The sun sets on our coverage of the Virgin Mobile FreeFest. (Photo: Ryan Kearney)

My beloved colleague Sarah Godfrey beat me to a roundup of the Virgin Mobile FreeFest and, being the nicest person, ever, she had mostly wonderful things to say about the 12-hour music extravaganza. Even when she called out the Post's Chris Richards for not knowing Joan Jett is from Rockville, Godfrey managed to wrap her remark, like a warm blanket around a wet puppy, in a sweet compliment. Now I, being the meanest person, ever, must play the role of contrarian, if only because no one wants to read two posts about how amazing Saturday was ...

... or was not! And so I commence with what I learned from FreeFest, starting with the bathrooms.

It is not possible to spend an entire day at a musical festival without a traumatizing bathroom experience: Godfrey linked to the only negative tweet she could find about the bathrooms at Merriweather Post Pavilion, and it was her own. Finally, here's the evidence I've long sought, proving that even my coworker doesn't follow my tweets! Had she checked my feed, she would have found this tweet from 1:28 p.m.: "Three urinals in bathroom to left of pavilion are overflowing. Don't go in there unless you're wearing duck boots."

It is possible to snort a condom through your nose and pull it out your mouth: Yes, this really happened.

I can be moved nearly to tears by Matt & Kim's Now That's What I Call Music cuts: Trombone Shorty made Godfrey cry, and Matt & Kim did likewise to me, but for a much different reason. Their boisterous set was sprinkled with what, at the time, I called "hockey intermission music," but which the City Paper's Jonathan Fischer, writing for Spin, more accurately called "jock jams." Either way, I still think I'm going to hell for resenting the duo's "boundless joy."

People love having their picture taken: Especially when they spend all morning styling their hair.

No one knows who the hell Pavement is: Or at least no one who attended FreeFest knew. Minutes before the band's set began, the pit in front of the stage was half-empty, and it never filled up. This is because young people are better at: finding free stuff online; remembering insignificant appointments, like ticket releases; attending a 12-hour music festival without wanting, after the second hour, to curl up on a couch with the latest episode of The Jersey Shore. Also, young people don't know Pavement, or just like Ludacris more. Either way, they all love those cheap, colorful Wayfarer knockoffs.

Some people can sleep anywhere: The music and fireworks were loud enough to make me worry for babies' ears — and I don't even like babies. But it wasn't so loud, apparently, that a certain couple couldn't get a little shut-eye on this grassy knoll.

LCD Soundsystem has set the bar so high, they can never pole-vault it: I still tell people about LCD's 2007 show at Randall's Island, where they upstaged headliners The Arcade Fire and followed strong sets by Les Savy Fav and Blonde Redhead. I won't gush about it here, because this post is all about negativity; suffice it to say, it came at the perfect time (sunset), place (NYC), and moment in my life (lost). Also, they were touring Sound of Silver, their best album, and "All My Friends" hadn't been overplayed yet. Closing out FreeFest, James Murphy and Co. were probably just as good, but there was no time, place, or moment to speak of. I found myself worrying that Fischer would get "lanced in the eye" by a glow stick, then started feeling sorry for myself, and finally had my dancing space stolen by a dude in a moustache — such that, when the disco ball, like a gun in literature, finally did go off, I wasn't so much dancing as flexing my creaky knees. Adding insult to aging bones, I pleaded to the Twitter gods for "Someone Great" as an encore, and got something less great.

On the plus side, Godfrey's parking job was so brilliant that I was on my couch, watching The Jersey Shore, by midnight.