray of brownies he brought and riding his bicycle around. The neighbors behind us were two crazy guys from New Orleans, Mike and Chuck. Meet Chuck:



They came prepared, hauling a horse trailer full of supplies behind their already ample F350. Their site came equipped with television, bench seating, a full home theater system, and even a mini dirt bike for fun. The neighbors to our left were three girls from Missouri, one of which was 17, the other two looked to be in their 30’s. I was told that they were all roommates, and that the 17 year old had at one point dated the 30-something’s son. I was trying to do the math in my head to determine the mother-son age difference, but decided it was better to just not think about it. After helping set up their badminton net, I offered the girls a drink from our cooler. The third girl declined my offer of a frosty Bud Light, stating that she was currently 3 months pregnant. I was understandably confused, considering the fact that I had been watching her chain smoke Marlboro Red’s all morning. Little did I know this culture shock was only the beginning of our long, strange trip into the heart of Middle America.

At about noon, Dan passed out for the first time. This would become a trend throughout the weekend as you will find out later. Our neighbor, Mike, offered to wake him up by blasting an air horn in his ear. This did the trick. Now awake, Dan walked over to Mike and Chuck’s site and climbed on top of a large oil barrel that was full of clean water. If you are familiar with oil barrels, you know the lids aren’t very sturdy, and are not intended to hold a person’s weight. It seemed inevitable that Dan would plummet to a watery demise. We prepared our cameras accordingly. Surprisingly, the lid held his weight and Dan sprung from the barrel only to be captured in one of the most classic Danimal poses to date. Note the beer in hand and mini Macanudo clenched in his teeth. (right side)



Needless to say, he didn’t stick the landing. Instead, he flipped over a lawn chair and landed directly in a huge puddle of mud. While we were in tears laughing, he changed in the tent. He emerged a few minutes later sporting a fresh pair of shorts and a stained, stretched out t-shirt. Between his haggard attire and patchy facial hair, he couldn’t have looked any more like a child molester. Fed up with our taunts, Dan proceeded to wander off to what we assumed was the bathroom, never to return.

At about 4pm we started walking towards the venue to see White Lion’s set. About a half hour into the set I noticed a bunch of security golf carts descending on someone about 100 feet to my right. I pointed this fact out to the rest of the group. Chris incredulously identified the suspect as none other than Danimal himself. We ran over to see what the problem was. Sitting in the passenger seat of the cart was Dan, swaying side to side, eyes rolled back in his head. We asked security what had happened to which a bystander replied “this guy came stumbling over here, sat in our lawn chair and started pissing his pants!” We attempted to contain our laughter (keep in mind what he is wearing), but it was no use. We sent Jen with the security guards to escort Dan back to our campsite.

Half way through Y&T’s set I decided to go back to the campsite to wake up Dan so he wouldn’t miss Quiet Riot, whose set was next. As I neared the site, I was approached by a very excited and drunk Chuck. Our conversation went like this:

Chuck: “Dude, your buddy is passed out on the ground over there.”
Me: “Oh yeah? We need to wake him up. Quiet Riot is coming on any minute.”
Chuck: “Yeah dude. He was passed out with a boner! But don’t worry, I took pictures!”
Me: “Now I am worried.”

Chuck has since emailed me these pictures, but I think they are better left out of this story. Those interested in Chuck’s artistic composition of the subject matter can go here.

After our awkward encounter I encouraged Chuck to retrieve his camera, as I was about to wake up Dan the most effective way I know: gallons of ice water to the face.



Displeased with the icy alarm clock, Dan stood up with a look of bewilderment. I attempted to explain the situation in terms he could understand.

Me: “Quiet Riot is about to come on. Let’s go!”
Dan: “Why am I all wet?”
Me: “Because you pissed your pants in the show. Security threw you out.”
(long pause)
Dan: “No I didn’t.”
Me: “Yes you did.”
(long pause, smells shirt)
Dan: “No I didn’t.”
Me: “Yes. You did.”
(long pause, leans over, smells shorts)
Dan: “No I didn’t.”
Me: (laughing)
Dan: “No I didn’t!” (goes into tent)
Me: “Changing your shorts because you DIDN’T piss yourself?”
Dan: “Shut up.”

I go and sit with the neighbors, waiting for Dan to finish changing. Chuck is driving the mini dirt bike around recklessly. After a few minutes I grow impatient and check on Dan. I open the tent and, sure enough, he is passed out— shorts around his ankles, face down on the ground. At this point I’ve invested a good amount of time into retrieving Dan and do not plan on returning to the show empty handed. After drawing a unibrow, black eye, and flames on his face in Sharpie, he regains consciousness.

Once up, I try to gather the rest of the people around the campsite to head into the show together. Chuck hears my call and turns back towards us on the dirt bike. With a good head of steam, Chuck hits a bump in the dirt road which propels him over the handlebars, head first into a giant puddle of mud. It would later turn out he broke his collarbone in the wreck, but it was hilarious at the time nonetheless. “I gotta take a shower now. I’ll meet you in there” he tells us, still laying in the puddle.

Phoenix neighbor, Dan and I proceed back towards the show together. Our walking group grows with every person who approaches me asking if Dan knows about the drawings on his face. I assure them he doesn’t. When we finally make it back to our seats, the sight of Dan, now with a barbarian serving of turkey on a bone, leaves everyone laughing hysterically (see: two images up, left).

At this point you may have forgotten that there were bands playing throughout all of this. Slaughter, Quiet Riot and Ratt all had great sets. Poison, one of the few bands still playing with all of the original members, headlined Friday night. Although I was slipping in and out of consciousness throughout the set, I managed to catch all of my favorite songs and strategically miss yet another rendition of “Every Rose Has It’s Thorn”.



The highlight of the set was guitarist C.C. Deville’s seven minute solo. After 3 straight minutes of mind blowing guitar shredding, much of which was borrowed from Eddie Van Halen’s ‘Eruption’ solo, C.C. started singing. The song, titled “I hate every bone in your body but mine”, has all of the thinly veiled sexual innuendo, poor singing and rocking guitar riffs you would expect from a Poison song. The set ended with the weekend anthem “Nothing But a Good Time”, and I made it back to the campsite just in time to pass out in our neighbor’s folding chair. Day One was a resounding success.

The next morning started the same way as the previous. The stereo blasted the soundtrack to our weekend while we sipped beers in the scorching Oklahoma sun. Life was good. We opted to skip most of the afternoon sets by Firehouse, Warrant (minus Jani Lane) and Skid Row (minus Sebastian Bach) to hang out at the campsite because it was such a nice day— and the beer was free. We got to the venue just in time for Winger’s set, most of which I don’t recall. At this point our group was going strong after almost 12 straight hours of downing Bud Light’s. Our inebriation peaked during Dokken’s set, which rocked so hard that all of the muscles in my body required to execute a fist pump are still sore. Don Dokken, hair plugs or not, sounded as good as he did 20 years ago. Wait, he had hair plugs back then too? Work with me, Don.

As “It’s Not Love” came to an end, our beer intake had reached a feverish pace. Beer vendors could no longer keep up with our demand. Two of the girls selling beer developed a mutually beneficial business plan: take turns refilling their beer trays while we drank them as fast as they could be provided. We now had a tray of beer at our side at all times. The beer fountain is where details start to get a little fuzzy, but it sure looks like it was a good time.



Sunday morning. The stereo is blasting the same Metal Skool CD we have been listening to on repeat for 2 days now. We decide to head into the show earlier than usual today in hopes of remembering the final set by festival headliner Twisted Sister.

As the afternoon progressed, host Eddie Trunk would come on stage in between sets to pump the crowd up for Twisted Sister warning “Dee Snyder is backstage and hes been doing push-ups for 2 hours. When he gets out here he’s going to beat the shit out of everyone in the first 3 rows then kill 2 of you.” This was good for a laugh, but you can’t help but wonder what a guy who looks like this is capable of.

Twisted Sister hit the stage at about 9pm with way more energy then any group of 40 year olds should have. Dee Snyder put my voice box, which was already on it’s last legs, over the edge by demanding the crowd to chant “Rock!” until he deemed it loud enough to continue. Once they finished the second song of their encore, capping an incredible set, I thought the weekend’s festivities had come to a close. Thankfully, I was horribly incorrect in my assessment.

Eddie Trunk returned to the stage to inform everyone that there would be a slap contest and oil wrestling in the back tent. I figured it would be cool, but I had no idea that it would be ridiculously awesome. The girls that participated in the slap contest were no small girls, hitting each other with enough force to make me cringe. At one point they asked for a female representative of Oklahoma University and Oklahoma State University to square off for bragging rights. I don’t even remember which one it was, but one girl got slapped so hard that she was literally knocked to the ground. As she laid on the ground crying, the contest’s organizer ran up to her to give her the free Miller Lite she earned by participating. Congratulations, you can use this to ice your jaw. Then drink it to forget how stupid it was to volunteer in the first place. The oil wrestling was exactly what you would expect, but since we had early flights, we had to cut out prematurely.

We got back to the campsite, packed up our things, chugged the last of our beers and hit the road. By the time Jen had completed the hour drive back to Tulsa in the middle of the night, we had all passed out in the van. What a wild weekend.



 

Here are a few more pictures, just for good measure:



The whole group hanging around the campsite (L to R: Dan, Kelly, Chris, Jen, Rosie, Me).

 



Me, in all of my glory, atop Keg Mountain outside of the V.I.P. tent.

 



Yet another Dan pass out.

 



While I have to give them credit for being industrious enough to create extra places for “Men #1 Only”, there is still something unsettling about using a bathroom whose walls are comprised of a see-through mesh tarp and sticks.

 



And finally, a view of the stage from the lawn.

So long, Oklahoma. See you next year.

I finally have the defined cheek bones I’ve always wanted thanks to the guy whose stick caught me right across the face on a blind backhand during tonight’s game. Also in the injury report is my roommate, who went full speed into a cement wall, knee first, while chasing a puck. Apartment 4S is going to be low on ice tonight.

 
[In my best automated 4,5,6 train voice]

The next— stop— is. Steam— Geyser. Transfers available to— Metro— North.

Seriously though, this is going to take a while to fix.

 
I just tested my Personal DNA to “have my true self revealed” and was pretty shocked at how accurate the results were. Not sure what it means to be an Encouraging Director? Neither did I. Thankfully they filled me in about myself in my full report.

Typically I’m not much for internet personality tests, especially ones of considerable length, but Jason and Adam’s endorsements were enough to convince me to give it a shot. Although tests of this nature cannot compensate for self-delusion, it’s still pretty cool.

In just over 24 hours I will be on a plane to Tulsa, Oklahoma for a first-of-its-kind 80’s rock festival called, appropriately enough, Rocklahoma! Five of my best friends, coming from both NYC and LA, will be joining me in Pryor, OK for a weekend that will not soon be forgotten. Over the course of the 3 day festival we will be camping out a Dodge Caravan rental and enjoying some of the best music and wildest fans the 80’s rock scene has to offer.

The weekend lineup includes 80’s rock powerhouses Poison, Vince Neil (sadly minus the rest of the Crue), Twisted Sister, Ratt, Queensryche, Dokken, Quiet Riot, Skid Row and the L.A. Guns among many others. The bands start playing at noon every day, with the last sets finishing well past midnight each night. As excited as I am for the music, the thing I look forward to the most is partying all night at the campground with all of the 30-somethings that have never been able to put this era of decadence behind them.

Having read through the festival forums for the past few weeks to get a sense for the type of crowd to expect, it’s becoming fairly obvious that the NYC area will not be heavily represented at Rocklahoma. It may come as a shock, but most of the festival-goers will be making the short drive from their small hometowns throughout the Southwest. My only hope is that when I introduce myself as being from New York City that I receive the incredulous response reminiscent of the cowboys in the late-80’s ‘Pace Picante’ commercials. While NYC may be an unlikely source of authentic salsa, authentic rock fans are not geographically limited, as our group will surely prove to them.

There’s no way of knowing what to expect from this weekend, but in the words of Bret Michaels, “ain’t looking for nothing but a good time!”

Pictures of the weekend will obviously be posted when (if) I return.

As is the case with any much anticipated release date, the usual crowds of excited fanboys and eBay vultures have converged on Apple stores around the country for the release of the Apple iPhone. Since every nuance of Apple’s latest offering to the tech world has been covered in nauseating detail for the past few months, I’ll spare you my own opinion on the topic. Instead, I offer you a hilarious video of the consequences of being a greedy idiot.

 
I think it’s fair to say that this woman’s business prowess wasn’t bankrolling today’s $100,000 trip to the Apple store. The only regret I have is not being able to see the smug arrogance washed from her face when she was informed of the one phone per customer policy. I have no doubt that every other person in line was well aware of this policy and was making every attempt to contain their laughter over this woman’s $800 mistake.

“Money talks,” but you can’t buy intelligence.