The Voodoo Music Experience 2004 began at midnight-and-one o'clock for my partners and me, when the long road to the festival lay before us. Genivieve, Corey, Rosalyn and myself were in for a crazy day.

Gen's ex gave us a place to sleep in Baton Rouge that morning.

We rested fitfully, got to the festival grounds in New Orleans City Park after the requisite amount of time running around lost and made our way to the gates.

No food, no drink. Everything must be bought within. Rosalyn and Genivieve weren't going to let that stop them.

"She's my hypo-glycemic little sister," Gen said. "She'll faint if she can't have food with her."

And in we went. I bought a $5 root beer float. And it didn't even have any bourbon in it or nothin'.

Our merry band of revelers had picked up some wanderers, but quickly, Rosalyn and I were alone.

We reunited with Corey at the main stage after some difficulty with our map of the festival and with the surging crowd of about 50,000.

Sonic Youth was up. The feedback jam was incredible. Thurston Moore played his guitar with his butt on the top of a stack of amplifiers. The crowd foamed with glee.

By some fit of chance, my friend Jean Mike stumbled over us, beer in hand, and immediately blew his stack. We hadn't seen each other in about eight months. So we had to go hang out at Cypress Hill across the festival grounds with him.

Separated again from Corey, Jean Mike, his girlfriend, Rosalyn and I worked our way there holding on to each other's shirts.

Next, we were running back to the main stage. The Pixies weren't going to wait for us. Their 12-year hiatus hadn't killed their killer sound.

Green Day came up next, during which time Rosalyn and I got separated. There is no fear like losing someone you love in a crowd. I took Jean's cell phone and left them to find her. When I did find Rosalyn and my sanity, I'd lost Jean.

I found him after Green Day's set, covered in blood from his own nose and a cut above his left eye. Apparently, my absence may have been for the best, or I'd have been in the middle of the fight he and his girlfriend got into. Or so Rosalyn tells me.

My paternalism took over, and I took them to the medical station, the prelude to their 9-hour stay at Charity Hospital.

The Beastie Boys shocked me into a stupor. After a decade as a fan, I got to witness them standing on a stage in my home state -- something I never thought would happen.

The merry band finally reunited at the car, a half mile from the venue, and we drove to the home of a random friend of Corey after sitting on the street in New Orleans at midnight, trying to find food for our starved souls.

The family we stayed with deserves a column. I've never heard more f-bombs, insanity and yelling from a family that seemed functional, aside from the 16 year old having beer for breakfast.

Sunday crept into my mind on the drive home, and I was just happy to be in one piece still.

Nick Todaro is a senior journalism major from Shreveport and serves as managing editor for The Tech Talk. E-mail comments to nst005@latech.edu.