Most of the way through the afternoon and I'm afraid I'm not going to make booth costs but to hell with the money. This crowd is drunk, racist and violent. My inner child is screaming I WANNA GO HOME. My inner adult keeps mood shifting from anger to fear. The word Pigfucker has now taken a starring role in my vocabulary. Racist assholes and incessant groping in the crowd has driven Gwyn to a panic attack. Rich helps drive it back but we all want to leave. Dusk is falling and our power has apparently been stolen again. We fold up our mats to keep the drunks off of them and they fight with us cause we want our own mats back. We pack up, wait for the crowd to thin and barge through the rest with our booth and equipment. Those who didn't move when we screamed excuse me got hit, with little remorse.

As we waited for the crowd to thin I checked out one of the other attractions. I was attached by a climbing harness to gigantic rubber bands while standing on air bag the diameter of a large round picnic table. They raised me up and I got to bounce and work off some steam. I'm up there bouncing and thanking God that I'm high enough that I can't smell cheap beer and the sweat of the redneck who was trying to proposition me while I was in line. The guy running the attraction has my eternal gratitude for keeping me up there long enough for the redneck Romeo to go away. I now have a much fuller understanding of why they refer to the merchants as THE VILLAGE OF THE DAMNED. The other merchants looked beaten and the black gentlemen running the sunglass booth across from us have been passing a pot pipe for most of the day. They look even more scared of the crowd than we do.

We go back to the hotel and count money. I have made just enough to give Catherine $200 for the booth, pay my part of the hotel bill, hand Gwyn a pathetic $20 or$30 and pay for my dinner. Gwyn says I don't have to pay her but she worked her ass off and deserves more, far more, than we made that day. She has the brilliant suggestion to go to BW3's. I wish they had that chain in the Seattle/Tacoma area. It specialized in multiple flavours of chicken wings and other bar/comfort food that is probably quite bad for you. That meal and the clean quiet Microtel are the only good memories I have of the Pittsburgh gig. I spend much of the next two days in the foetal position on my camping mattress. I had hoped to earn some cash for myself with this trip but I am beginning to realize I might be lucky to make back the $380 I spent on airfare to get here.

TWO DATES IN DETROIT ROCK CITY

The drive up there was interesting. Mapquest sucks. Our route was roundabout to say the least. There was a spectacular thunderstorm that we drove through. I was having nervous flashbacks to the small tornado at Brushwood. Catherine and Gwyn didn't look very nervous so I tried to put my fears in perspective. If I end up clinging to the underside of an overpass avoiding a twister I am sooo outta here. That hundred-dollar fee to change my airline ticket is beginning to look like a bargain. The storm passes and I am thankful.

We eventually make our way to our Bed & Breakfast. It is as charming as I'd hoped. When Catherine had spoken with the proprietress about rooms she said she was happy to rent to Ozzfesters but that they needed to well behaved. Our hopes rose. If you are in Clarksville don't hesitate to stay at The Millpond Inn.

Our original plan had been to split our booth fee with a local artist and stay on her floor. She decided at the last minute to only to do it if we used her books and pricing. Catherine said "no thanks" politely. I figure her defection cost Bunny and myself each about $300 in booth and hotel costs that we wouldn't have had to pay if she had stuck by her original commitment.

Oddly enough she shows up in the parking lot with us around 6:30am. She wants to stick around and check out our set-up but does not want to pay to play. It is more trouble to explain what she needs to do next than it is to do our set up like the well-oiled machine our team has become.