by fone » Fri Dec 30, 2005 4:09 pm
I'm going to dump the rest of the account of my first Phish show at Darien Lakes because of time constraints I'm having at work, and because someone contacted me personally about the show and was anxious for the rest of the story. I apologize for taking up so much space on this thread.................. bill
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Thought 3
Aside: Thanks, Dan. Yours are the kinds of thoughts that I seem to need to know are out there.
Jen is our middle daughter. I love her muchly and think I communicate best with her out of the three. Four years ago I essentially threw her out of the house because she was dating this guy named Jim and wanted to stay out all night. She was 21 at the time, and we couldn't agree on house rules, so she moved in with John. The separation was messy and there were hurt feelings for several months.
After a time, we agreed to sit down to dinner together, a cookout, actually, and John came along. John was not well educated nor particularly motivated in any specific direction except in rooting for the Cowboys in near obsessive ways. While I tried to avoid any quick and in depth conversations with anyone as the evening began, I remember well how John eventually approached me first. Cautiously, carefully, this boy came nearer the irate father who wasn't making his approach any easier; who wanted nothing more but to rip off his head and piss down his neck for taking his sweet baby away and doing the nasty deed with her at his testosteronal pleasure. But he came forward, regardless, undaunted by my glares, gathering his strength and barely clearing his throat said, "How do you think the Giants will do this year without Parcells?"
Simplistic as this question seems, I knew at that moment that I had not witnessed an act of courage and integrity such as this many times in my life. Here came a boy who knew who and what he was in my eyes, but came nonetheless, because he knew what had to be done, and he did it. In the instance of recognition of this brave act, the father of one became the father of two. I immediately hoped that Jen would always work at maintaining the relationship with this man. They're still together today and two years back gave us the start of the next generation in a beautiful baby girl. They're not legally married yet, but he's my son-in-law and I love him like one of my own.
Before we left for the Darien Lakes trip, John made a special trip over to the house, and with the nervousness I hadn't seen since the night of the cookout, he gave me a near empty box of Marlboro Lights. With elfish eyes and a shit eating grin, he handed me the box and said, "I want you to really enjoy the concert". My girls and I had never really talked about such things in depth. Drinking and smoking were "trappings of the young" and as long as you "got on with life", we neither approved, nor disapproved. But here was devilish Johnny, taking a risk and hoping that I would know the spirit of the gift. I looked at him as he waited in excited anticipation of my reaction, and I wanted to hug him for his Puckish nature and for the courage it took to deliver his "gift". As soon as we recognized our roles as gift giver and gift receiver, we both came to the same realization at almost the same time ......... what about Marie.
Marie was getting pretty uptight as concert time grew closer in that rat trap Day's Inn room in Batavia. She knew about John's gift before we left on the trip, but had basically avoided dealing with it. We had once or twice enjoyed a Marlboro Light together some twenty plus years back, but because we had to step into parenthood and "take care" of business all the time, we opted to handle it the only way we knew. She wasn't too keen about being a million miles from home and doin' a Marlboro Light in a slimy motel room....but God bless her heart, she's a goer!
It was about four o'clock and we soon found ourselves laughing at everything. When the band broke into "Sparkle" that night, you have no idea how magical that was for us. Not only is it one of the few songs that Marie actually recognizes and likes, but at one point in the hotel room hyjinx, we started singing it. It was damn near one-on-one commingling with the universe at the moment the first chords were strummed. There was magic at Darien Lakes that night, and this is just one small way it actualized.
We floobed our way across that once dangerous parking lot to the Bob Evans eatery on the main road. We sat at our table, now laughing at which of the other patrons were Phish bound. The younger ones with the appropriate garb were easy. It was the ones in disguise that made our job of recognition both harder and a helluva lot funnier. We ordered non-descript delicious glorious victuals, and paid attention as a white stretch Corvette pulled up outside of the restaurant right in front of our window. I'm holding back waiting to see Trey or Mike step out of the car, when out step these two fairly hot ladies, both in similar garb. They wore tight blues with white halter tanks and low heels. They practically ran to the ladies room inside the restaurant, and I was dying to know which band member was in the car. Rather then torture myself, I rationalized that it could be anybody from anywhere, since Batavia was a NYS Thruway exit, and it was only half a block away. The girls got back in the car after a time, and I never saw who was in it. After an eternity's worth of fantasizing about that car and where it's been, I came back to the moment and blew bubbles with my straw into my iced tea. Marie continued to laugh.
Later that afternoon, as we approached the main gate to the concert pavilion, I saw the white stretch Corvette parked behind the stage with one other regular stretch limo. It was a beautiful night.
I've got to break here. Drew, thanks for the opportunity to let it out. I promise I"ll be done soon....GBUA, fone
Thought 4
Aside: Sorry for the delay...work is on my heals.
I was born twice in New York State. Once physically in a small town just north of NYC, and once spiritually in an even smaller town at the foot of the Catskills. I haven't seen all states in the country, but New York definitely ranks as one of the most beautiful. Darien Center is located in the Niagara Frontier area of the state, but borders on the Finger Lakes region which is characterized by rolling hills formed by the retreat of the glaciers of the last ice age. What was left behind is probably some of the prettiest scenery you might ever see.
Maybe Marie and I were a little prejudiced by our afternoon's magic, but the twenty-two mile ride from Batavia to Darien Lakes was an outstanding journey through the NY countryside. The evening's weather was gorgeous. Mid seventies and only some clouds for accent. The air was fresh and negatively enhanced only by an occasional dairy farm. We did pass an ostrich farm on the way, and for some reason didn't think it extraordinary, only funny as hell. Marie's paranoia about the show had subsided from the early afternoon, and we were cruising this glorious country road, past picture perfect vistas, God's best handywork, bound for what I knew in my heart was going to be a cosmic event ..... when the power of the Law, brought it all to a near screeching halt.
The power of hormones is almost always understated. Adrenalin, I've found, as you get older, doesn't flow as readily as when you're younger. I don't know whether it's because you become wiser as you get older and the fearful things in life don't seem so fearful; or because your body ages and your hormone levels start to diminish making you less fearful of the world. Salvatore Dali, when asked one time if he uses drugs, responded quite indignantly, "I am drugs"; but quite frankly I've never understood whether the thoughts drive the chemicals or the chemicals the thoughts. Either way, the sight of a NY State trooper checkpoint in the road up ahead and Marlboro Light buzz sure added up to one hell of an adrenalin rush.
But we had magic on our side and light jean shirts covering up our Phish t-shirts. Mr. J Law looked almost apologetic at Mr and Mrs average tourist passing through his checkpoint on Route 33. He was lookin' for vicious and vile drug totin' punks headin' for that Commie rock concert thang at the local 'musement park, and not Mema and Papa in their conservative gray Camry with the NJ plates. We were invisible because of the disguises that we didn't even know we were wearing. Of course, when we were surrounded by the rest of the Phish fans at the concert, our disguises disappeared and we stuck out like spies for Mom and Dad. Half the crowd that was sitting around us at the show sent out this weird vibe like we were there to report back to their parents about what they were doing. That is with the exception of the two dudes to my left who
were tokin' and dancin' up a storm right from the opening chord, and didn't give two rats who we were. I'd like to thank them for making us feel less conspicuous, and actually more at home at the show. Although they probably weren't aware that they were doing anything at all ........... which is always the best way to be.
Looks like this thing is going beyond Part 4 because I've got to get back to it. Drew... I'll
try to finish tomorrow. GBUA, fone
Thought 5
Here it is one month and three days since that evening in upstate NY and the glow is still warming my spirit. I apologize for these maudlin references to the "magic" of this event, but in my life, this phenomenon is still magical.
Case in point: when we arrived at the show, we were both so disoriented that we barely figured out where our seats were. I didn't notice the vendors inside the pavilion or even think about scoring a summer tour T-shirt until sometime the next day. So I didn't get a shirt. I was a little psyched out over this ... but I figured it wasn't meant to be. Two Sundays ago Marie and I went to Red Bank, NJ for their annual street fair. It's a thing middle aged folks do with their Sunday afternoons.
Now the town of Red Bank is trying to become a cutsie haven for avant guarde shoppes and basically high end crap for the nouvo riche yuppies who live in the surrounding towns of Rumson, Colts Neck, and Holmdel. In some respects the town is doing a good job drawing people in with regular concerts at the river side park of local jazz and rock artists. On the other hand, there's the street fair of artsy-craftsy stuff which is pretty much overpriced. We spent the afternoon perusing the wares of the street merchants anyway. While trying to get some shade on a pretty hot afternoon, we backed into an obscure alleyway of small shoppes, initially attracted by an animation art shoppe (another past time of middle agers with a little money to throw away). After re-living some of the cartoon characters of our long gone youth, we turned further down the alley, next to encounter a window, displaying the summer tour T-shirt, the one with the ticket designs displayed on the back.
We had happened upon an updated "head" shoppe of tie dyed shirts and goods (sans smoking apparatus) which also sold a line of Phish shirts at the same prices available from Phish dry goods directly. I tried to discuss the band and the shirts with the clerk, but he seemed basically disinterested with the topic. I didn't care, I had the shirt
Go down in your own way
And everyday is the right day
And as you rise above the fear lines in his frown
You look down
Hear the sound of the faces in the crowd
