The Saga of Ozzfest 2007 Continues

As I passed through the well-secured Ozzfest gates, the aroma of grilling brats greeted me. Yes, I was in the rolling hills of Eastern Wisconsin. You know how those Wisconsinites love their bratwurst. At Alpine Valley, concert-goers are offered a choice between regular brats, Sheboygan brats, cheddar brats and many more variations on this beloved sausage. Unfortunately, there were no soy brats, so I didn't sample a sausage this year. Instead I munched on the hot pepper and peanut butter sandwich I packed for lunch.
I wandered for a bit amongst the vendor stalls, admiring the cute little "I Love Metal" nappies for babies and the nifty collection of wallets on chains. I have one of those, but I never wear the chain. I feel a little bit like a janitor, walking around with a chain hooking my wallet to my belt. All I need is a giant ring of keys, and my co-workers will wonder if I've been demoted to a custodial position.
Finally, after chatting with the Jagermeister promo girls (they gave me a cool Ozzfest lanyard for my keys) I made it to the second stage. The opening bands on the second stage were as heavy as they come, especially Nile and Daath. Fueled by a couple of complimentary Monster energy drinks, I elbowed my way into the pit for Hatebreed. Despite their imposingly negative name, Hatebreed's lead singer was ebullient. He was full of positive banter for the crowd about being true to oneself. I felt ebullient myself as I gazed out over the sea of heads, some with hair, some without, some with the word "Ozzfest" shaved into the hair.
There is something both humbling and inspiring about the crowd at a metal show. It's an exclusive club, yet in an oxymoronic way, it's a club anyone can join. All you've got to do is love the metal and be ready to raise your fist at the sky. Owning at least one black T-Shirt helps, too.
I bought my hubby Joey a Metallica shirt last winter so he wouldn't feel left out of the crowd during metal shows. On our way into the Dio/Anthrax show, a guy stopped him, patted the sleeve of Joey's green, button-down shirt and laughingly said, "See you in the pit!" I wanted to spare him that type of humiliation in the future, and I think the Metallica shirt did the trick. Two guys sincerely complimented him, and one even called Joey "Old school". It just doesn't get better than that. You know you're pretty tough and cool if a metal head gives you a compliment. We don't just throw them around willy nilly, like Oprah fawning over a guest.
After the miasma of sweat and mud dissipated over the second stage, I headed to the main stage to find my reserved seat. I felt like a rock star as the security guard escorted us behind the barrier. We settled into our pair of center seats beneath the thousands of fans crowded onto the sloping lawn of the amphitheater.
My palms were sweaty with anticipation as Lordi took the stage. I was looking forward to seeing these Finnish metal stars all summer. They've coined some of my favorite phrases, like "It's time for the Rock-alypse!" and "The day of Rock-ening is here!" (Get it? Like the apocalypse and the day of reckoning? What pun-ishment!) Sadly, I was one of about 5 people in the reserved section interested in seeing Lordi. No one else was interested in their Dungeons and Dragons style costumes, or silly fantasy lyrics. I loved that their keyboardist dressed like a mummy. That was gnarly.
I shrieked with delight when the necks of Lordi's guitars spouted fountains of sparks, and when they mock-killed a roadie dressed as an elf. My shrieking disturbed the three people in front of me, who were pretending to be cooler than thou. At the intermission I avoiding bumping into them as I excused myself for a trip to the snack bar.
Ozzy was, of course, incredible. His voice was clear and strong, his sound in perfect form. I tried to record a bit of the show using my cell phone, but all you can hear is me screaming, "Ozzy! Ozzy! Whooo-hoo!" I never realized that's how I sound at a rock concert before. No wonder I got the evil eye from the peeps in front of me during Lordi's set.
This was the best performance for Ozzy I've ever witnessed. There was no hint of the bumbling, muttering comedy of the Osbournes TV show. No, this was just straight up cool, clear Ozzy, belting out "Mr. Crowley" and "Crazy Train". I love the song Crazy Train - it is one of my Ozzy favorites. Especially after a long day at my old job in the Oracle office, the lyric, "I'm going off the rails on this crazy train" seemed especially fitting.
After Ozzy thanked us and said "God bless", the trudge back to the car was bittersweet. As I was surrounded by my brethren, cat-calling and whooping in delight, I realized that the day of Ozzfest was coming to a close. I looked forward to Ozzfest so fervently, for so many months, and although the day met every one of my hopes, I felt a little bit like you do when you're taking down the Christmas tree.

My lessons learned from Ozzfest, both this year's and those past, are:

• Layer. Wearing a tank top and a t-shirt gives you the flexibility to remove your shirt if Ozzy soaks you with a firehose, or if you need to twirl it above your head during a salute to Dimebag Darrell.
  
  
• Sip light beer slowly. Even if you've been sweating outside in the hot sun for eight hours, don't gulp a light beer or you risk embarrassingly loud uncontrollable hiccups.
  
  
• Wear sunscreen. Unfortunately, I wore sunscreen this year, but forgot to slather it over my fake tattoo. I now have a barbed wire outline burned into my arm. I've been wearing long sleeves to work all week.