Due to my upcoming long weekend at All Points West in a week, and the fact that it's the ten-year anniversary of Woodstock '99, I have decided to regale you all with true tales, untainted by media sensationalism & hearsay (and explaining why so many whiners were just lazy), from my experience at Griffiss Park in Rome, New York over the span of July 22nd through the 25th of that year.
On Thursday July 22nd, my friend Scott and I, along with four girls he was chummy with, all piled into a car, loaded with two tents and two coolers for three nights and three days of music and mayhem. After a long drive from Central Massachusetts, full of camaraderie and anticipation, we arrived at the giant parking lot, unloaded the car, and headed to the main gate to be admitted to the bacchanal. As we got closer to the gate, we noticed a large pile alongside the line of people waiting to get in. It was a tower of confiscated alcohol! Case upon case of beer, boxes of wine, and gallons & gallons of vodka, gin, rum, and other potent potables sat in a heap before us, stewing in the heat and humidity, while their former owners trudged dejectedly into the park. It was chest-high on me, and I am 6'3"! When our turn arrived at the entrance, I only felt a slight spark of trepidation. Before we'd loaded the car back home, Scott & I'd had a feeling we'd have to pass through a checkpoint just like this, so we'd bought some of our bottled water in Poland Spring six-packs (and not just gallon jugs). We'd carefully removed the middle two bottles of each of the four six-packs, drank the water, and refilled them with high-proof vodka, carefully rescrewing the tops on, and gingerly guiding them back into the plastic rings. Anyway, the security people asked us to open our coolers, took a cursory glance at our 'water' bottles, gallons of cranberry juice, and bags of apples, and waved us through. SUCCESS!! Not only did we have supplies for Cape Codders (vodka & cranberry juice for those of you who can't do the mixology) all weekend, but with the bottles, we also had portable carriers for them, as well as something to refill all weekend at the public water fountains.
We wandered around a bit, looking for good tent space, and using common sense, we found a spot on a small rise, close to (but not next to) two different porta-potty rows, and away from any well-travelled footpaths. We set up the tents (Scott & I, Lisa and another girl in the large one, and Missy & the last girl in the 2-person one), took our time unpacking, and eventually split up into pairs to wander around and explore for awhile. All the while, we could hear George Clinton and the P-Funk Allstars in the middle of a phenomenal 4-hour "unofficial kick-off" set (it was George's birthday, and he wanted to celebrate in style). Also, before we headed off into the crowds, MTV wandered by our tent with a camera and mic, replied to our friendly hello, and then dashed off in another direction when they got close enough to realize we weren't their "desired demographic" (I was 30 at the time). We totally understood: I mean really, what "TRL"-watcher wants to listen to a pair of interesting guys, with actual personalities & life experience, yammer on about a (hello!) fun-for-all-ages event? We laughed it off and melted into the crowds, marveling at the wide variety of attendees from around the U.S., Canada and the rest of the world.
As the sun was setting, Scott and I came upon a group of hundreds of people outside the airplane hangar where P-Funk had finished their long set, and where emerging artists would be playing the rest of the weekend. Some of the event staff had wheeled out a couple hundred large cardboard boxes that turned out to be full of flying discs. Each box contained 199 yellow frisbees, and one blue one. People (including us) grabbed handfuls of them, and kept a continuous flight of them up in the air, quickly realizing that they were made of such hard plastic, that you had to snag them before they hit you in the head, shoulder, leg, arm or face, and left a mark. The darkening sky was full of an everchanging cloud of yellow plastic, streaked occasionally by the rare blue discs, and a lot of pent-up excitement and aggression were released in all that throwing and catching. Only a handful of idiots actually threw the frisbees at people, and they were soon dissuaded from their non-harmonious behavior by the rest of the crowd. It was a blast, and I walked away with no bruises, and three of the prized blue flying saucers! I still have two of them to this day ☺
Basically, the first day was an evening to set up, chill, and explore. There was the fantastic unscheduled music, the Great Frisbee War to participate in, and the colorful cross-section of humanity for people-watching, to keep our minds off the heat, plus the excited conversations and anticipation of the potential events of the next three days.
Random exchange overheard while setting up camp, between a girl and a surfer dude at a nearby tent: "Hey, are you coming with us to go see George Clinton?" she asked. "Nah, babe," he drawled, "I'm gonna go sell this pot, so I'll have some green to eat later...".
"Bitch & Moan" Excuses # 1 and #2 Spoiled: We brought our own booze, so we didn't have to pay for $7 beers. We brought our own water, as well as refillable containers, so we didn't have to pay for $4 bottles of water.
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