Cornerstone 2003: Liz’s Diary, June 30

Woke up at 7:30 a.m., due to sleeping in a tent on pretty hard ground. It’s basically impossible to sleep in at Cornerstone. Just kind of sat in my folding chair for awhile while everyone else woke up one by one. Some guy camping next to us was playing his acoustic guitar, emo-style, so Kevin decided to make up lyrics. Except you couldn’t see Kevin, you could only hear him from inside the tent. For some reason, everything is funnier when people talk from inside their tent.

Kevin’s impromptu lyrics ranged from mock-praise and worship cheesiness, to singing about the urinals in the “Johnny On The Spot” porta-potties. I also realized I’d forgotten my toothpaste, so it was off to the Hy-Vee grocery store tent, to pay probably a dollar more than I generally would for the forgotten item.

To occupy ourselves on the non-day of Cornerstone, Kevin, Bubba (Mark), Anji, Melissa, Shane, Charisse, and I drove to Galesburg for some lunch and bowling. We got some Fazoli’s in Galesburg (the cashier lady sounded like Miss Cleo), and it was off to the bowling alley. The bowling alley was closed, so we headed back toward Bushnell, and stopped in a small town called Avon. Kevin talked to the “neat” people at the Main Street Café, and they found us a bowling alley in the area that would be open. So, we headed to Canton, Illinois, about 30 miles away. Perhaps a lot of driving just for some bowling, but I mean, what else are you going to do to fill the time before the festival starts?

So, we found ourselves at the Four Seasons bowling alley, where we were the only bowlers. We were all pretty awful bowlers, which makes it more fun I think. The highlight of the games was when on the last frame of the last game, I bowled three strikes in a row, which apparently is called a “Turkey” in bowling language. I have no idea how it happened… pure luck I guess. Then it was back to Cornerstone.

Later on that evening, I went on a long walk around Cornerstone grounds, and ran into a couple people I knew. A little after midnight, I met up with the “Newfies” outside of the Subway in the food court, to lead them to our campsite. They also stayed in the Mansion Tent. They have an interesting accent. It’s not your typical Canadian accent; it’s the Newfoundland accent, which sounds pretty Irish, actually. And when they all get together and talk only to each other, you can’t understand a darned thing they say.