Ramblings from a writer, traveler, and insomniac

 
Mixed Bag: LA Brain Droppings and the Saga of the mia > dfw > lax Run

By Pauly
Los Angeles, CA

A buck-toothed Haitian cab driver blatantly tried to hustle Nicky and I on the way to Miami airport in the eye-rubbing morning hours of January 1st. I was barely sober by the time we packed up our gear and departed the crazy city of Miami. I mean, I was still a bit loopy and jiggy when we checked in for our flight. Luckily, the tracers and hallucinations ceased and I was able to appear reasonably sober when I breezed through security which had been heightened by the Underoos Bomber.

My flight from Miami to Dallas was uneventful. Huge plane. Lots of families returning from vacation. I couldn't sleep. How could I? All those jhuices flowing through my body. I sat and zoned out and realized that I should not been confined to cylinder zipping through the air at 35,000 feet. I needed to be outdoors, listening to music, and riding out the last bits of that mind-altering journey.

Despite my mental purgatory, all the drama occurred after we landed in Dallas courtesy of American Airlines. We got stuck on the tarmac at DFW for over a half-hour (plane at our gate was broken down and unable to move - so they eventually sent us to a different gate in a different terminal) which sucked since we had a super-tight connection. Even though our flight was leaving from a different terminal and we had to grab the "sky link" train, we somehow managed to make the flight. The bad news? Our luggage did not. It got stuck at DFW.

Nicky and I were on travel tilt and it was only the first day of the year. American Airlines said the bags would be delivered to the apartment by 7pm. Yeah, that was bullshit. They eventually arrived before 2am. At least I didn't get anything stolen like what happened in Costa Rica.

Nicky and I sat in different sections on our flight to LAX. I was stewing about my seat -- stuck around two families with multiple obnoxious kids and a screaming baby that must have been the spawn of Satan. That little fucker did not stop wailing until we reached California. I quickly reached for whatever pills I had leftover from Phish tour in order to numb the pain.

For four days, the parking lots around the American Airlines Arena (where the Miami Heat play their home games and Phish played their four concerts) were a haven for drug fiends. The area is normally surrounded by homeless people living in cardboard boxes along the side streets in the shadows of the monorail. Many of them wandered in and out of the psychedelic carnival of Phish fans who came from all over the country, while local drug dealers pushing South Florida's finest Colombian imports competed with the traveling dealers pushing their hippie party favors. Undercover cops were scattered about. It was easy to pick them out from the average Phishead, but a few wasted kids and noobs failed to recognize the fuzz and they got thrown into jail for obvious offenses. The local federales made their daily quota on the amateurs while the rest of the illicit sales went undetected.

I was offered so many pills that I lost count. I even came across a few things that I had never heard of -- which I declined to purchase but wrote down the names so I could do my own research. It hasn't been since the final Phish shows in Coventry, VT in 2004 when I saw that many powders, nitrous, local produce, fungi, liquid sunshine, opiates, and pharmaceuticals. It was sort of a farmer's market of illegal drugs. I was in heaven. I'm getting goosebumps just writing about it.

There was a bunch of DMT in the lots. The Joker and Strawberry were walking around when he noticed the distinct smell -- sort of like burning hair.

"What's that rancid smell that smells like burning hair?" asked Strawberry.

"DMT."

"But it smells like hair. Burning hair."

"Yes. It's DMT. That's what it smells like. Burning hair."

Blastoff.


My buddy Chicago Bob came over to the apartment for the Jets game on Sunday night. It was do or die for Gang Green on the very last game of the regular season and all signs pointed towards an easy victory. Even the goomba bookies and the sportbooks in Las Vegas pegged te Jets as a 10 point favorite. The Bengals were not stating their RB and were going to pretty much lay down to the Jets -- thereby sealing a seat in the playoffs. The odd thing? The two get to play each other in the Wild Card game but it's going to be one helluva matchup.

I had won my own football pool last year, but this year I failed to repeat as my editor at Bluff marched towards victory. Lance is a Canuck which means that that's the second time in the last few years that an alien won the Pauly's Pub football pool. Garth took it down two years ago and he's an Aussie. Now, a citizen of Canadia holds the Pauly's Pub title as it heads to the Great White North for a year.

Over in the Grid Iron fantasy football pool, Derek won that league for a fourth time since 2002. He beat me out and I finished in second place. I was way behind most of the season but turned everything around shortly before Thanksgiving and made a run at my brother. I came within striking distance at the end of Week 16, but I couldn't not take him down as I finished in second place. Gah.


I walked down our palm tree lined street and wiped a couple beads of sweat from my brow. I could see the hills of Hollywood due to the lack of smog and low pollution day. The boundless blue skies and a near perfect day with the temps in the upper 70s kept me sane. This is why I live in one of the most plastic cities on the planet. It's hard to have seasonal depression in January in LA.

I have been exercising. Long walks. It's good for my physical well being and I always write better after I exercise. I have a more specific idea on what I want to accomplish. I also love brainstorming while I walk and soak up the neighborhood. It's kinda quiet, and warm, and I'm lucky that I can wander around in shorts and let my mind roam freely.


Nicky is back to cooking again. That means I lose weight and eat healthy organic foods. She made mac-n-cheese from scratch with all organic items including four kinds of cheeses. OK, so it's not the healthiest item she's ever made but it was definitely one of the tastiest I had in a while. The chopped jalapeno's made the dish. I told her it needed bacon. That's what Emeril added to his mac-n-cheese at his restaurant in Las Vegas.

She also whipped up a batch of her famous turkey chili.


I have more books to read than I have time for. My brother bought me the Phish biography for Christmas. That's the bathroom book for me so I'm reading about 5-10 pages every morning. Benjo gave me a book too. Molly sent me a gift card to Amazon. The Prof and Flipchip gave me a Chirs Moore book. I also have the Doyle Brunson autobiography to read that Lara sent me, along with a Nick Harkaway novel that Ryan recommended. Plus, I never finished the newest Thomas Pynchon novel that my brother gave me for my birthday! Yeah, I've been way behind on my book reading as the books are starting to pile up. Time to turn off the TV and YouTube and start reading.

Speaking of books, I saw the film version of The Road at one of the top-floor theatres at the Landmark.. Nicky and I sat in "studio type" resembling a private screening room with six or seven leather couches seating a dozen or so people. I read The Road last year and was eager to see how Cormac McCarhy's post-apocalyptic story about a father and son trying to survive in a dystopian world with roving cannibals eating babies and whatnot. McCarthy is a stupendous storyteller and if there was one thing I learned from his book... it's that you better have plenty of extra bullets if you want to survive the apocalypse.

As we walked out of the film, Nicky said, "I feel the urge to stock up on canned foods."

"That's funny," I said. "Because I have the sudden urge to buy a couple of shotguns and load up on boxes of ammo."
posted by Pauly at 1/06/2010 02:13:00 AM | Permalink |

 
Miami Video: NYE Montage

By Pauly
Los Angeles, CA

I spliced together te first video of 2010 that features our hijinks from the last few days of 2009 in Miami. The clips of Phish were from NYE including a peek at the prank from a different angle/perspective behind the stage.


posted by Pauly at 1/05/2010 04:20:00 AM | Permalink |

 
Miami Pic Dump #2: NYE

By Pauly
Los Angeles, CA


Broseph serving champagne in the lot


Page during Lawn Boy


The bees in the hive
(This is my fav pic of the weekend. Click to enlarge)




Benjo and the Vermont Maple Syrup Car






The sun rises over Miami
More pics can be found here.
posted by Pauly at 1/04/2010 10:19:00 AM | Permalink |

 
Miami Pic Dump #1: Meet the Crew and Hanging in the Lot

By Pauly
Los Angeles, CA

Here's the first batch....


AAA


Futuristic city of Miami - view from our balcony


The Joker in the lot


Teenage Wasteland


Benjo slinging stickers in the lot


Homage to Fishman


Our coffee table



Hawaiian Shirt Day


I love this pic of Strawberry because of the guy
in the background taking a leak on the wall


I gave this guy $20

More pics can be found here.
posted by Pauly at 1/03/2010 04:20:00 PM | Permalink |

 
New Year's Eve

By Pauly
Miami, FL

I can't write about NYE.

Well, I can write about NYE and I will. I'm just not going to post the sordid details here or anywhere else on the internet. I love my friends too much to harm their reputations, plus I'd hate to incriminate myself. Yes, things were that crazy. Some of us should have went to jail, an emergency room, or a psychiatric ward. A few of us should have visited all three.

Let's just say this... I had a friggin' blast closing out 2009 in Miami.

A fuckin' four-day non-stop rager with Phish ended with a bang. Miami is an unique town with a tinge of shadiness and an anything goes philosophy. My friends converged from all parts of the country (heck we even had a Canuck and a Frenchman in our group) and luckily those free-spirits are professional party people who are up for anything at any given time. They don't shy away from the edge of insanity and many of them plunge head first into the darkness without blinking. That sort of fearlessness is inspiring, yet detrimental to my health.

At the same time, it's refreshing to be around colorful people... around a creative collective consciousness... and in a subculture that promotes individuality. I came away with a few friends and engaged in a couple of mild altering experiences that (I hope) will propel me over the next few weeks as I embark on the finishing touches of Lost Vegas.

Ten years earlier on the cusp of the millennium, I found myself in the middle of the Florida Everglades getting lit at the sickest throw down of my life as I celebrated the changeover of 1999 into 2000 with friends at a two-day Phish festival. When Phish broke up in 2004, I never thought that I'd ever get a chance to replicate that madness and never see Phish ever play again, let alone a New Year's Eve party where they took center stage. That's why it was a near miracle that I stood in Miami as 2009 switched over to 2010 getting a chance to ride that wave once again.

The best NYE's of my life have all been at Phish concerts. I've seen five and they all rank in the Top 5. This year rolled in at number two. Overall. All time. That's saying something because it's nearly impossible to top the Millennium.

I want to thank my friends who came along the ride for Miami. They are the main reason why the blow out reached epic proportions. And to my friends who could not attend... you were missed and with us in spirit.

For now, it's time for me to go and enact Operation Sleep. It's been a long nine weeks since I stopped working on Lost Vegas and I've been on a scorching binge and brain-freezing bender. I should probably check myself into rehab, but as the saying goes rehab is for quitters. I control my own destiny and I know what's best for me right now. I need to rest up, recuperate, stay clean, unplug, and slow down before I return to the finishing touches on Lost Vegas.

Happy 2010 everyone.
posted by Pauly at 1/01/2010 07:12:00 PM | Permalink |

 
Break Outs and Bust Outs

By Pauly
Miami, FL

Show #188. As the Miami run gets deeper, the crew stays up later and later like famished vampires, which means we see less and less of the Florida sun. We took a bit longer to motivate, but we managed to grab grub at The Filling Station (delicious burgers where the hot waitress went to the same school as me) before we partied it up in the suite and four of us played a quick poker tournament. I was the first to bust. Benjo went out in third. Nicky was the runner up, while Wildo came from behind to win the Phish Fried Miami Poker Open.

It was Hawaiian shirt day, our theme costume, and we headed to the lots and parked in the same spot as Tuesday. Good folks around us including one fellow handing out Adderrall. I headed to the Shakedown to sell Dharma patches. The scene was mellower because of the lack of tanks and more undercover cops. But I knew that was temporary because the inmates eventually take over the asylum. The Joker set up shop and we ran into Ruben from Partyin' Peeps.

I had an awesome day sales wise. Cash sales plus several interesting trades. Seems like everyone had product to move and I was bombarded with offers to buy an encyclopedia of pharmacopoeia and other illicit wares. Roxys. Morphine. Klonapin. Headies. Fingerhash. And enough Yay to keep Akron lit for a month. One strung out whiskey tango chick loved the Joker's LOST tshirts. She didn't have any money but offered to trade her methadone for a Hurley shirt. The Joker declined. He had gotten a verbal warning from cops to scram and pack up his vending table. "I don't make the rules, I just enforce 'em."

Once the sun set, the tanks trickled out and a few ghetto birds patrolled the air. I got an email from my buddy Gil in Brooklyn who wondered about the swirling Lady Ga Ga rumors of sitting in with the Phish. Turns out that Jesse started those rumors -- which meant it wasn't true. Just another one of those Phishy mindfucks.

We sat Fishman side of stage about 20 rows back. The Joker and Strawberry Shortcake upgraded to behind the stage. For the first time, the 300 and 400 level sections behind the stage were opened up. The sections were previously blocked off.

The signs were out in force. Walls of the Cave. LaGrange. RocketMan. Birds of a Feather. Tela. Peaches. Which one would they play?

The Phish 12/30/09 American Airlines Arena - Miami, FL

Set 1: Soul Shakedown Party, Runaway Jim, Jesus Just Left Chicago, Dixie Cannonball, Stealing Time from the Faulty Plan, Corrina, What's the Use?, Tela, Gone, Rocky Top, Chalkdust Torture, David Bowie

Set 2: Sand, The Curtain With, Lifeboy, Back on the Train > Velvet Sea, HYHU > Love You > HYHU, Free, Boogie On Reggae Woman, Antelope

Encore: Frankenstein

Set 1 kicked off with a Marley cover... Soul Shakedown Party. I usually place a high value in the opening song. If they go the safe route (like AC/DC Bag or Jim) then you know it's gonna be a vanilla show. But if they throw you a curveball, you can expect a night of delicious weirdness.

The first bustout of the show? Jesus Just Left Chicago. Gritty blues. Page tearing it up. Then it was Mike's turn to shine with a hick-inspired Dixie Cannonball. All I kept thinking about was Smokey and the Bandit.

Benjo and I were gambling on the setlist again. I had picked Stealing Time from the Faulty Plan and it was the only one I'd get correct. He would improve his lead when he nailed two more songs.

After a thrashing Faulty Plan, the boys followed up with a gentle Corrina which makes all the Phishy chicks wet and damp. Keeping with the bustout theme of the show, next up was the ambient vehicle What's the Use?. I'm a fan of dissonant static and loved the ambient jams of the late 1990s.

Unexpectedly, the elusive Tela appeared. The crowd erupted. Tela had not been played in 11+ years and Phish threw the Gamehendge nerds a sympathy fuck with a tasty Tela.

The Joker's reaction? "I hope this means that that asshole will stop screaming Tela in between every song. Teeeeeeeeeeeellllllllllllllllla! Jesus, shut the fuck up, man!"

Tela segued into Gone, another debut before they embarked upon a high-energy Rocky Top. Strawberry Shortcake had been waiting to hear that since her first show in Knoxville. She was born in Knoxville and a huge UT fan, so the song has sentimental value. She used to perform karaoke versions of the song in malls when she was 8 years old. She got bruises on her knees from jumping up and down and banging them on the seat in front of her. Sometimes, I love it when my friends get to hear a song that they adore and have been waiting to hear. Glad that Strawberry got her song.

The capricious set ended with an overpowering one-two punch with an inspiring Chalkdust Torture and a pounding David Bowie,l which put a sense of normalcy into the quirky start that included a little bit of everything. The set was an Everything Bagel. I'm not saying that I didn't like it, just that the set seemed rough around the edges. I enjoyed the bustouts but the set lacked cohesion and smoothness.

Second set opened with a feverish Sand. Just a 13-minute version but intense. Thrilled to hear it since it's fallen out of the rotation. A group of five Paris Hilton clones in designer clothes and hand bags wandered by with cocktails. They seemed severely out of place at the show and I wondered how much coke they had stuff into their bras.

Another bustout. Lifeboy. Slow Phish. Gave me a chance to smoke up before a ground-shaking Back on the Train. Miami fried funk. The jam delved off the deep end into a daunting ambient jam as they wandered off the tracks.


Crowd during Velvet
After a lull with Velvet Sea, it was time for Fishman hijinks. The crowd was whipped into a frenzy with the first bar of HYHU as Trey jumped on the drums and Fish stepped up to center stage. He alluded to Trey's comment about Fishman's last vac solo of the decade was the other night. Alas, Fishman decided to have someone in the crowd play the vac.

He was looking "for someone dressed like me" and for a brief moment I expected to see Lady GaGa step out in a Fishman dress, but instead Fish pointed to a scruffy-looking fellow in the front row with a t-shirt that resembled his dress. The kid named Rich could play a mean vac and Fishman even handed over his coveted instrument. Talk about a serious souvenir.

The last three songs? Insanity. A barrage of ass-shaking music. Rocking Free. Funkified Boogie On Reggae Woman. And a fierce-driving Antelope which included several Boogie On and Roses Are Free teases.

The Frankenstein encore was something I had been waiting to hear again. I just love that cover. Fishman thrives on the drum solo and Page gets to feel like Trey for a song as he jams out on his keytar.

The second sets have been stellar, so I leave the shows with a huge ass grin on my face.
posted by Pauly at 12/31/2009 11:45:00 AM | Permalink |

 
Feel the Heat

By Pauly
Miami

Show #187. Woke up early on a frigid Miami morning. The crew ambled about and motivated for lunch at The Filling Station. We played a Chinese Poker (in Euros) in the suite during the pre-party. We headed to the lot earlier than Monday. The light disappears quickly and the darkness descends around 5ish and that's when things get sketchier in the lots. Deviant derelicts crawling out of the shadows and invading the psychedelic carnival. Homeless guys drenched in urine and standing on the corner hawking bicycle wheels that they obviously pilfered. One local dealer pushed hard drugs to pay for a new pair of Jordans. But they were angels compared to hostile the thugs with the tanks. As we walked up to the lots, we saw the residual effects of our wasted generation... thousands of multi-colored used balloons cluttering the sidewalks and parking lots.

Joker and I headed to Shakedown during the daylights hours to maximize sales before the madness took over. The lot was slightly more organized than the previous day. I sold Dharma patches and bartered for grilled cheese sandwiches, beer, a heady crystal, t-shirts, and a ganja carrot cupcake. I thrive on the hustle and bustle and meeting new people.

I scored Adderral (thanks brah, you know who you are) and the girls were drinking rum and ginger ale. Rats the size of armadillos ran rampant in the weeds in the back lots. You had to bring a large stick with you when you pissed as protection so one of those nasty fuckers doesn't rip your pecker off in mid-stream.

Security check-in was significantly more thorough. I ran into Eric in the hall. He's an "insider" and relayed the sad news that the Miami shows were the last show til late-July and August. "Enjoy the last bits of Phish for a while," he said.

I bumped into Jesse, a poker pro that I know, and spotted another one. Odd when my work life spills into play time. Benjo, my girlfriend and I were in Section 117. It was super-crowded but we had a better spot than the night before.

I chatted up our usher with cornrows and a gold front grill. "You have fun last night?" I asked.

"Hell yeah! You white boys smoke the good shit!"

The Phish 12/29/09 American Airlines Arena - Miami, FL

Set I: Golgi Apparatus, Maze, Driver, The Connection, Wolfman's Brother, Ocelot, Reba, Access Me, Divided Sky, Cavern

Set II: Kill Devil Falls, Tweezer > Manteca Jam > Tweezer, Prince Caspian, Gotta Jibboo > Wilson > Gotta Jibboo > Heavy Things, 2001 > Slave

Encore: Sleeping Monkey, Tweezer Reprise

I gambled with Benjo again on the setlist. He picked six songs and I got four. He took a 2-0 lead on Monday, but I felt confident with my draft (Maze, Wolfman's, Moma, TTE). I was worried that he had AC/DC Bag but when they opened with Golgi, I knew that I dodged that bullet.

Page sizzled on Maze and the boys didn't waste any time with the first wave of intense jamming. Driver killed the momentum and the kid behind me begged, "Play Maze again!" Instead, Phish delved into the first of two songs off of Undermind. Hey, I'm a fan of some of those songs and was pumped to hear The Connection and a delicious version of Access Me.

Wolfman's included a raunchy punk-infused jam that were accentuated by CK's purplish lights. I wasn't on acid, but those series of lights made it seem like I was tripping balls. I wore my Oceleot shirt for a second night in a row and they finally played my favorite tune off of Joy. I can now change my shirt.

The Joker mentioned that this Reba was his favorite of the 3.0 era. The jam had several peak moments. I watched the crowd during Divided Sky. If you ever wondered if Phish was a cult? Just look around during that song. Phans were mesmerized. Lots of boners and wet snatches in the arena.

As per usual, Trey remembered all of the lyrics to Cavern. Ah, who am I kidding. Remember kids, free-basing and Oxy rots the brain. Maybe Mike, Page, and Fish need to chip in and buy Trey a teleprompter for Christmas next year?

Set 2 opened up with Kill Devil Falls, which was just mere foreplay -- sort of like grabbing your girlfriend's breasts while you're making out. The real penetration and explosions happened during Tweezer. I was floored by that jam. It was like Angelina Jolie salaciously making out with my favorite porn star Sasha Grey. I was speechless and had a scintillating erection.

The Manteca jam was sweet, yet fleeting. Caspian is usually hit or miss with me - but they hit a home run with an fiery jam out. The Gotta Jibboo > Wilson > Gotta Jibboo portion of the show was my personal highlight. At one point, I thought that they were going to seg into Good Times Bad Times but ventured into Wilson before an unexpected twist where they returned to the Jibboo jam. They fumbled Heavy Things and missed a bunch of changes. Luckily, that blemish was short-lived because the boys smoked the shit out of the joint with 2001 > Slave. The 2001 was pulsating and pumping with an inescapable ass-shaking groove.

The encore was a double-dip with an homage to Fishman in Sleeping Monkey and a searing Tweprise with a lubricious Trey spazzing out on stage to end the show. Everyone knows that I'm the jaded vet... so it's something when I say that this show rocked. As one guy behind noted about Phishtory, "December 29th will always be December 29th."

We headed to Shakedown after the show ended and were greeted by tanks on Biscayne Blvd. Wow, one guy's sales pitch? "No lines!" Millions more brain cells destroyed.

We headed back to the car and an impromptu jam session broke out with a fiddle player who was playing along to the 1980s party songs that the Joker was spinning on his amp.

We headed back to the suite... and that's when things went muzzy fuzzy.

Two down. Two to go.
posted by Pauly at 12/30/2009 12:00:00 PM | Permalink |

 
Puke and Rally Monday

By Pauly
Miami, FL

Show #186. Much like life, a particular Phish show is driven by your mindset and fueled by the party favors that you ingested. Monday? I was bubbling over with excitement and in a positive head space. It would have been hard not to have a good show, but then toss in a mixture of party favors and the result... a fun evening with friends and Phish.

Half of us arrived on Sunday night and the rest of the crew rolled into Miami on Monday around noon. After a quick lunch in South Beach, we converged on the Marriot downtown. The Joker and Wildo booked us a suite so we could end the year in style. The suite had balconies and it was located a ten minute walk from the venue. After a mini-pre-party in the suite, we headed to the lots. We walked through Little Havana and drew odd looks and a couple of sneers from the locals who had no idea that the circus was in town.

Wildo had extras to sell. The Joker had t-shirts to vend, and I was hawking patches. We ambled through one of the front $40 lots. During the 2003 run, that lot was Shakedown central and much more organized. This year's version was a free-for-all. Random unleashed dogs roamed free while the molly slingers darted in and out of the crowd. Tickets were going for $20-30. A head from Boston sold me mushroom chocolates. The Joker set up shop in the $25 back lot behind the monorail. Talk about the other side of the tracks. The tanks were out in full force. Hissing sounds filled the air and salesmen were walking through the row of cars waving $5 balloons. The black guys were yelling "Whip its! Whip its!"

Benjo was inexperienced with the nitrous scene and curious about the affects. He watched in amazement as people lost their mud sucking and huffing on balloons like they were infants sucking on their momma's boobies.

I had a freak accident and dislocated my finger (old yet annoyingly recurring football injury). I had to pop it back and snap it back into place. It's not pretty and hurts like a motherfucker. Luckily, I was able to self-medicate with Vicodin and a few key bumps.

We headed inside and Nicky got flagged by security who saw her shroom chocolate in a piece of foil and asked her to open it up. She was told she couldn't bring it inside so she ate it on the spot! We headed up to the 300 level. It smelled like cinnamon and weed in the hallways. Beers were $13.50. Capitalist pigs. It took a while for the arena to fill up but by the time the boys took the stage, the arena was at least 80% full. We had a tough-ass security guard. She must have been a Nazi in a former life. The good thing was that TLAQuinn was in my section and PhanArt was near by.

The Phish 12/28/09 American Airlines Arena -Miami, FL

Set I: Sample in a Jar, NICU, My Soul, Roggae, Undermind, Bouncin, Poor Heart, Stash, I Didn't Know, Beauty of a Broken Heart, Possum

Set II: Mike's Song > Light > Hydrogen > Weekapaug Groove, Backwards Down the Number Line, Makisupa Policeman, Harry Hood > Contact, Character Zero

Encore: First Tube

Crowd pleasing Sample in a Jar to open the set, followed by an upbeat NICU. I love "Play it Leo!" songs and Page let loose. My Soul was the first bustout of the night. Last time played? Shoreline 10-7-00 when the boys ended their tour and last show of 2000 and the Phish 1.0 era. Trey let it rip at the outset of My Soul. A little sloppy.

Roggae was another bustout and included an unexpected extended jam. I dig the Fishman jam on Undermind with an funky interplay between Mike and Page. I headed to the pisser during Bouncin. I stood at a urinal in between two guys talking about the show.

Happy Fan: "Awesome show."
Grumpy Fan: "Whatever. This show sucks."
Happy Fan: "Sounds great to me. Maybe it's the Don Julio and molly speaking."

I got caught up in the snail-paced beer line. The vendor apologized and said that she had a contact high from all of the wafting weed. Solid Stash jam. I'm a fan of fat guys in dresses playing household instruments, so I was in heaven during Fishman's vac solo in I Didn't Know. Trey mentioned that it was the last vac solo of the decade. It sounded like Fish was calling out to the Mothership. A homing signal. They'll be stopping by to take all the space kids home after the NYE show.

Page shined on Beauty of a Broken Heart and the boys smoked on Possum to end the set. Seemed a bit safe with a few bustouts, but I knew that the boys were warming up.

I ate some shroom chocs at setbreak to catch up with Nicky who said she was as wasted as Katie Holmes in the movie "The Ice Storm". The second set kicked off with searing Mike's Song which I felt was a good omen. A noob chick behind us puked up against the wall. Then she started crying before she puked again. If I had any wook tickets, I would have issued her a citation. By the middle of Light she was taking swigs off a bottle of beer. Puke and rally. We were impressed. That's a bold move right out of the Disco Sister's play book. Puke and rally.

Her boyfriend asked to borrow my bowl a few times. On the last exchange, I handed him my piece and thirty seconds later he tapped my shoulder. "Sorry bro. I'm spun out. I forgot that I smoked all my weed during Mike's."

Danced heavy during Weekapaug Groove when all of the party favors kicked in and peaked during a merry Alaska and peppy Backwards Down the Number Line. Freakish version of Makisupa Policeman which featured an homage to Mike with "policeman comes to Mike's house."

The jam out in Harry Hood went pretty far off the reservation. For a few minutes, they wandered around aimlessly. Almost reminded me of a 2004 Oxy-jam. I wondered if Trey was back on the sauce with that muddled jam until Fishman pushed him out of the tail spin and they found their footing and segued into Contact. Funkified jam led by Page before they ended the set with a Trey spooge-fest and Character Zero. Rocking First Tube to end the show.

I was betting on the setlist with Benjo. He took an early 2-0 lead, but I'll get it back. He We headed back to the lots and the tanks were hissing in the shadows. Daniel saw a sad scene -- a five year old kid huffing on a balloon. Sketchy for sure. We bailed as soon as possible and headed back to our suite for the post-party.

One show down. Three to go.
posted by Pauly at 12/29/2009 12:28:00 PM | Permalink |

 
Year End Video: On the Road in 2009

By Pauly
Miami, FL

The 2009 video had to be split into two parts...




Enjoy.
posted by Pauly at 12/28/2009 12:47:00 AM | Permalink |

 
Merry Christmas!

By Pauly
New York City




35 years ago today


posted by Pauly at 12/25/2009 04:20:00 AM | Permalink |

 
Auggie Wren's Christmas Story

By Pauly
New York City

Here's a Tao of Pauly Christmas tradition where I suggest you read Auggie Wren's Christmas Story written by Paul Auster, which is one of my favorite short stories written by one of my favorite NYC authors.

Enjoy and have a Merry Christmas.
posted by Pauly at 12/25/2009 03:33:00 AM | Permalink |

 
2009 In Pictures

By Pauly
New York City

Since I whore myself out as a writer, photography is one of the purer art forms that I utilize. My friend Liz recognized that a few years back and she's been generously funding my Flickr Pro account. I try to snap photos as much as I can especially when I travel.

In 2009, I uploaded 16 or so galleries. You can view those galleries here.

I chose one photo per set/gallery to share with you plus one bonus photo. The last picture was taken behind my alley in the slums of Beverly Hills. Enjoy!


Paradise Island, Bahamas


Phish Reunion
Hampton, VA


Smithsonian
Washington, D.C.


City Center Construction
Las Vegas, NV


Mar Del Plata, Argentina


Dream Team Poker
Las Vegas, NV


Bonnaroo Music Festival
Manchester, TN


Red Rocks
Morrison, CO


The Merry Prankster's Bus
The Gorge - George, WA


Seattle, WA


Yankee Stadium
Bronx, NY


Halloween - Festival 8
Indio, CA


Playa Conchal, Costa Rica


Phish - MSG
New York City


Charlottesville, VA


Las Vegas, NV


Los Angeles, CA

Click here to view all of my photos from 2009.
posted by Pauly at 12/24/2009 10:03:00 AM | Permalink |

 
lax > jfk

By Pauly
New York City

25% chance my flight was going to get canceled. Those were the odds. The result? Flight went off but delayed an hour. At least I got out of LA even though I didn't mind the two-day delay for my Christmas holiday.

The balmy weather in LA, almost two perfect. 60 plus degrees. Everyday. That's the reason why people (and people meaning me) live in a city with cancer-inducing pollution, a former Terminator as our Governor, redunkulous amounts of traffic, and a severe lack of culture where everyone is waiting for their big break.

Although 60 degrees is considered the dead of winter in LA. Fashion whores look for any opportunity to wear something different, eager to showcase the winter lines of their favorite designer. I shake my head in disbelief at those morons. It's 60-fuckin-3 degrees and waif-like models are wandering around Beverly Hills sporting purple puffy jackets and cashmere mittens like they're about to race the Iditarod.

LAX was swarmed with people flocking back to their hometowns. They had presents. Lots of them. And bags. Big bags. With puffy jackets presumably, or whatever generic medicines that their maids were able to smuggle over the border from the pharamcias in Tijuana. You wanna make grandma smile during the holidays? Surprise her with a jar of blood pressure pills (her cost $300) that you got in Mexico for $5. But don't tell her that you also got a tattoo, bottle of tequila, a blowjob, and a drippy penis for $20 more.

The more that people carry with them to the airport for short holidays or vacations is an indicator of their personality. That's why the security line was backed up to the next terminal. The overpackers are weak, insecure, and need help. Less is more. Especially when you travel during the busiest time of year. The airlines are doing everyone a favor in charging them $25 a bag. If we didn't have to take so much shit with us, they wouldn't have to haul less crap around. I suspect that at least 25-30% of anything in any piece of luggage is not going to be used - a pair of dress pants, a sweater, a book, DVD player, whatever - but people need material items to be secure. To stay sane. They also slow down the travel process. Shit I was going on two (possibly three) trips and I traveled light (I only took a certain bag with me because I needed extra space for the Hawaiian shirts for Miami. Don't ask.)

Exit row. Aisle seat. At least I got a seat on the packed plane. I won the lottery after all the flights got thrown out of wack because of the winter storm over the weekend. The exit row meant that I got to pre-board. I escaped the throng of masses and frugal fight for overhead space with cheap bastards trying to jam overstuffed bags into tiny crawl spaces that barely fits a dead hooker let alone my sleak new TSA-approved bag.

I have had horrible seat karma the last couple of years. Crying babies. Annoying children. I'm a magnet for them. And that run badness continued with the family with two young girls that made me want to listen to The Shins and slit my wrists before we even pulled away from the gate. Jesus fuckin' Christ those hellcats were loud and spoiled little shitheads that couldn't sit still or keep their mouths shut for five seconds. The screams from the one girl were penetrating my Bose noise-canceling headphones. The father gave up and asked for wine. I wish he gave it to the kids. At least that would excuse their behavior.

Well, shit, my kids are drunk. Whaddya gonna do? Merry Christmas.

The young woman in my row in the tight brown Juicy sweats stewed in agony. She was a rookie. Just iPod buds and no pills. Thank god for the last sliver of Oxycontin I ingested that afternoon when my back flared up.

I watched a show called Hoarders and one episode where an old lady slept on piles of her own diapers in her rodent infested kitchen. That show was about the same people who were in line with me at LAX. Shit piles. Dead rats. Sounds like a Bukowski poem.

My flight landed at the height of morning rush hour. I got lucky and didn't have to wait long in the taxi line, but I drew the stanky cab. It reeked of sweaty feet and curry. I held my breath as I piled in and started reading my email. We barely moved on the Van Wyck. The drugs had worn off. I tried to listen to music on my iPod to keep me sane, but that couldn't make the traffic disappear. 100 minutes of torture.

The red eye guaranteed no sleep. I operated on fumes on Tuesday morning as I walked through the streets of the old neighborhood. Sign of the economic times. New apartment buildings and condos sat empty. No buyers. One construction project had halted as a skeleton of concrete slabs shot up out of the ground, and eyesore among the smattering of stores decorated for the holidays. The one video store on the block and the only bookstore in the neighborhood were vacant. Gone forever and driven out by rising rental prices. Even the kosher pizza place couldn't keep up and had to close their doors.

I ran into Vinny the Barber who told me that I looked like a bum. He promised to squeeze me in if I stopped by on Wednesday morning. I woke up early and even set my alarm. We spoke about a variety of topics from Tiger Woods to the international date line to the time he told me he ran 32 miles in a single day. He asked me what kind of poker stories I was writing about. I mentioned something about a potential cheating situation.

"You know about that guy they caught cheating at a poker game on Arthur Avenue?"

"No, when? What happened?"

"This was a couple of years ago. They caught him and chopped off his hand. With an axe."

"What did they do with the hand? Toss it in the East River?"

"Fuck should I know? Probably fed it to the dogs."
posted by Pauly at 12/23/2009 12:52:00 PM | Permalink |

 
December Truckin'

By Pauly
New York City

Here's a new issue of your favorite literary blogzine that is super duper late. My apologies.

December 2009, Vol. 8, Issue 12

1. Stiff Santa by Paul McGuire
The Beverly Center had one strict rule -- never under any circumstances remove the bunny head in public. That would mortify young children. Josh turned to Ritalin to solve his problems... More

2. Christmas Money for Misty by Johnny Hughes
Misty laid her best story on Sam, her road story. She was temporarily broke, like most casino folks, but she was to inherit the historic Morgan Ranch, 473 oil wells, 47,000 acres, and a bunch of cows in the Texas panhandle... More

3. The Hobby by Milton Burton
The driver himself was a small-time coke pusher and wannabe heavy metal musician named Ronnie DeLoach who would never make it big, partly because he was void of any real musical talent. But mostly this sad fact could be attributed to his very limited life span... More

4. Dick-Hole, Part II by Bobby Bracelet
Most guys will yank it twenty times a week but they won't feel their balls for lumps. I see it all the time... More

5. Absence of Fear by George Tate
The turns became hard to handle and Gatlin knew it wouldn't take much to be over a guard rail and down the side on his back, load, tractor, and all. He suddenly cleared his mind and focused on the words, "Turn off the engine, that's it."... More

Enjoy the semi-Christmas issue. And thanks for all of your support!
posted by Pauly at 12/22/2009 08:49:00 AM | Permalink |

 
Docs and Limbo

By Pauly
Los Angeles, CA

I'm stuck in Los Angeles for another day. It feels like I've been in limbo for the last couple of days. Once I got wind of that major snowstorm (even though it's been 60+ degrees every day in Southern California), I knew that my trip back to NYC for Christmas was going to be hell and I fell into a state of limbo.

When I got back from Las Vegas last Monday after our annual outing, I was spent. Crushed. Beat up. My body had run the gauntlet as I ended week six of a six week bender. I needed rest. Shit, I probably should have checked myself into rehab, but I needed to catch up on a shitload of work that I neglected. I had a few end-of-year projects that I needed to attend to. Truckin' was late. Shit, all I wanted to do was sleep. Sleep. Sleep. But the work was piling up.

I had a rare moment when my body agreed with my mind. I was able to get four and five hours of sleep per night without any problems. I decided to go with the flow and listen to what my body was telling me. Slow down. Recuperate. Let the wounded back heal. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.

But of course the extra rest didn't jive with my schedule. I had to make a tough decision and change my Friday flight. I didn't want to go anywhere. Shit, walking two blocks to the coffeeshop was a chore. We bought a Christmas tree and I wanted to enjoy the fresh smell of pine needles that filled the apartment when I woke up in the morning. I loved writing in the dining room before the sun came up in the darkness -- save fore the muted glow of the Christmas lights.

I was comfortable and didn't want to leave. You see, when I fly from West to East -- it fucks up my entire schedule because I essentially lose a day with the three-hour time change going from LA to NYC. Throw in a six hour flight and two plus hours dicking around the airports and another ninety minutes of commuting to/fro and the next thing you know -- my entire day is shot.

For $150 change fee my problems would have been solved, plus I would have one less day of my mother nagging at me in the frigid conditions of New York City. That was well worth the price. Several months ago, I originally booked a Friday morning flight out of Burbank and on Wednesday, I changed it to the red eye on Saturday night out of LAX. It gave me an extra 1.5 days to bask in the warmth of LA's sunshine, plus I could enjoy the tree and relax. The new flight would have gotten me into NYC at 6:30am with time to spare before the Jets game at 1pm and a day of football at my brother's apartment.

But then the snowstorm fucked everything up. I was on travel tilt a full day and a half before my flight asI listened to the weatherheads pontificate about the blizzard. I had to "wait and see" before I made a decsion (or a decision was made for me) which never bodes well with me. I prefer to make lightning quick decisions and move on with my life. But the storm was just in its infancy. Who knew if NYC would get bombarded or if it was just hysterics from the fear mongers and the city would only get a light dusting? Of course, my mother would not let up with the calls and emails. She had a point (a rare point) but she was nagging me nonetheless because I was in limbo.

My flight was scheduled to leave as the snow hit the city but land after it stopped. The gamble was this -- would JFK have their runways cleared by 6:30am? Another question... would there be cabs at the airport to take me home?

On Friday night, 24 hours before my flight, I monitored the storm which dumped a decent amount of snow on the Virginia/DC area. They got pummeled and the path was headed towards NYC. I scrambled to change my flight before JetBlue officially canceled my flight. The result? I could only find a flight on Monday night -- 48 hours later. I had no choice. I switched to the Monday night red eye. I managed to finagle an extra row aisle seat, which was better than humping a red eye in the middle seat.

By the time I woke up on Saturday, JetBlue had offically canceled my original flight. I'm glad that I was proactive and switched before everyone else got fucked. Otherwise, I might have been flying on Christmas day in a middle seat squeezed between the fattest guy on the plane and a crying baby.

I was in limbo the last few days, sort of like a refugee, but with better luggage. My bag sat half-packed on the futon in my office. I was unmotivated to write for the first and only time in 2009. Burnt out is a good description. I was inspired, but couldn't bring myself to lock myself in my room and peck away at the keyboards.

Instead, I decided to do what most of America does... self-medicate and watch movies.

I asked Nicky out on a movie date. She quickly accepted. We had not seen a movie in the theatres in a while. We used to go see one a week, but these days we've been super busy with traveling, and simply did not have the time. What little time we had were devoted to catching up with the DVR/TiVo and old Top Chef episodes.

Up in the Air was in limited release over at the Landmark Theatre. We went to the matinee and were the youngest people in the theatre by thirty years. The octogenarian next to Nicky fell asleep mid-way and started snoring, much to the dismay of his very Jewish wife who kept yelling, "Wake up! Stop snoring!" That distraction was nothing compared to the old black guy who shouted out religious messages at the screen whenever someone cursed. He stormed out of the theatre before condemning everyone else inside. To sum up, he said we were going to hell. Even Goerge Clooney.

I blurted out, "Merry Christmas."

Up in the Air is a book that was made into a film starring George Clooney. Parts of the film echoed my life. The constant travel. Living on planes, in hotels, and in airports. Clooney played a suit who spent 300 days on the road racking up 10 million frequent flier miles. I finally had a character that I could identify with as he lived the unconventional life constantly in transit and living out of his carry-on bag for his adult life. Shit, that's what I've been doing since 2005. But the sappy love story killed the flick for me. I wanted more on the road hijinks.

Dejected by the sappiness of said film, I turned to documentary flicks to soothe my pain. For the next few days, all I did was pop muscle relaxers to dull the back pain and pharmies for the buzz as I sit on my couch in a daze and watched documentary after documentary. That does not include the random video surfing on YouTube where I found a lot about the alien disclosure project and all these 2012 doom/gloom videos.

I had a few documentaries on my list but I also took the keen suggestions from friends after a email plea to Iggy, Ryan, and Otis. And through the miracle of Twitter, a few other folks sent me their suggestions ("Man on a Wire" was mentioned the most).

Here's what I watched in a short amount of time...

King of Kong
The Story of Anvil
Jerry Garcia: Can't Take It with You
Kurt & Courtney
Stoned in Suburbia
The Union
Miles Davis (some French doc)

I posted the video to King of Kong in a previous entry. That was the best of the bunch. You can find it on YouTube.

Four of the docs were music-based documentaries. There was a French take on Miles Davis and he was surly as hell.

Can't Take It with You is a BBC doc about the estate war between Jerry Garcia's greedy widow and his ex-wife, Mountain Girl. Hippies fighting over money and Ben & Jerry's ice cream.

Although I'm not a heavy metal kinda guy, I was enthralled with Anvil, the story of two 50-something ex-rockers who had their fifteen minutes of fame in the early 80s then faded into obscurity. Yet, they were still chasing the dream. So hard not to root for those guys.

Kurt & Courtney iss another BBC doc that focuses on the suspicious death of Kurt Cobain. I used to think that Courtney either killed him or hired someone to do it -- but after seeing the flick my theory changed into... Kurt killed himself but Courtney drove him to do it. I dunno. Maybe she hired someone? That's still shady any way you look at it.

Of course, the two other flicks were about... marijuana. The Union dealt with prohibition. And I loved Stoned in Suburbia which detailed increased marijuana use in British suburbs mainly by housewives and grannies. Funny ass shit seeing 80-year old British women discuss the properties of skunk and Northern Lights.

I also had a comprehensive list that my friends suggested, but we think alike because I had seen most of them!

Otis Rec's:
"CSNY: Deja Vu"
"Festival Express"
"Word Wars"
"Stolen"
"Paradise Lost"
"Cocaine Cowboys"
"Enron: The Smartst Guys in the Room"
"A/K/A Tommy Chong"
"Super High Me"
"Hearts of Darkness"
"The War Room"

Ryan Rec's:
"Darkon"
"Shadow Company"
"Fog Of War"
"This Film Is Not Yet Rated"
"DiG!"
"Our Brand Is Crisis"
"Driver 23"
"Murderball"
"A League Of Ordinary Gentlemen"
"Who Killed The Electric Car"
"The Corporation"
"Once In A Lifetime: The Extraordinary Story Of The New York Cosmos"

Iggy Rec's:
"42 Up"
"Devil's Playground"
"Fog of War"
"The Story of Anvil"
"No Direction Home - Dylan"
"The Union"
"Touching the Void"
"Word Wars"
"The Kid Stays in the Picture"
"Man on a Wire"

As you can see, there was some cross-over selections.

I had already seen many including of the suggested films... Fog of War (McNamara is pure cold-hearted evil and the original "Cigarette Smoking Man" from X-Files lore). Devil's Playground is about young kids having a year of sex, drugs & Rock n roll before the return to the Amish faith. No Direction Home is something I watched in Australia a couple of years ago. I was on a mountain climbing doc fix for a while and saw Touching the Void. A few years ago, I saw the Robert Evans biopic which put a new perspective on that dude and Hollyweird in general. D!g is one of my favorite music docs that chronicled two 90s indie bands. The Dandy Warhols hit it big, but Brian Jonestown Massacre floundered due to their inner turmoil. Shadow Company is an eye-opener about mercenary armies in Iraq. Super High Me is more stoner fodder. The War Room chronicled the Clinton era. I saw the Enron flick while I was in Australia. Cocaine Cowboys was in heavy rotation on cable a few months ago. Festival Express is an old favorite of mine with Janis Joplin, The Band, and The Grateful Dead touring Canada on a train. And Hearts of Darkness is a film by Francis Ford Coppola's wife as she gave you the backstory about the struggles Francis endured in making his epic film about Vietnam.

And here are my suggestions...

Art & Copy
American Movie
Food Inc
Straight No Chaser
Surfwise
Off the Grid
Union Square

Off the Grid is an insane tale about people choosing to unplug and live in nowhere New Mexico. Straight No Chaser is a Clint Eastwood flick about jazz legend (and one of my heroes) Thelonius Monk. Union Square is about NYC heroin addicts and reminds me of an Arthur Nersessian book. Surfwise is about a doctor who pulled his kids out of school, dropped out of society, and drove around in an RV while he taught his kids how to surf. American Movie is about one man's struggle to make art in small town America. And Food Inc is an indictment on the big business food industry.

Many of these documentaries can be found on YouTube or Google Videos. The rest are on Netflix and some you might be able to find on the interwebs.

Next up for me? Man on a Wire.
posted by Pauly at 12/21/2009 09:22:00 AM | Permalink |