During a
summer season
full of music
tours, the
Cornerstone
Music Festival
remains as an
alternative to
the norm. In
other words,
this isn't your
brother's
Ozzfest.
■ ■
I I
■ NO APPOINTMENTS NEEDED*
|17th& N St
OIL
.
With ears ringing, and a
steady stream of sweat, sunscreen,
and bug spray trickling between
my shoulder blades in a steady
stream, I slosh through the indies
of mud towards camp. (I long ago
gave up trying to keep my Teva
sandals clean. It’s worthless.) The
rain yesterday afternoon was a
nice break from the blazing sun,
that is, until it rained again that
night, and then today. But what
can you do?
I smile at the mud people and
try to avoid the airborne mud.
Once you get the smallest amount
on your body, the whole group
swarms and you are covered from
head to toe before you think to
fight them off (like you really
stand a chance anyway). As I
reach the road (that some intelli
gent person decided to put asphalt
on to combat the mud), I nearly
get run over by one of the many
golf carts attempt^yfc
through thecrowds of people. And
you would thiltkChristians would
be careful drivers. (Hey, nobody’fe
perfect)
1 round everyone at our camp
site sitting around, debating which
shows to catch. With concerts
starting at 2 p.m. and ending
around 2 a.m. on nine different
stages, many of our faves, unfor
tunately, played at die same time.
The hardest part of die whole trip
was deciding who was most worth
seeing. And no matter how great
the show you chose to go to,
someone else was always there to
tell you about the “awesome”
show you missed while seeing die
other. But it all works out
After Figuring out the sched
ule for the night, we headed to the
merchandise tents to see what
CDs, T-shirts, stickers and just
about everything else with a band
name or record label on it, was
worth spending the money we’d
been saving for just this occasion.
Since the whole five-day festival
only costs $80 (unless you were a
smart cookie and bought your
ticket ahead of time for as low as
$66. Yeah, that wouldn’t be me.),
including camping grounds and
only excluding food and trans
portation, it’s not too painful to lay
down a little more for your fave
band’s merchandise. The only
thing that sucks is fighting the
crowds and then deciding what to
buy from three huge yellow- and
white-striped tents worth of
tables.
When we are finally done, we
find the sun is shining triumphant
ly once again. We trudge back
“home” and grill up some quick
grub for dinner before our big
night. Everyone’s eyes are
sparkling with excitement, and no
one can stop talking about how
“awesome” the shows are going to
be.
A few hours later, with a few
more bruises and another good
layer of mud on my feet and legs,
my voice joins several hundred
others in singing (more like
screaming) the chorus to Stretch
Arm Strong last song. The crowd
roars and “rock-on” hands wave
overhead as they exit the stage
with two final words: “God bless ”
I smile at the
mud people,
and try to
avoid the air
borne mud.
Once you get
the smallest
amount on
your body, they
swarm and you
are covered
from head to
, toe before you
think to fight
them off (like
you really
stand a chance
anyway).
Exhausted, but in a good way,
I head back to camp. It’s a little
tricky at night without a flashlight,
but after nearly tripping over tent
stakes jumping out of nowhere, I
find everyone back and just as
elated as I am. With a chorus of
“Did you see when that guy” and
“Yeah! But did you see what the
bass player,” I decide it’s finally,
thankfully, time to get some sleep
and recharge for the next day.
With a smile on my face and a
prayer of thanks on my lips, I doze
off to dreams of concerts and
crowd surfers dancing in my head.
For more information on the
Cornerstone music festival, or the
Jesus People USA, please visit
www.comerstonefestival.com or
www.jpusa.OTg
Heather Glenboski is a Junior
art major and a Daily Nebraskan
photographer.
