Don't Take The Brown Acid

"Don't take the brown acid."  This is all the advice my Dad had for me before embarking on what I expected to be the most epic journey of my life so far.  I wasn't disappointed.  I was going to Bonnaroo, a 4-day music festival in the great state of Tennessee.  And that isn't a sarcastic jab at Tennessee, I really did love the place.  They have Sonic, beautiful state parks where you can go cliff diving, and they host big hippie music festivals.  Sounds like a solid state to me.  But of all the things that my Dad could have told me before going there, "don't do drugs," "don't travel alone," "don't speed," the only thing he really said until the night we left was, "don't take the brown acid."  I wasn't quite sure how brown acid differentiates from regular acid, but apparently it's not good for you.  Not only did my dad tell me this, but numerous times throughout the weekend I would hear random hippies yelling out, "don't take the brown acid!"  If hippies aren't condoning it, then it must be pretty fucking dangerous.  Since I know you're curious, yes I did Google brown acid.  Apparently, at Woodstock in 1969 there was an announcement made that the brown colored acid was giving people bad hallucinations and freakouts.  The announcement was simply, "don't take the brown acid!"  So there you go.  

The journey started at 10:45 p.m. on Tuesday, June 10th.  We wanted to leave so we would get to Tennessee during the afternoon sometime, and with a 16-hour drive we figured 10:00 was a good time to leave.  Factor in packing and lateness and 10:45 was the final departure time.  The bad thing about leaving then was that there was a thunderstorm underway.  We had to pack the car in rain and thunder and lightning, causing us to pack it as if we had the brains of 10-year olds.  Needless to say, the ride down was less than comfortable but we pushed on through.  The first landmark that I'd like to mention is Sonic.  Now, for years I have been seeing Sonic commercials on TV (even though we don't have it in the North) and pining after the glorious-looking food they have there.  I finally had it in Pulaski, Virginia at about 8:00 a.m. Central Standard Time.  It was delicious, and unfortunately some people believe eating at the same place twice in one day, although it would have been at least 7 hours apart so I don't see what the big deal is, is not something you can do.  For this reason, we only had Sonic once the entire trip.  But we did have Arby's, which we have on Route 10 and can have whenever we fucking please.  Who knows the next time I'll eat it again?  Probably not for another couple of years.  But hey, at least I'm being optimistic.

Now for the fun stuff.  We got into Bonnaroo early thanks to Chase's friend Kurt who had been there 4 times before.  We got in on Wednesday night and avoided waiting in a 12 mile line to get into the farm where the festival was being held.  Clutch.  As for getting our car searched, let's just say that we could have brought an entire pharmacy with us if we wanted.  The search consisted of patting on our bags as the guy said, "just clothes in here?"  Then he looked in one of our three coolers and said, "just beer in here?"  And that was it.  Let me repeat myself.  That was it.  It probably helps when most of the staff working at the festival is high.  I leaned out the window to ask a girl directing traffic how she got the job and she just yells out into the air at nobody in particular, "I made love to your motherrrrrrrr!"  I'm pretty sure she was high, but you can never really tell.

In Manchester, Tennessee for four days in June, the laws of America are suspended.  I didn't see a single police officer.  I didn't see a single security guard.  I saw "safety personnel."  I saw every drug known to man.  I saw people doing them whenever and wherever they wanted without a single bit of worry.  Not only that, but I didn't see a single fight or argument the whole weekend.  The only arguing was between me and the kids I went with, and that's about it.  The place was so laid back, you could take a dump in the middle of a field and people would just think you were tripping balls.  Here's an example.  The first night, me and Chase went to go see Dark Star Orchestra, a Grateful Dead cover band.  Out of nowhere, several hippies busted out nitrous tanks and started selling balloons.  If you don't know, nitrous cuts off oxygen to the brain.  Really dangerous and stupid.  If you've ever done it, you're an idiot.  But apparently it's popular among the hippies and especially among the Deadheads.  Anyway, I saw a big fat guy with four balloons in one hand and three in the other.  I was tempted to ask him how he planned on inhaling any of them with his hands so full, but I had a feeling he'd figure something out.

Since you probably still hate me from my mind-numbingly boring Pantheon posts, I won't talk about any of the bands I saw.  I'll just list them here:  MGMT, Battles, Dark Star Orchestra, Nomo, Umphrey's McGee, Les Claypool, State Radio, Cornmeal, Donavon Frankenreiter, B.B. King, Jack Johnson, Pearl Jam, Phil Lesh, Lupe Fiasco, and Robert Randolph.  I also saw a few comedians, Chris Rock, Louis C.K. and Mike Birbiglia.  Every act was great, and that's all I really need to say about that.  I personally recommend every one of these bands, and if you want to know anything about the ones you don't know, just ask me.

You're probably wondering why I didn't list Kanye West in there.  Here's why:  He was scheduled for 2:45 a.m. on Saturday night (Sunday morning) which is ridiculous in itself.  I don't know this for sure, but he was originally going on during Jack Johnson on the secondary stage and since he's a selfish fuck he probably said, "I'm Kanye West, I'm not playing during another headliner and I'm sure as hell not playing anywhere but on the main stage."  Anyway, 2:45 a.m.  Pearl Jam was supposed to play from 10:15-12:15 but played an extra hour for some stupid reason.  They played All Along the Watchtower.  Are you kidding me?  Thats just unnecessary, and a little ridiculous.  So they started setting up Kanye's set an hour late, which I guess takes a long time to set up because it's a huge light show.  It got pushed to 3 a.m., then 3:15, and eventually he went on around 4 or 4:15 a.m. depending on who told you the story, because I sure as hell wasn't awake.  He played til 5 a.m.  Thats it.  So he got booed off the stage, naturally.  I mean I know you went on late but 45 minutes?  The tickets were upwards of $230 you bastard.  I'm sure Lupe Fiasco was way better anyway.  So thats what happened with Kanye Overrated West.  I'm not mad. 

Now, when I said there wasn't a fight or argument the whole weekend, you are probably thinking "get the fuck out of here."  But I'm about to tell you the secret.  At Pearl Jam, my brother was telling me that he had bumped into someone while walking earlier in the day.  He said, "sorry man."  The guy then says, "it's cool man, it's Bonnaroo!"  Scott then heard this at least a dozen more times throughout the day.  Apparently as long as you say that with your best hippie voice, you can get away with anything.  As soon as he's done telling me this story, a guy walks by and steps on Scott's foot.  The guy goes, "sorry, bro."  Scott fires back, "it's cool man, it's Bonnaroo!"  Swear to God, it's like magic.  The guy just walks away smiling and goes on his merry way.  Fucking incredible.

Two more things that I did that weekend.  First, we went to the Jack Daniel's distillery.  It was awesome.  You could get drunk on the fumes alone.  No, they don't give out free samples anymore.  Bullshit, I know.  But we did get lemonade at the end, and it was the best lemonade I ever had in my life.  No joke.  Second, we stopped at a state park on the way called Rock Island.  It's basically a big dammed-up river with giant rocks and cliffs and waterfalls on either side.  It's beautiful.  We went cliff-jumping to cool ourselves off before we made it to the campsite.  Chalk one up for the South.

Overall, the whole experience was amazing.  You want to know if I'm going next year, because that's always everybodys question.  I can't say for sure, but it would depend on what bands are playing.  While it was a sick trip, it was really physically and mentally taxing, especially being in close proximity with the same people for long periods of time.  Plus at times it was excruciatingly hot and smelly.  Yes, smelly.  Showers were 7 bucks and I'd rather buy food.  You would too, trust me.  So the bands playing would just have to be earthshattering for me to go back.  Think Muse, Radiohead, Incubus, bands like that.  

So that about sums up Bonnaroo.  If you want to see really great music and do whatever you want in a consequence free environment, it's the place for you.  Just remember, don't take the brown acid.

Prelude

Tomorrow night at 10 pm I'm leaving for Bonnaroo, a music festival in Tennessee.  When I get back I'll come out firing with two posts, one about my Bonnaroo experience and the other will be a rant on why sometimes I hate sports.  And by sometimes I mean any time I'm watching a team that I'm a fan of.  Stay Tuned.

End of an Era

I realize that it's been a while since my last post, and for anyone who actually reads this I apologize. I'm taking a creative writing class which is just draining all of my creative juices so far, and even when I have the motivation to write something I can't really think of anything good to say. But, I have a few ideas in the bank so they'll be coming along soon.

Yesterday my beloved UConn Huskies lost in the first round of the NCAA tournament for the first time ever under Jim Calhoun. No, this isn't a sports post, breathe easy out there guys. There's something bigger hidden in the box score of this 70-69 loss in OT to the upstart San Diego squad. I realized after the game that I would never again see my team play, win or lose, through the eyes of a UConn undergraduate student. Sure, I'll follow them just as fiercely and with the same intense do-or-die excitement for the rest of my life. And there it is. The rest of my life. The rest of my life. What can that even mean? I haven't met a single kid my age who is ready to stop college. And why would you? College is an excuse to be an alcoholic, its a free pass for all the good things in life that are frowned upon in society. I don't know any sane person who would willingly give that up. But as yesterday reminded me, life is approaching fast. Less than 2 months, actually. Sure some of us go to grad school, but that isn't the same as going through your 4-year term, acquiring friends every year and living in different places. It's a terrifying thought, not being in college anymore.

Not only is it over, but I feel like I just got here. I remember moving in on my first day and every single day since just as vividly as this moment, at least it seems that way. Where did the time go? I know that those of you in my situation feel the same way because you've told me so. If you're just starting college I beg you, do as much as you possibly can! You think you'll be able to do some things you want to do in a year or two from now, whatever they are, but that time disappears like a cheeseburger from Goldberg's plate. Live it up, so to speak. Go to the bar on a Tuesday night. Wait to write that paper the night before its due so you can order wings and play poker with your friends. When college is over, you'll either look back with regret or satisfaction. And I'm not talking about regret as in, "man I wish I never got alcohol poisoning that night," or "I wish I never hooked up with that guy who looked like Shelden Williams." Real regret is, "I wish I had talked to that girl" or "I wish I took that weekend trip to NYC with everyone" or "I wish I tried to make more friends." Don't regret those things, because you can always forget things you did but you'll never forget what you didn't have the balls to do.

So this is the end of an era. To anybody I ever met in college, thank you. You know why. People say that these will be the greatest years of our lives. While right now at this moment I believe that to be true, I hope that it isn't. I hope that I have more experiences that are just enhanced by my college experience. Now that I've gone through this journey of self, the cliche that seems to describe college prevails. You really do find yourself during these years. And because of that, everything you ever experience for the rest of your life will be viewed differently and better than you could have experienced it. Maybe "the rest of my life" doesn't sound so bad after all.

Coming Soon

New posts coming soon, creative writing class is tapping me out right now. New stuff soon enough.

Road Blocks

Sometimes it's hard to come up with something to write. It's been over a week since my last post and I'm only writing something right now because I feel like I have to, like I shouldn't go that long without writing here. The start of school is always busy, and my creative writing class is leaving me a little tapped out. I started to write about two hours ago, about alcohol and how it makes social situations easier sometimes. It came out all wrong and I just ended up sounding like some sketchy guy who wants to get girls drunk enough to bang him. Not the case. Anyway, I view this as an experiment. I want to see where this goes, if I have anything worthwhile to say. For the first time since I started, I feel like I don't and it really sucks. But thats ok because I know that while I'm walking around tomorrow or the next day I'll see something that will inspire me to write something that will actually interest you. Unlike now when I'm babbling on about how I don't know what to write. I suppose I can just go through a list of stuff that's happened over the past week and how I feel about it, so here goes.

The Mets got Johan Santana. The Mets got Johan Santana. The New York Fucking Mets got Johan Santana. If you don't know who he is, the first thing you should do is read a newspaper or even easier, stop being a damn idiot. Santana is the best pitcher on the planet. He's the best pitcher of this century (I know it's only 8 years thats why you can say that), and now he's on my favorite baseball team. If you know me, I love the Mets even though sometimes I think they hate me. As you can imagine, I'm pretty psyched that they got Santana. Good shit never happens to the Mets, so this is pretty huge.

UConn rattled off four straight impressive wins to thrust themselves back into the national picture. And the two toughest of the wins were without two of our best scorers. The Lousiville game on Monday night at the Civic Center (I refuse to call it the XL Center) was epic. It felt like Gampel in there, which is saying a lot because the Civic Center is usually dead. It's usually dead because other than students, UConn fans are just old people and alumni who sit the whole game and are completely pathetic. They're bandwagon jumpers, frontrunners. The simple fact that we've had some good wins lately is the reason that the Civic Center was so alive, which proves the frontrunner comment. It's sad but true. But we're back. Our lack of guards is forcing us to go inside and use our athleticism. Without Dyson and Wiggins, Stanley Robinson becomes a first option instead of a third. AJ is playing out of his mind. He's the best point guard in the Big East, and right now nobody in the country is playing better at his position. Imagine if he never had bleeding in his brain and we had him for the 2005 season. Guaranteed championship. Now he's leading our resurgance on the court and in the locker room. It's good when guys live up to their potential.

I'm taking a creative writing class. It's extremely demanding, especially this first unit on poetry. Poetry is impossible. You think you're good at it and then you realize that what you wrote is crap. Maybe sometime soon I'll work up the balls to post some of the things I've written for the class, but until I improve that's not going to happen. Try writing a poem one time, it's actually pretty cool. Shit comes out that you never thought you could say. It's almost scary how cool it is.

Thats about it for now, when I think of something real to say I promise you'll be the first to know.

American Blues: The Joe Miller Story

There's only so many things to do in a small town. For Joe Miller, an 18 year old singer/songwriter from Cheshire, CT, the choice was obvious. Up until the age of 12, Joe says that he did the typical American family thing, playing baseball and eating hamburgers. But at 12 he found an old electric guitar in his papa's basement and took it home with him. Soon he befriended a guitar teacher who would give him lessons and the rest as they say, is history. Joe learned rock and roll and the blues, and was soon writing his own songs. This is his story.

When you first meet Joe Miller, you wouldn't guess that he's a songwriting rock machine. But once he gets up to the microphone with his Gibson Firebird and starts playing, you really feel his presence. Recently I had a conversation with Joe on how he got started. According to Joe, after taking home his papa's guitar, in a year he had started to master it. It would become a way of life, playing guitar every day and abandoning the American dream every kid has of wanting to be a baseball player. Then, two years after starting lessons he left his instructor to continue by himself. Once he got out of the restraints of lessons to be free and explore for himself, things started to click on the guitar front. He taught himself the blues, and got advice from his former teacher who remained his friend and mentor. Everything was going right, except for his songwriting. Joe had trouble writing his own songs despite his increasing guitar skills, and he didn't know what to do.

"When I mean the songwriting wasn't coming, I mean it was nowhere to be found," says Miller. "The stuff I'd try to write was terrible." He could copy different styles on the guitar but he couldn't write for his life. Finally, in high school, Joe had an awakening. High school life and his everyday experiences inspired him to write song after song. Soon, he was writing 3 or 4 songs at once. "All of a sudden it was like a miracle," Joe told me. "Something just clicked." His songs are mainly inspired by his own experiences. In the beginning, Joe would write songs about things he saw in high school. Fights, parties, interactions with girls on Friday and Saturday nights, anything would inspire him to write a song.

"I find it happens most when I'm at parties, when I walk into a room at a party and there's good time music blasting. That motivates me for some weird reason. And I find myself going home and writing, or writing on my way home driving in my car. I've written a lot of songs in my car." When I asked him if he ever wrote while driving, he said mainly he'd write the first few lines of a song in the car and then rush home to finish it so he wouldn't forget. "I keep repeating them to myself until I get home, then I record them on a little tape machine." On this machine he would record not only the ideas for the songs, but guitar riffs, keys, vocal accents, or anything he didn't want to forget. Then he would go back later and refine the song before playing it himself or bringing it to whatever band he was playing with at the time.

But his songwriting doesn't stop at guitar and vocals. "I can hear things though in a song when I'm writing it. Drum beats, guitar solos, piano solos. You got to be careful though, because you hear things you think are original but it turns out it was already used. That used to happen a lot to me in the early days of writing, mainly melodies in vocals." Instead of just changing these songs that he had written to sound less like other songs, he would just scrap them. Rather than risk being unoriginal, he would start from scratch instead. This is when his songwriting began to mature and cultivate.

Joe cites his influences as some of rock's greatest icons. "Ever since I was a kid my dad had me listening to 'front man' type of music. Guys like Springsteen, Seger, Tom Jones. So I never wanted to just be the guitarist in the background." This would become the thing that drove Joe to start writing his own songs. He wanted to be the man who got the crowd going, that the entire show hinged on. Once he started playing guitar, he was influenced by both the Rolling Stones and Chuck Berry. These influences come through in his songs, with hits such as "Work Your Groove" and "Let Me Be Your Man" getting crowds going at multiple venues that he frequents. Joe has a steady solo act at George's II in Wallingford, CT every Thursday night, which is soon going to be sponsored by Radio 104.1. His band, The Joe Miller Group, has various dates that they are playing and recently played a show at the Funky Monkey Cafe in Cheshire.

When I asked Joe what his main goal was, he said, "I just hope somebody hears what I have to say." A modest goal for an emerging star, who no doubt will be heard by many people very soon. Joe has written over 120 songs, songs he says he is proud of. As I said before, Joe Miller may not look like much but he is a rock machine. His quality lyrics and catchy tunes are something that can be enjoyed by fans of all music. He is the very definition of the American rock dream, a self-taught star with the world at his fingertips. I strongly recommend and endorse Joe Miller's music, and I hope that his story has inspired you to do something, anything that could make you as happy as music has made Joe. Go see his show and I promise you that you will enjoy it.

If this is your first time reading my blog, I would appreciate it if you could read the other posts, check out the links if you like, and write comments on what you think. It would be a great help for me to improve my blog, which I am always looking to do.

Sharp Metal Hooks

I generally don't want to dedicate an entire post to anything negative, but this is one exception that I have to make. Just a disclaimer, I'm about to embark on the most ridiculous rant you've heard in a while. On the list of things I hate the most, there is a thin line between a few things. Among the top of the list are the pantheon of pet peeves. Broccoli, mayonaisse (except in tuna fish because well, thats how you make tuna fish), needles, and people who talk on their cell phones really loud on the bus. But the thing that might trump all of those (yes, even broccoli which I famously loathe), is the dentist. Not the dentist him or herself, but the entire experience of it. First they sit you down in the chair and lean it back so far that your neck aches. Then the hygenist who actually does all the work starts chatting you up, asking you about school and what you're studing and everything like they actually care and don't forget five minutes later. I've had the same lady cleaning my teeth for 5 years or so and she asks me the same shit every time. Then they start the scraping. That horrible scraping. One tooth for 3o freaking minutes. How much more shit can you possibly scrape off of there? Then, she puts down her double-sided sharp metal hook instrument to pick up...another double-sided sharp metal hook instrument! Why!?!? Why do this to me? As if one sharp metal hook is any different than another?

The last time I went (last week), my hygenist decided to carry on a conversation with another hygenist about how she got yelled at that morning for leaving something out. Now, I'm all for office banter, but not when you have sharp metal hooks in my mouth scraping away at the same tooth over and over, and any slip could slice my gums open. It may sound a little ridiculous, but she was actually still scraping and looking at the woman she was talking to. Let me repeat this. She is scraping my teeth with a sharp metal hook, while not looking. I found this hilarious. I'm sorry you're an idiot and left something out and got yelled at, but could you pay attention to my mouth please?

Then there's the dentist, the biggest scam artist of our generation. Any idiot knows you need to brush your teeth after ever meal or at least twice a day, use mouthwash and floss occasionally. But don't insult me by coming in for about 30 seconds, poking each tooth with a sharp metal hook, making some witty comments, proclaiming that everything is okey dokey and leaving me with the sadist for some more torture. After this fun little visit, its time for the electric tooth brush thing which they call "polishing your teeth." Yes, I'd love some tooth polish. Anyway, after thats over which admittedly isn't bad at all, I'm about ready to leave since every dentist appointment is always over after the polishing part. At least, thats what I thought after going to the dentist for like 15 years. She told me to hold on and grabbed the sharp metal hook again and starts scraping away at the same stupid fucking tooth she scraped for 30 minutes already. At this point I'm on the verge of screaming at her, but since I'm not an asshole until after the fact I decide to let it slide. 45 minutes after they took me in late, I'm out of there as if I didn't have things to do 3 days before I go back to school for my final semester in college.

All things considered, it could have been much worse. I could have snapped like Kanye West on public access and made a scene but I didn't. Some things in this world you just can't stand, and there's nothing you can do about it. Call me crazy, but I don't like to have hands in my mouth scraping my shit up with sharp metal hooks. Maybe I'm weird.

Coming soon: The Joe Miller Story