And then came Sugar Ray. Mark McGrath: we understand that you're just a sucker with low self-esteem and what you really need is a hug, but sweetie, you are really hard to take, and you can't blame the critics for despising you. You're just so easy! You keep lobbing up these giant grapefruits, telling us things like, "I tripped on acid up on the lawn, blah, blah, blah." We mean, who really cares what the rest of the quote was because you're so pompous and blasé about the whole thing, trying to prove how cool you are, and you dedicated a song to your sister or something and said you weren't cool back then, and someone in the audience shouted, "You still aren't cool," and people clapped? Okay, it was us who shouted that, but we couldn't help it. We mean, what were you talking about, how you were locked up in "the joint"? It sounded really poseurish. Listen, Mark, honey: call us. We will be your friend and give you positive attention so you don't have to sneer things onstage like, "I hate my new blue hair." We will teach you that it's okay to love your new blue hair—and yourself. You will be a happier person. And then maybe you could float us a few bones for our electric bill? And did we mention that we've got a hungry, bawling baby? Yeah. Needs new shoes.
We survived the lemon shower during the Blink 182-alooza that lasted their entire 45-minute set, and we were shocked—shocked!—to discover that they're pants-off charming and say things like, "This song's called 'Don't Leave Me,' and it's about not leaving me, and it goes like this." They were darling, and Lit got naked, coming out during their current hit "Nobody Likes You When You're 23," which is true, and at least one of the guys from Lit has a bodyon him! Plus they had Gap Kids in khakis lindy hopping. Cute!
And we didn't like Limp Bizkit because they're stupid and they suck.
And the Chili Peppers were okay; we really like their new stuff a lot, but we left in the middle of their set in hopes of avoiding the traffic holocaust that is the Meadows' post-show parking lot. Didn't work: we counted seven lanes attempting to merge into one. We should file a class-action lawsuit! Then we could buy more coals.
Thanks to all the women who e-mailed our dad (oddly, our e-mail runs about 5-1 male/female, yet Dad's was the other way). Sorry, ladies: there's already a chick working on becoming the fifth Mrs. Schoenkopf. But still, that was nice of you! You can e-mail us at CommieGirl99@hotmail.com.