Stories – Page 4 – john paganetti

The Flaming Lips

All Bonnaroo Saga posts: tag/Bonnaroo 07

If you’ve never seen the Flaming Lips live before, watch the above video to get an idea.After twenty minutes or so of The Police, I left to grab a decent spot for the Flaming Lips. I wasn’t the only one with this idea, and there were a couple thousand people in front of the stage when I arrived. It sounded like The Police ended sooner than they were supposed to, and there was a while where there was no music coming from anywhere. Since all the other stages shut down when a headliner is on the mainstage, there wasn’t anyone opposite The Police. And the stages weren’t supposed to start up until midnight. The band was ready long before then, and came out on stage to screw around and make sure everything was in place. When Wayne Coyne came out on stage and looked at the huge crowd already assembled he asked “Did anyone even see the Police?”

Soon they got tired of waiting around for the arbitrary midnight start time. Wayne told the crowd “Alright, so we’re not supposed to start until midnight, so if anyone asks, this is just a soundcheck.” They launched into War Pigs, complete with visuals on the big screen (a semi-circular projection screen) behind them. Full of energy, the crowd was getting into it, and then they finished. I guess they got in trouble, because Wayne came back out and said they’d have to wait until midnight to go on. Some time goes by, and stage hands (I guess) start throwing out little laser pointer keychains from the stage. Soon they were getting thrown from the soundboard as well, but I wasn’t quite close enough to get any. All in all, thousands of these keychains were passed out, and people lit up Which stage with them. The very top, mostly blank space and the name of the stage in huge letters, was swarming with little red dots. Wayne came out on stage, and told everyone that these little ‘cat toys’ were harmless, and they were planning a big stunt with them about 45 minutes into the show, but the batteries don’t last too long, so save the batteries!

More nothing. As we’re waiting, we can see the band just dicking around on stage waiting for midnight to roll around. The stage is still covered in little red dots. But then the smoke machine starts up, and some music starts playing. The massive circular lighting rig above the stage comes to life, shining lights everywhere, strobes and the whole lot. It took me a second to notice, and another second to be sure, but the lighting rig was descending. The entire lighting rig was getting closer and closer to the stage, until suddenly the top was revealed. It was a gigantic space ship! It stopped about ten feet from the stage, and a ladder was brought underneath the ship. The members of the band (except Wayne) descend to massive applause. Then the ship starts to pitch forward, revealing more of the top to us. And sitting on the very top of the space ship is Wayne Coyne in a giant plastic bubble. Think of it as a life-size hamster ball. People around me wonder aloud if he is going to roll down into the crowd (he’s known for crowd-surfing in the bubble) and I admit I was wondering that myself. But he isn’t that crazy, he steps down the side of the ship, still in the bubble, onto the waiting hands of his bandmates and stagehands. They help him onto the crowd and he rolls around on top of his fans for a few minutes as the space ship pitches in the other direction to reveal the bottom. On the bottom are more lights, mirrors, and other things that make a space ship work.

He gets back to the stage right as they start their first song, and the confetti starts to fly. The Flaming Lips like confetti, and I do too. There are two cannons on either side of the stage whose sole purpose is to shoot confetti a hundred feet in the air over the crowd. I’m not even counting the handheld cannons Wayne fired when he felt like it (generally when he wasn’t singing or playing). There was much confetti, which was an awesome sight from afar, but I imagine must be insane up close. Next time I see them, I’m going to have to try to be really close.

After a few songs, the ship starts to right itself, and ascend back up to the top of the stage. We can see the projection screen again, and they make full use of it, including projecting the image from a small camera mounted on Wayne’s microphone. More lights, color, confetti and music. Then came the laser stunt. The screen behind them told us it was time, and counted down from 10 to SHOOT WAYNE at which point everyone in the audience with a pointer aimed it at the lead singer. He was ready for them, with a massive mirror he held up, reflecting the beams in every direction. This would have been boring as hell had it not been for the smoke machine showing the path of every single beam. You can interpret that metaphorically however you would like, but I’m going to stick with the visual. It was an incredible effect, and I wouldn’t like any deeper meaning to cheapen the memory of that. As it was with most of the stunts they did that night, the crowd was stunned silent. Maybe that isn’t true. Maybe I was so mesmerized that I didn’t hear them. I was awestruck, and I can only think that everyone else was as well, because I don’t remember hearing them.

Near the end of the show, they did the leaf-blower-balloon thing shown in the video above. One hitch: the balloon popped too early, and the band wasn’t ready to cut the music, so the held the crescendo while Wayne got another balloon to attach to the leaf-blower and inflate again. This was taken pretty lightly by everyone, including Wayne who I noticed pointing an accusing finger at the band (for not cutting on time) with a smile on his face. And it is a pretty cool trick, we just got to see it twice. :)

They inflated a giant white balloon and sent it out into the crowd, who shined their lasers onto it as it bounced above the fans. There were probably fifty other balloons that had been bouncing around all show, but this one had lasers on it, which made it special. Wayne even commented “Man that’s cool.”

Soon after they left the stage, but not after shooting off all the confetti they had left. They unloaded all the handheld cannons and the two massive cannons must have fired for a solid minute. They left the stage, and the crowd exploded. And then a new thought entered my mind: what about the encore? The crowd was obviously not going to be happy unless the band came back on, but how could they possibly top that? That was the best live show I had ever seen, and the crowd wanted more. I imagined them backstage trying to scrap together different props in order to make a decent encore stunt. But they were more prepared than I was for an encore, because as they came back on stage and started to play, the ship started to descend. And one by one they climbed up the latter into the ship, Wayne waving goodbye to the crowd as he ascended last. And then, with as many lights as before, the ship went back up.

Once the ship was up, the house music came on. And what was the choice to follow such a show? Louis Armstrong’s What A Wonderful World. Everyone who knew the lyrics (and let’s face it: who doesn’t?) sang along. That was a perfect choice after seeing a show like that.

The show was over, but damn. What a show. I haven’t ever seen a live show so enthralling or enchanting in my whole life. There was much more than what I’ve written, but words are so dry I couldn’t even begin to describe it and give it the justice it deserves. If a DVD of this show ever became available, I’d buy it. If the Bonnaroo 2007 DVD includes clips of this show, I’ll buy it. Nothing short of being there can ever convey that feeling. I can’t wait until my pictures are developed; I must have spent half a roll on that show alone.

Saturday

All Bonnaroo Saga posts: tag/Bonnaroo 07

State of Mind and Let Me Be by Xavier Rudd
[audio:http://www.archive.org/download/xr2004-10-28.shnf/xr2004-10-28d1t06_64kb.mp3,http://www.archive.org/download/xr2004-10-28.shnf/xr2004-10-28d1t09_64kb.mp3]

New York Port Authority Bus Terminal

I missed String Cheese. I know, I know. It was the show I intended to see at ‘roo. But not sleeping for the last two days got to me, and sometime into Tool, I passed out. Its a shame, but I’ll get to hear the show online, and should be able to catch them live some other time this summer. No worries. That sleep was some of the best sleep I’ve ever had. Apparently I didn’t even wake up when Charles started screaming my name and shining a light on my tent (they were well into their acid trip). I’m sad that I missed their game that night. After I didn’t respond, they decided I wasn’t there and turned on people walking through the crossroad. What Charles said he did was shine a light in someone’s face as they walked by, and if that didn’t freak them out enough, he’d yell. Sure, its a jerky thing to do, but it would have been funny to watch. The next morning I woke up to someone outside yelling “Beer! Beer for breakfast!” They were selling beers to anyone that was up at that hour (around 7, which is the point where the tent got unbearably hot, and you were forced awake). They kept at it for a while, varying it as time wore on. “Pay us and we’ll drink a beer!” They went on for a while until some security folks on horseback told them to take off.

So lets get on with Saturday. Oh wait, first I wanted to take back a couple things. But I suppose that goes along with Saturday. Lets start Saturday again. Friday afternoon, when our neighbors first invited us over, they were very drunk. And by Friday night they were burnt out. That is what gave me such a negative first impression. Saturday morning I got to talk to them again, and they’re alright guys.

Moving on, at some point in the morning we lost Charles. Not at all sure where he went. So Melissa and I headed to Shakedown Street, where all the vendors are. Melissa was on a mission to find some pot (“Do you have anything to put in these?” gesturing towards the pipes for sale) and I was looking for the obscure cool item that is always hiding in the rows of vendors. Shakedown has a LOT of glass pipes. Really, an unreasonable amount. And the rest of the stuff they had was standard fare, so I didn’t get anything. Melissa eventually found some pot (harder than you’d think, no one wanted to share), even though it was at an outrageous price.

Around noon I bailed on Melissa to go see Railroad Earth. Railroad Earth is a really high energy progressive bluegrass band. They’ve played Grey Fox before, so I knew they were good. This is where the trouble began: I started dancing, and I didn’t really stop until 4am. Railroad Earth had an incredible set, and then I moved over to see the Slip. I’ve heard them before as well: a guitar/bass/drum trio, and they’re good, so I wanted to see them live. More incredible energy, more dancing. From there I headed over to a small stage to see Railroad Earth again, for a much shorter but equally awesome set. Right after that, at the same stage, was solo acoustic Warren Haynes. I stuck around for that, which was a bit of a letdown, because he was a little late and a little drunk. He only got to play two songs (the rest was an interview) but they were both very good. From there I went to go see the Hold Steady. This was mostly at the recommendation of friends, and because some of their stuff that I’ve heard is pretty good. Their live show, however, really wasn’t. They were at the dusty stage (not their fault, but an immediate disincentive), and from the moment they got on, they were more into it than the crowd. That is always a turn off, and after hearing four or five songs (some of which I had heard before, and realized they didn’t add all too much live) I left. I headed over to The Other Tent where Keller would be playing soon. But the artist before him hadn’t finished yet (because I left the Hold Steady early). I hadn’t heard of him, or heard any of his stuff, but Xavier Rudd was incredible. He is a one man band, but not the same way Keller is. Xavier has a platform on stage with three didgeridoos, some drums and bongos, and an electric guitar on his lap. He played them all live, no looping. He had a drummer sit in on a few songs which just added to the awesome. I’m going to find out more about him, and see him again if I can.

Next was Keller’s set. Since I was there really early, I was right up front. This was my first time seeing Keller with the WMD’s (a quartet he formed to tour with after his last album), and only my second time seeing him ever. I was pumped, and already in a good mood because of all the good tunes I’d heard so far. When the musicians came out for a soundcheck, it took them a while to get the monitors balanced, and they would gesture to the guy at the soundboard how they wanted him to change it. Most of the time, they would point up if they wanted it higher. After some 5 minutes of pointing, the crowd started to do it too, and soon everyone under the tent was had their index fingers extended. Its these little spontaneous moments that make me love live shows. The show started with a really jazzy tune that could have been completely improvised, I’m not sure. But it was very different from the Keller I was used to. He only brought out two guitarts, and didn’t loop at all. It still sounded good, just not like Keller (obviously, because he was playing with musicians besides himself). Then he launched into some old favourites, and I realized why he wanted a quartet. There was so much more energy during Freaker than there ever was with him alone. And it was during Freaker that things started to get airborne. People brought beach balls of all sizes, and someone brought a massive stuffed Scuba Doo (Scooby Doo in Scuba gear). All of these were bouncing over my (our) head. More dancing. Eventually, Scooby ripped, and showered stuffing on our heads. I don’t think I can do this show justice, so I’ll stop trying. Just know it was one of my favourite sets all weekend.

After Keller, I briefly tried to go see Flight of the Conchords w/Dimitri Martin, buut there was a line for the comedy tent, so I didn’t. In fact, because of that I didn’t see anything in the comedy tent all weekend. Stupid lines. There is so much to do, why would you ever wait in line? I headed back to camp to rinse the dust and what was left of Scooby off me, then grabbed some food for the road, and headed off to see the Police. This is the first time I’ve seen a performance of this size. 50,000+ people all at one stage. I don’t want to do it again. The performance loses its intimacy, and you can’t even see the performers except on the massive video screens. Might as well be watching a dvd. The Police were nothing special. It was rumored that Stewart Copeland was trying to get Sting and Andy Summers to jam, but if they did I didn’t notice. I left less than halfway into their set to get a good spot at the Flaming Lips.

Back in Tennessee

All Bonnaroo Saga posts: tag/Bonnaroo 07

Eat My Dust by String Cheese Incident
[audio:http://www.archive.org/download/sci1996-08-11.sbd.flac16/sci1996-08-11d1t09_64kb.mp3]

Manchester, TN

So Charles, Melissa, and I made basecamp underneath a row of payphones. Melissa is pretty ditzy, but nice. She wore a long skirt and had hair that reached her waist. Charles has long blonde hair and a beard which is still shorter than his hair, for now. He said he grew the beard so people would stop mistaking him for a chick. I think that is only a half joke. While we were sitting under the payphones, one of them rings. Melissa answers it, and the chick on the other end asks for someone named Johnny. Melissa steps over to the main area of the terminal where most people are waiting for their buses to arrive, and calls out for Johnny, yelling that he has a phone call. Johnny is in his late twenties, he has short trimmed hair, and lots of peircings and tattoos. He notices our bags and general appearance and asks if we’re going to Bonnaroo. We find out he had just come from there, and had a pretty crappy experience. He had been lead to believe that someone would supply him with a ticket, but that never happened, and since he didn’t have thte moneyy to grab one from a scalper, he just walked away. What makes this such a crappy experience is that he was now in the middle of Tennessee for no reason. So he was now on his way home, waiting for a bus at 0600 the next morning. He was trying to coordinate something with his girlfriend (the girl calling the payphone). Johnny was an interesting guy, heavy into alternative life styles and body mods. Another interesting thing to note: he is friends with Lizardman. Besides that, he is part of a suspension team, gauged his earlobes, and split his tongue. He also raised and owns a couple Boa Constrictors. An interesting guy with lots of good stories, Johnny was a good addition to our group. So he hung out with us for a while until Charles and Melissa decided to his up a nearby pub with live irish music. Johnny joined them, but I stayed behind. I like Irish music well enough, but pubs less so, especially if I haven’t had much sleep. So my plan was to catch up on this journal, then catch a little snooze. Not long after they left, Johnny returned alone. He told me he tuned back after two blocks, favoring sleep. He went to go find an empty bench to sleep on, and I finished writing, still sitting under the phones. Once I was done I went to the bathroom to wash up and shave while I still had running water (shaving sucks when you’re camping). Charles came into the bathroom about a minute after I did, so I took my time knowing someone would be watching our bags. When I got out, the terminal was crowded, and it had been nearly empty when I went in. I couldn’t find my bags, or Charles and Melissa. Just then, Melissa bumped into me on her way to the bathroom, and let me know they have moved outside so they didn’t have to deal with all those people. I’m not sure what happened to Johnny, I think some people may have sat on him.

Outside, it was much quieter, and actually more comfortable. We had befriended the security guard inside when he learned that he came from the same area as C&M. We made friends with the next guard as well, when the first’s shift was over. Turns out the next guard also hailed from that area. What are the odds? They provided sporadic company as they made their rounds throughout the building. It seems their main duty is to keep people from smoking out front, as well as keeping panhandelers away. Those two things are more related than you may think. The reason they don’t want people smoking out front is because it gives a big target for panhandelers.

Another guy waiting for a bus joined us outside. He had just gotten out of jail, and was on parole. He had been to Bonnaroo in years past, and told us some tales of sneaking into the fest in the old days. In case you’re wondering, he got busted at a Particle concert and did 14 months. He was who I talked to most in the early morning hours. Charles had gone inside to crash and Melissa had fallen asleep on her luggage out front with us. This guy, I’ll call him Todd, was a big jamfan. It was refreshing to talk to someone who appreciated the music, because C&M weren’t big jamfans. We talked about the bands at Bonnaroo and other festivals and shows or experiences we’d had in the past. As the sun started to come up, he went inside to catch his bus. I figured I’d go inside when the street lights went out, which somehow managed to be about the same time Melissa got up. We went inside, found Charles, and found new places to sleep. Charles and I grabbed a spot on the floor between two benches, and I managed to get about an hour of sleep before some employee woke me up and told me to move. C&M moved to take over more than half of a bench, and I sat down on another one, using the cooler they brought as a legrest. In case you don’t know, bus station terminal benches are the most uncomfortable things ever. After an hour you lose feeling in various body parts, which makes any decent amount of sleep difficult. C&M pulled it off, however, sleeping until 10. I got an hour here and there, but spent most of my time staring at the wall and listening to CNN on the TV above me.

Around 0930, people started to arrive in the terminal (before that, it had just been us and the employees). A good number of them were headed to Bonnaroo. They weren’t as late as we were, however, and had planned on arriving on Friday. When Charles woke up, he found himself surrounded by Amish people. Its true: the amish travel by Greyhound. He reaction as he looked around him was priceless. We got on the bus at 11, and arrived in Manchester soon after (about noon?). We got a ride to the main entrance from a local guy trying to make a buck by serving as a shuttle. He told us that someone had already died, although he didn’t know how (probably drugs or dehydration). Once inside, we start to head to tent-only camping, but it is really hot and C&M didn’t have bags designed for ease of carry (a sleeping bag was tied on to their suitcase using ethernet cable). So at one of our breaks, a fella walks over and offers us a spot next to them on the corner of a crossroad. Its a good spot, and since we don’t really know where we were headed to, we accept. [NOTE: if you ever travel and have to rely on the kindness of strangers, it is very very helpful to have a female with you. Melissa is the sole reason we got this spot.] Unfortunately, these guys are part of the new fraty crowd at festivals, and as I write this I hear people commenting about the disarray of their site. Two even stopped to take pictures. But that’s ok. I can have jerks for neighbors since I won’t be spending much time at camp.

After setting up camp, C&M&I go to explore Centeroo. And after a brief setback (Melissa forgot she left her acid in her purse, so we had to go back to camp to leave it there) we were in Centeroo. I got to catch the last few songs of Tortise (who are very good). From there I saw Kings of Leon (also good), the Nightwatchman (good, but annoying), Dierks Bently (less good), and lastly the Black Keys (best). At Kings of Leon, the guy standing in front of me lost his balance and collapsed. He was on the ground and not moving when his buddy started to leave and get help. He didn’t get more than three steps away before his fallen comrade was back on his feet, albeit shakily. I’m not sure what happened, he’d been smoking pot, but that shouldn’t have had this effect on him. Maybe the sun? Either way his friends brought him out of the crowd. At the Nightwatchman show, Tom Morello amused me. He is a good guitarist, but all of his music is very political. At one point, when talking about the verses commonly removed from Woody Guthrie’s This Land is Your Land he said “God forbid you should come to a Nightwatchman show and think for yourself!” and everyone cheered. In the middle of his very next song he said “Now pump your fists!” right before he soloed. The crowd, of course, obliged. Way to think for yourselves, guys. This happened a few more times in a couple other forms before his set ended. I went to see Dierks Bently because it was said that Sam Bush would be joining him. After two songs, Sammy wasn’t on stage, and the music sucked, so I left. The Black Keys put on a hell of a show. The tiny tent they were in was packed, so I decided to sit outside and stay cool instead of standing in a crowd of warm bodies. While the show was great, my seat was not. I got covered in dust from foot traffic (unavoidable). I’ve been steadily coughing it up since then. But the Black Keys: thumbs up. I skipped Tool because I could hear them from my tent. I’m about to head out to see The String Cheese Incident, who are on their last tour with Bill Nershi. Can’t miss that. I’ll write more later.

This is a long entry

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Tennessee Jed by the Grateful Dead
[audio:http://www.archive.org/download/gd89-08-19.schoeps.13254.sbeok.shnf/gd89-08-19d1t05_64kb.mp3]

So the bus did come at 0530, but that story is less interesting, and I’ll leave it alone for a little while. Shortly after I sat down at the gate for the 0530 bus, a fella wondered over to me and struck up a conversation. His name was Neftali, and he had worse luck than anyone I had met so far. As best I could tell he was traveling from New Jersey to New Orleans. Somewhere along the way he lost his wallet, which included some $400 and his ID. He tole me how he hadn’t eaten in three days, except what he had stolen from the lil store in stations. He asked to use my phone, and I let him. He called his girlfriend (who lives in NJ) and most of his story unfolded before me from the one side of the conversation I heard. He had been on his way to meet his girl when he lost his wallet, and turned around and headed home (I think). She sounded either uninterested in him or crazy. I think it was a little of both. She kept hanging up on him or not responding for long stretches of time. Eventually he learned what she wanted him to do was get a job there, earn some money, and head back her way. That really wasn’t a great option, and he didn’t take well to it. He kept trying to find some harsh words to hurt her, but that didn’t really work. Neftali is a soft-spoken guy, and when he told her she had shit for brains, it was more like he was trying to explain that to her than insult her. Eventually he started quoting this long winded insult from Con Air (with all the relevant context as well), annd that was about when I stopped paying attention. His bus was coming at 0200, and I was counting down the time until he’d leave. He was a nice enough guy, and he was in a really shitty situation, but I couldn’t put up with him at that early hour. He couldn’t get any food because he didn’t have any money. He couldn’t get any money because Western Union requires IDs to claim money. All he could do was head home and hope. So around 2 he left, but not without leaving me his number first. I’ll call him tomorrow. I never did.

After he left, a few more people introduced themselves to me. Black Guy, Redneck, and Amazed Man. Amazed Man played the smallest role, so I’ll describe him first. He started to talk to me shortly after Neftali left. Amazed Man was waiting for his friend to arrive, but his friend hadn’t showed up yet. But as we talked, he couldn’t believe the details of my story, or that of Neftali’s. He kept saying “Oh my GOSH!” and couldn’t believe such troubles could befall us. He also couldn’t understand how Greyhound was still in business. After talking to me and Black Guy for a little while, he went to go check on his friend’s bus. Turns out it was running four hours late, and he decided to go home instead of wait. That is where his role in the story ends.

Redneck showed up in the terminal around 0100, but he was in and out of the terminal all night. While he was around I learned that he had gone to see his son off to Iraq (his son was a Marine). And was now on his way home to Alabama. Redneck plays a larger role later on, and that’s all you need to know for now.

Black Guy is the MVP of this station. He had been there as long as I had, waiting for the 0530 with his daughter (who was a little younger than I). Once Neftali left, he came over to make conversation, and proved to be the most amiable person I had met yet. He was in his fifties (like most people I meet, apparently). He was also heading home, to Memphis. We became fast friends trading Greyhound horror stories, and he told me about the good old days when they let him smoke and drink on the bus. He was much needed company.

Fast forward to about 0400, and a considerable line has built up for the 0530 bus, with Black Guy, Redneck, and myself at the front. Redneck and Black Guy were damned determined to get on the bus, and while my sentiments were the same, I wasn’t as willing to throw my weight around as they were. So I stuck right behind Redneck, sure he would clear the way. The problem was they we still had about an hour and a half until the bus got there, and already people were crowding the entrance of the gate. A bus pulled up on the other side of the door, and I leaned over to check it out. That was about when I set off the fire alarm. This confused the hell out of me, because not only did you have to pull down a lever to set it off, but you had to life a plastic shield to get to it. I had done neither of those things, but that didn’t make the alarm any quieter. Turns out that all I needed to do was lean on it to set it off. And it turns out that all that was needed to do to turn it off was smack that plastic shield really hard. Funny thing is, it took them about ten minutes to get around to doing that. Maybe its a semi-regular occurrence. As 0530 approaches, Redneck is promising violence and all sorts of maladies to the folks who snuck up to the front. I was sitting right behind him, waiting to pounce once the door opened. All of that ended up being unnecessary, because there was plenty of room on the bus, but inside, the tension was palpable. I sat down in a seat by the window, and waiting for everyone else to get on.

Paul sat down next to me. He never told me his name, but he looked like a Paul, so I’ll call him Paul. Paul was heading back home to Texas, specifically to a town I’d never heard of before and don’t remember now. He had been waiting as long as Redneck, Black Guy and myself, but he didn’t get in line until an hour before boarding. As a result he was 49th of the 55 boarding. Paul was a nice guy, didn’t speak much unless he had something to say. His manner reminded me of Bill, but I’ll continue to call him Paul so you can tell them apart. Paul and I rode together until Knoxville: 10 hours in all.

In Knoxville, I was supposed to meet a connecting bus that would take me to Manchester (my final destination). I went up to the counter and found that the bus to Manchester was at Gate 3, and was leaving in 10 minutes. Everything was looking fine. Now, if you’ve learned anything from this story so far, I hope it is that things are never as fine as they seem (at least not when Greyhound is concerned). I started to talk to the guy behind me in line, a dude with a lot of tattoos and piercing wearing a bowler hat. He told me that he was on his way to meet with a company that had just hired him to be a trucker. Yesterday, he had taken the test for his CDL, and failed at backing. Shortly after that the company he was planning to work for told him they were no longer interested. And shortly after that he got a call from another, better company, who was interested in him. That very morning he had taken the CDL test again and passed. Then he got a call from the second company again, saying they’d like to hire him. So he was on his way to a new career, just hours after finding out. I told him that his story was too happy, and that I hadn’t heard anything but horror stories yet that trip. So something was clearly wrong. And sure enough, when we start boarding and I present my ticket, I’m told that I can’t go to Manchester. Apparently Greyhound hadn’t prepared for Bonnaroo. So I am pointed to Gate 1 which will bring me to Nashville. And what is behind Gate 1? They very bus I had just gotten off. So I sit down next to Paul, who is in the window seat now, and explain as best I can what happened. We continue another couple stops on the way to Nashville, and I realize as 2100 rolls around, I’m about 12 hours late. Thanks Greyhound.

We show up at Nashville and get off. I go up to ask the folks at the counter when the next bus to Manchester is leaving. 1100 the following morning. At this point it is about 2200, which means my bus is thirteen hours away. I ask how far we are, and we’re only 65 miles away. I ask her if she knows of any cab services in the area. She tells me I have cute eyes (about as good of a compliment I could get considering I hadn’t showered or seen a mirror in 36 hours. I later saw myself and I looked like hell) and that she’d go out to her car to make a call to a service that only charged a buck a mile. While I’m waiting at the counter two folks just a bit older than me walk up, and it is obvious they’re heading the same way I am. They guy’s name is Charles, and I haven’t caught his girlfriend’s name yet. We combine our forces to try and bring down the price of a cab ride per person, but all the services that woman had called were booked, and the cabs outside the terminal were charging $140-$180 to get to Manchester. We eventually got them down to $120 for the three of us, but that was still too much considering we had already missed the Thursday night acts. We wondered around some more and eventually resigned ourselves to wait for the 1100 bus in the morning.

Whoops

All Bonnaroo Saga posts: tag/Bonnaroo 07

Richmond, VA

Helplessness is a shitty feeling. Getting off the bus in Richmond for a rest stop, I met some of my fellow passengers who were heading to the fest. When I went to reboard, the ticket lady told me I was best to wait for the 0530 bus to Knoxville, instead of going 7 hours out of my way to Atlanta. This seemed reasonable at the time, so I went and got my bags off the bus, came back in the terminal, passing my fellow Bonnarooers and unlucky lady (I never did get her name). I bid them farewell and plopped down in front of my gate. In 6 hours or so, a bus should come for Knoxville, despite what the ticket agent in Maryland said. I double check with the woman who told me she was certain (“I’ve been driving for 22 years…”). So I’m in her hands. If she is right, I’ll get to Manchester on time; if she isn’t, I’ll have to wait until 2030 tonight. One hell of a gamble, but I’ve got faith in her. Wish me luck…

Bonnaroo, the Beginning

All Bonnaroo Saga posts: tag/Bonnaroo 07

Long Way To Go by Railroad Earth
[audio:http://www.archive.org/download/rre2007-06-08.akg483/rre2007-06-08akg483t01_64kb.mp3]

Baltimore, MD

Got on a bus in New Britain at 0830 this morning (it was running 10 minutes late). The ride to New York was mostly uneventful, I think that I was asleep for any decently long stretch of time we spent on the highway. Once we got close to the city, the winding roads and stop/go traffic kept me up. I saw the NY skyline, but we didn’t get any closer to downtown. One thing that caught my eye was that in the minute or so we saw the skyline, there were at least 4 helicopters in the sky above it. I’ve never seen 4 helicopters in the same place at once. Not even at big events or disasters. NY is crazy.

So we arrived at 11 or so in the NY terminal, which is a massive underground structure. The bus arrived about 15 minutes later than it should have, so I rushed to the next terminal to catch my connecting bus. In line for the next bus, I find that my bags weren’t properly checked in New Britain, so I have to go find the baggage check. I’m a bit worried as I approach because I see they have the scales and the tape measurer which will prove my bag is over their arbitrary limits. Luckily, the guy who is supposed to be staffing it isn’t there, and by the time he arrives a line has formed. Eager to get rid of us, he gives me a bag ticket without finding out whether it is within limits. I get back in lie, only a person behind the spot I originally had in line. They start boarding, and we move up in line, until I’m right next to the door (2 people in front of me). Then the lines stops moving, and we’re told the bus is full, and the next one will be by at 1400. One thing you should understand about Greyhound, that I quickly learned in New York, is that even though you have a ticket, you are not guaranteed a seat. It is a first come, first served basis. So from 1130 to 1400, I stood there, bags at my side, talking to the handful of other people who had been left behind.

Two women and a guy, all at least 15 years older than myself. One woman, who I suspect was in her fifties, was on her way to Florida. She was one of twelve children, and she had three of her own. She had many stories to tell, jokes and witty comments to share, and was in general very good company.

Another passenger was Bill. Bill looked like he was also in his fifties. Bill sat next to me when we finally got on the bus. I only heard Bill’s story on the bus, because he disappeared during that two hour stint waiting for the bus to arrive. Bill was a nice enough guy: bald, overweight, soft-spoken. He had recently gotten out of prison. I never learned why, or for how long he was in, but it was long enough that I had to help him use his cell phone. Bill and I shared companionable silence for the most part, only talking during the brief times we were both awake.

The third person I talked to in the NY terminal was a heavyset woman with dyed dark red hair and colored shamrock tattoos on the left side of her chest. She was traveling to her nephew’s wedding, and she was very nice and lots of fun, but despite her shamrocks she was a very unlucky lady. She was already on my first bus when I got on in New Britain. During that trip on the way to NY, she sat next to Yankees Superfan, who claimed to have done time in dozens of places around NY City. He wore a Yankees shirt, watch, and hat, and told her that he had gone through a six pack before getting on the bus (he got on when I did at 0830). She said based on his smell that she believed him. Flash forward: after waiting two plus hours with me for the next bus, she is told by the driver that the bus she wants to get on is at gate 75 (we were at 78) and will arrive in another hour at 1500. Frustrated, no – that is too tame a word. Enraged, she went over to 75 to wait. I started to follow her, but doubled back when I realized I had a different destination than her. Got on the bus at 78, where I heard Bill’s story.

Bill, myself, and the rest of the bus arrive in a rest stop in Baltimore Maryland for our dinner break. During this time, I phone back home to update them, let them know I’m running late. My mom suggests that I talk to a ticket agent instead of going on with the route I had (which was two hours later than the route I was supposed to be on). After talking to the agent for some ten minutes, he told me that if I were to go on to Richmond (the next stop) I’d have to wait until 2030 the following day to get on a bus to Manchester. That was obviously out of the question, so we figured out an alternate route that should get me there. It involved some 4 additional transfers, but it should get me back on track. So I sat down, made myself a sandwich, and started to write this down. About an hour later who walks in the door but that very same unlucky lady. She gets some food, then site with me, claiming she’ll never ride a bus again (she works for the Peter Pan Bus Company). We talked some more, traded bizarre passenger stories, and then she mentioned that some folks on her bus were headed to Bonnaroo as well. It is a though, but I tihnk I’ll play it safe, and do what the ticket agent laid out for me. As we’re sitting, a guy passes us who I’m pretty sure is on his way to Bonnaroo (bandana, camelbak). On his way by me again I ask him,
“Hey man! Are you headed to Bonnaroo?”
“Yes I am.”
“How’re you getting there?”
“I’m taking the bus.”
“Which bus?”
“Greyhound.”
“Alright, but which?”
He isn’t exactly sure, but we eventually establish that it is indeed unlucky lady’s bus. So now my plans have changed. Get on this bus (The last few paragraphs were written on the bus, after leaving the terminal) , transfer in Atlanta, get off at Manchester. I am writing this from that very bus.

I knew a girl in Marysville who could walk the ridgepole of a roof.

Plane Crash by moe.
[audio:http://www.archive.org/download/moe2006-02-28.flac16/moe2006-02-28d4t04_64kb.mp3]

So yesterday I found myself in an odd position. I had to paint the side of the roof (a 10″ or so wide board that runs the length of the roof) of the house I’m working on. The problem that was posed was that since this board and the rest of the roof jutted out about two feet from the side of the house, reaching it was difficult and awkward on a ladder.

I did try the ladder with a brush attached to a pole, but that didn’t get the board covered completely. The top of the board, right next to the shingles, didn’t get the paint it needed. We tossed around a couple other ideas, and ultimately decided I’d just hang over the edge of the roof to paint them.

I’m scared of heights. In middle school, the IDEAS program went to this overnight camp somewhere in the backwoods of CT. The idea was to get us to challenge ourselves in not-very-subtle ways. There were different stations where the goal would be teamwork, or communication, or any other theme they could come up with. One was the Giant’s Ladder. This was a large ‘rope ladder’ made up of logs and steel cable. It was about 5 stories high. Each person climbing was hooked up to a climbing(repelling?) harness to make sure they’d be safe. The rungs were about shoulder height (I don’t remember how tall I was then, but it was shoulder height). I remember I partnered up with a kid who I had never met before that day, but we got along well. We talked it over, and figured that we could just vault ourselves individually up to the next rung, but quickly discovered that they were too far apart for that to work. So we cooperated (you win, program), and got ourselves halfway up, then we took a break. The method we used to get up each rung was pretty straight forward: one person (usually me) would steady themselves by holding the rung above, and balancing on the rung below. Then I would extend one leg so my partner could use my knee as a step. Once he was up, he would reach down, and pull me up. This worked extremely well, but there was one problem. Whenever I was pulled up, in order to get my grip, I’d need to be on my belly. That meant I was looking straight down. So at that halfway point, I started to get freaked out. Each time I looked down it got worse, until with about a quarter of the way left, I had to stop. The councilors and my classmates tried to urge me on, in a bunch of different ways. They saw this as another challenge for me to overcome. I never made it to the top (take that, program!), but I took a picture of everyone on the ground from that spot.

So yesterday when I was hanging over the edge of the roof, I was a bit freaked out at first. It is a two story house with an attic, so at the highest point it reaches about three stories. Painting those spots, you have no choice but to look straight down. I tried to distract myself by keeping an eye on what I was painting. That half worked.

Painting from the roof was much much faster than with the ladder, and it was actually less freaky than being at the same height on a ladder. Its nice to have something (mostly) solid under your feet. I liked this because it took me out of my element, which is something I don’t do often. I like my element. Its comfy and familiar.

I had to go up again today to touch up a few spots that didn’t come out so well. It was easier today. I’m going to go on a tangent now. Today, the roof was far hotter than it was yesterday. And yesterday, it was hot. Yesterday, I poured water on the shingles to cool them off, and it steamed. In ten minutes it was dry again. So today, I went up there without any water, and I think I actually burned my hand. How absurd. Why would you make a roof black? It makes it harder to cool a house with air conditioning (using more power).
Also, in case you’re wondering what a ridgepole is, it is ‘a horizontal beam at the ridge of a roof to which the rafters are attached.’ I walked the ridgepole.
Continue reading “I knew a girl in Marysville who could walk the ridgepole of a roof.”

Boat

The Gnome by Pink Floyd
[audio:http://uvhk.fce.vutbr.cz/sharejuke/M_cizi/PinkFloyd%20-%201967%20The%20Piper%20At%20The%20Gates%20of%20Dawn/Pink%20Floyd%20-%20The%20Piper%20at%20the%20Gates%20of%20Dawn%20-%2008%20-%20The%20Gnome.mp3]

So I remembered recently an interesting event from my childhood. My grandfather on my mother’s side had a workshop in the basement where he had all sorts of tools and spare parts from previous things he had made. I loved playing down there, and as I got older, he started to help me build creations of my own.

I remember building a mousetrap, because my grandparents had complained about the mice in the basement. My mousetrap consisted of two pieces of wood nailed together, and a piece of cheese. I don’t remember how it was supposed to work, but I left it down there to let it take care of the rodent problem.

I think my favourite creation, looking back, was the boat I made. It may have been the first thing I made with my grandfather, I’m not sure. But I took a length of 2×4 (maybe 8 or 10 inches long) and hammered about 50 nails into the top of it. Once I was done building my boat, I filled up the sink with water to prove it floated.

What I like most about my boat is that as a kid, I had reduced a boat to the very simplest of construction. I knew a boat was made out of wood, and I knew that you needed to do some work to make it. Having only one piece of wood meant I should just hammer nails into it until I figured it was done. What a cool boat.

Water Fountain

People Watching by Keller Williams
[audio:http://www.archive.org/download/kw2007-04-14.flac16_avantoneCK-1cards/kw2007-04-14d1t02_64kb.mp3]

I’m sitting in the library tonight, and I’m writing my paper. I’m using a computer in a well traveled part of the library so there are plenty of distractions. I’ve got to keep my subconscious occupied, or else it’ll distract me even more than those folks who are around me.

Anyway, in this lounge, there are two water fountains, right next to each other. One has a button to press and turn it on, and the other is sensitive to a person moving in front of it. Neither works very well. The sensor on the second fountain is a little flaky, so even if you stand in front of it, it may not turn on. You can even put your hand right over the sensor, and the fountain won’t budge. The first fountain has a sticky button, so even though it will turn on, it is difficult to turn it off.

After someone’s attempt to get a drink from the sensor fountain failed, they moved on to the button fountain, because they were in such a rush. So they got their drink, and started to move away, and noticed that the water was still running even thought they were not pushing the button. They glanced back and gave it a second to understand this, and kept walking.

The button fountain stayed on for ten more minutes, and nearly one hundred people walked by it. Every single person noticed it, but no one tried to understand or fix it. Some made little jokes to their friends, “Its a ghost.” Other people actually went up to get a drink from the sensor fountain. (this just confuses me…the other fountain was already on! why not just drink from it?) Despite the fact that the sensor fountain was right next to the button fountain, they didn’t bother playing with the button fountain or try and turn it off. So for ten minutes this went on, while the three of us sitting in the lounge looked on in amusement. Finally, one of the other two people in this lounge decided to leave, and on their way out, turned off the fountain.

Continue reading “Water Fountain”

No More Phone

Keilbasa by Tenacious D
[audio:http://www.archive.org/download/tenaciousd2006-12-03.mk4v.flac16/tenaciousd2006-12-03_mk4v_d1t02_64kb.mp3]

So, I’m no longer working at the Center for Survey Rsearch and Analysis, and I’m happy about that. Wasn’t a bad job, but it was pretty stupid. Easy, but stupid. So while I was wasting time waiting for the end to come, I remembered one my favorite exchanges that I had with someone on the phone.

We have these questions that are asked at the end of every survey, no matter what the subject of the survey was. One of these is ‘How many phone numbers do you have?’. The question is trying to ask about landlines, but its phrased badly enough that it confuses a lot of people. The worst of which went as follows:
Me: “And how many phone numbers do you have?”
Her: “What?”
Me: “How many phone numbers…landlines. How many landlines do you have?”
Her: “…None.”
Me: “No no, phone numbers, how many phone numbers do you have?”
Her: “Oh. Seven.”
It took me a second to realize what she had said, and a little more to realize what she meant. I sigh and mark her down as having one.

There are other stories, but none of them work well if I was to retell them. It isn’t a very funny job, you need to make your own humor.

I had a really difficult time starting phone calls after I realized that once my opening line became lazy, it changed from “Hi, my name is John” to “Hi, my name-a-John” in true Borat fashion. That’s the first thing I say, and I had to keep from laughing for a while afterwards.

But its over now. On to bigger and better things.