My Warped Tour drill: set out to see some of the old-school cats that make the most sense to me (like, in years past, bands like Bad Religion and Helmet), see what all the fuss is about with some of the new bands, and try to limit the amount of times I say, "What is this bullshit?" while admiring all the nubile teen parade (without looking like a creep). Plus, take a few pictures, get a tattoo, do a little dance, make a little love, and get down tonight.

Let's work our way from the top down. LA's Aggrolites were my absolute faves playing some fantastic reggae. It had a ska push to it -- hell, even a rock push, with direct nods to Joe Strummer ("Police And Thieves"), The Fab Four ("Don't Bring Me Down"), and indirect, albeit horn-less nods to Madness and The Slackers. The B3 brought the jazzy element usually covered by brass, and the whole affair had the crowd in a happy state of skank and constant pogo.

The Briggs brought snotty and proud street punk (I dunno, but it seems like just about every band I dug was clearly schooled by The Clash). Birmingham, England's Beat Union was classic British punk with pop shoved in there, the way it used to get done when The Jam and Joe Jackson were in their prime.

Buffalo's Every Time I Die had the home court advantage and blew the lid of the shell to a rabid crowd. This band is heavy, heavy, heavy, but the vocals and shreds of melody still manage to surface. ETID was the best of the heavy stuff, as the rest of the bands were too busy swallowing the mic and instructing chaos in the pit. You know, it's kinda lame when you've gotta tell your audience how to participate. "OK, everybody clap." I swear to god I heard a band do that Simon Says style. And you can call me a motherfucker just so many times before I get bored.

Americans are suckers for broken English. Consequently, Japanese all-girl ska band Oreskaband initially got the "awwww" treatment. But lemme just say, they rocked. Little ladies with big brass, big smiles, and a deep groove.

Pop darling of the moment Katy Perry came out slung over Gym Class Hero Travis McCoy's shoulder (I wonder if he's getting any). Her band was tight and the set was fun and quirky in a Cyndi Lauper-lite, Leather Tuscadero-lite, B-52's-lite kinda way. It was all as cute and fun as her little blue rompers. Nice getaway sticks, too.

As the day wound down, world-famous inksmith Oliver Peck planted a gypsy on my left hand, which this morning is the size of a catchers mitt. Can someone help me comb my hair?