Another fear years have gone by, and it is time for another Nine Inch Nails concert. It only seems like a few years ago on a god forsaken cold night Wampet and I traveled down to Lincoln to hit up the Pershing Center for the Nails. I believe that was one of the coldest nights that winter.

We forwent coats with the expectation that the pit would destroy them. With a partially digested bottle of coke a piece, we topped them off with some extra awesome, then we headed down the ally to the front doors. The wind was so brutally cold we ducked into a small inlet half way there to down more of our special cokes. It took us a few minutes to get our hands functional to twist off the tops, and considered heading back. That idea was quickly banished as we trudged through the last remaining length of the ally. In the light of the Pershing doors I noticed my hands had a strange healthy blue tint. Or is blue a bad color for human flesh? Inside we snagged some brews, found a seat, and suffered through the intro band. When the band switched we moved to merge with the crowd on the floor. It was great until after the fourth song Wampet dropped to the floor through a crowd push. I hauled his ass up, then ten minutes later he hits the deck again. I get him up only to have him motion for a new dealer. He took off to the stands for a safer view and I did not see him for about two hours.

The show was great, it was amazing, and like other similar shows it was a battle to stay afloat and get air.

I did not notice until we were back outside that I was drenched in sweat - some my own, but most was four to five thousand other peoples. The smell hadn't hit me yet, but by the time we traversed the alley the car my shirt, hair, and pants were stiffer than cardboard - shit fuck! the sweat froze! Back in the car, on the way back to omaha, the smell hit me. Ewwwwwwww.... but in a good way. I survived another show and could not wait for another.

I thought I had a half day tomorrw, but realized not so much. Maybe this year I will remove myself from the pit and watch afar. Bah, who the hell am I kidding? With my etymotic earplugs, pair of vans, and a flannel shirt I should survive!