British Columbia

          Logan and I took off early for Zoom Flume, a waterpark about half an hour away. It's situated in Durham, a town that's some kind of Irish enclave, and we passed at least ten Irish-themed pubs, motels or gift shops. It turns out that Zoom Flume itself is still pretty awesome despite our advanced age. Our first ride for the day was the mediocre Raging River, the two of us occupying a six-person raft. We went around and around on my personal favorite, the actual ride called the Zoom Flume, a set of parallel slides that one rides a mat down Skeleton-style. We spent a couple of hours on the Lazy River alone (just floating around a circuit) and took advantage of the new wave pool (unfortunately packed with kiddies). We'd obtained discounted tickets since Logan's workplace was sponsoring an event, so we also got free BBQ and predictably terrible powdered beverages. After lunch, we rode the Anaconda, on which your mileage may vary -- I laughed like a maniac all the way down while Logan incurred pain for his trouble -- the Black Vortex, which is honestly kind of lame because you can't see anything, and Twin Tubin', which is a straight slide that's a lot more fun than it looks. Finally, it was time to conquer our old fears on the Grand Prix Expressway, a long, fast slide that nearly drowned both of us during childhood. This taught us that no matter your age, you still eat shit when you hit the pool at the bottom if your nose isn't firmly plugged. The only ride we avoided completely was the Canyon Plunge, a terrifying slide which flies down into a canyon and hurt my friend's back when we were younger.The sky had been ominous all day, and a light rain finally began to fall just as we were heading out. It picked up on the ride back to Logan's, but our spirits were high and we enjoyed the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack as we went. Aside: Logan does a very credible Bee Gees impression.
          Quotes of the day:
"Our little hidey-hole for the day." - Logan
"My job is to kick water in people's faces." - Logan
"Advanced Kryptonian technology." - me, explaining the wave pool
"Ahhh, bug juice! You got the shit end of the stick, friend!" - me
"So you do this one bareback?" - Logan
"I almost impregnated that girl." - Logan
...
Logan: "Yours have Tony Hawk on them. I don't think mine are Hawk."
Me: "You jelly?"
Logan: "Yeah a little bit."

(It feels creepy to use this family's video to illustrate the experience, but there are no good pictures of the Canyon Plunge on the internet. At 1:30 there's a pretty good representation of the slide, though it's filmed at an inexplicable angle and lacks the "looking out over the slide into the canyon of death below" element.)

Martini Throwing

          A new guy is training for the dish job, so I only had to do one shift of that this weekend. It was Abbie's last night with us, and the mood was halfway between somber and celebratory. Less pleasant was the total lack of water pressure in the restaurant, to the extent that faucets would occasionally simply not work. This was problematic since it was hot out and we needed a great deal of water for the customers to drink, so patience ran thin throughout the evening. Tomorrow, Logan and I are hitting up Zoom Flume; I haven't been to the water park in years. Countdown to my move to Boston: sixteen days.
          Quotes of the day:
"Were you here the night my tremor was really bad and I threw a martini in this girl's face?" - Abbie
"It's like someone put a lemon inside of celery." - Sophie, on rhubarb

Sacrifices Have To Be Made

          A dentist appointment followed by a Friday bus shift -- not my favorite kind of day. At least it affords me a lot of time to think, and today I thought about music. I've been listening to a lot lately, and I've noticed a real shift in my tastes. My old hankering for punk and metal has crystallized into a few favorite bands and a lack of interest in discovering any more, while I've developed a fondness for silly, throwaway pop music. After work, Brian, Josh and I gathered at Josh's place to smoke the hookah and watch episodes one and two of the third season of Game of Thrones. There, I finally updated my iTunes to the new version (it sucks), but at least I can use Snapchat and Instagram now.
          Quotes of the day:
"I'm getting real tired of your shit, Balto! Real fuckin' tired!" - image, a guy on my favorite TF2 server, via mic
"Stop him! Stop him!" - image
"She's like Lady Obama." - Brian, on Margaery Tyrell
"She's like, 'What about it bitch?'" - Brian, on Brienne

KNEEL Before Zod!

          I saw Man of Steel with Brian, since those missing tickets turned up under mysterious circumstances. I really enjoyed Michael Shannon's performance as Zod; he absolutely steals the show toward the end. The brief, subtle allusions to LexCorp and WayneTech indicate future, expanded universe films, an exciting prospect (fingers crossed for a JLA flick!) Why the classic ginger Jimmy Olsen was transformed into the Indian Jenny Olsen is beyond my understanding. Anyway, it was a fun movie and worth a watch.
          Quote of the day:
"Is it battery operated? Throw it out!... We gotta get back to the old days. Candle and a mirror." - Father, on a reading light

Same Shite Different Nite

          Work was mercifully quiet tonight, and I spent a considerable amount of time completing random tasks for the manager. I juiced about a million oranges and grapefruits, drank the resulting orange puree with more than a touch of satisfaction, and received a history lesson from Nick about the United States' resource wars; see rubber in South America, though one might call those "resource incursions." Ian visited Ithaca College with some friends today and seemed to have a fine time. I loved that place -- it was my second choice -- which is why I didn't have the heart to tell him that he shouldn't even visit, that we could never pay for it without a huge scholarship. Later, I received another lecture from my mother about late nights and my health, which is ironic given her constantly high threshold of stress.

J'onn J'onzz

          I worked out my opening schedule at Mr. Robin's office -- start date: July 15, 9 a.m. Most of my evening was spent having dinner at my grandma's again, which was fun while it lasted. Bitsy photobombed our family pictures by standing in the glass door the entire team and improved things greatly. After I got home, Brian and I went to Logan's, where we constructed some teams for our large game and watched the first three episodes of Justice League. An uneventful day, but one where I can make time for work, friends and family is quite successful in my mind.

Doctor Hurt

          The plan for today was for me to accompany Brian to Kingston, where he would see the dentist, go to Wal-Mart, and then we would see a movie with some free tickets he had laying around. We woke to a huge storm gearing up and got moving as quickly as possible, but not before a torrential downpour had started. We even got to hear that broadcast-interrupting weather warning, which threw out some phrases like "60 mph damaging winds" and "quarter sized hail". First, we zipped over to Sam's to drop off her tent, and were greeted by her father. This was an awkward, extremely brief exchange, and we were off again. Our area was spared the worst of the storm, and by the time we got to Kingston the skies were clear. At the dentist's office, I boiled in the car for a while and pretended not to exist when I saw people I knew from high school. We ran into another high school friend in Wal-Mart, shared another awkward conversation and got out of there. Somehow the tickets had gone missing from the car, so we went home kind of dejected. Faced with all this extra time and nothing to do, we resolved to teach Ian to play clix. He picked up the gist of the game mechanics fairly quickly, and we played a decent three-way match. After a few close calls and liberal botching of the rules, my Batman villain team edged out a win over Ian's Avengers-ish lineup and Brian's Batman/Green Lantern team. Once again, Brian and I returned to the garage to sleep over.
          Quotes of the day:
"You know it's a good day when that comes on." - Brian, on the storm warning
...
Tanya: "Is she black again?"
Brian: "She's on and off."

An ace in the hole.

Night of the Nerds

          Logan and I took another trip out to Alterniverse. Today's event was a simple tournament to commemorate the retirement of the Captain America set, and we were allowed to bring whatever play-legal pieces we chose. Out of habit, I settled on one of my tried and true villain teams -- a HYDRA lineup with Baron Zemo, MODOK, Savin, Viper, and Baron Strucker. I had a solid go of it this time around. After a predictable initial loss to Dave's Brotherhood of Evil Mutants team (though I went down swinging), I rolled Adam's Superman/Superboy/General Zod lineup with ease. This was followed by a match against Kevin and his pseudo-X-Men team, which came down to the wire before I scraped a victory. This was followed by a long and prolific evening of comics, including Night of the Owls and City of Owls to continue the Court of Owls series, Batman: Private Casebook, an assortment of random stories, and the legendary Killing Joke. I went to Brian's later on and slept over there.
          Quotes of the day:
"Bat cock! Na na na na na na na na..." - Steve
"Shazam!" - me and Logan, simultaneously

Thing Is

          Another day, another dish shift. Tonight was busier than last night, but went more smoothly for some reason. I learned that Jesse's journey home from Bonnaroo was even worse than mine. In Virginia, his tire exploded while traveling at a considerable speed on the highway, and he spun off the road. He also had a trunk full of fireworks, which made the prospect of law enforcement getting involved quite terrifying. Luckily, no one was hurt and everything turned out fine, minus the totaled car. Highlight of the evening: a charming pair of girls at the bar, one Indian and one Asian, wearing matching "Thing 1" and "Thing 2" shirts. After work, I went to Logan's with Matt and ended up reading tons of comics as usual. I finished a cheesy, very '80s story called Brotherhood of the Bat, the decent JLA: Tower of Babel (which the animated film JLA: Doom is loosely based on), and the excellent Court of Owls, my standard gritty Batman detective-story fare.

A Feast For Dishwashers

          I had two dreams that I got up and girded my loins for work, and by the time I really did get out of bed, I felt like a man on the way to the gallows. Happily, luck was on my side this time. Friday dish shifts are typically hellish, but tonight was relatively quiet. I took advantage of this decreased pressure to sneakily finish any bread & butter, strawberry crisps, grilled calamari, and fries & aioli sauce that came through my station. I know it's kind of gross, but I was extremely hungry, and the food was just too appetizing to resist when someone only ate half of it. Later on, I felt like I was playing a game called "Whose Responsibility Is This" with the wait staff, where I would end up with little tasks that they were supposed to do for me. I should mention that any grievance is magnified if it comes up while dishwashing; hence my terrible reaction to Steve's facebook hack, and my intense irritation at mild work issues like people forgetting to scoop butter into the appropriate container. At home, I settled in to finish A Feast For Crows. This installment in the series was excellent, but contains the plotlines for only half of the characters. The other half are discussed in the next book, since the two had originally been one gargantuan manuscript. I wish it had stayed that way, in light of all the cliffhanger endings in this one.

Yellowcake

          I went to Dr. Zhang to get a filling this morning, and then we were off to my grandmother's to  have dinner with some extended family. Along with a few aunts, uncles and cousins from our area, we were joined by my cousin Marissa from Texas, who I last met several years ago. She's half-Mexican, half-Japanese, somehow related to us and has a small child of her own. I've gotten better at socializing comfortably with my family over the past few years -- I used to be the kid who went and read a book in the corner. Dinner was great, as always - my grandma is a classic grandma. On the way home we passed the Jolly Cow, who are offering a new ice cream flavor called Yellow Cake. I had a glimpse of yellowcake uranium-flavored sweets being gobbled up by eager youngsters. For the first time in a while, I put in some work with Alaric in TF2 -- fun fun fun. Much later, Brian and Josh came over and we built a campfire that lasted until early in the morning. Ian eventually came out to sit with us, as well. He has a girlfriend now; she's Mexican, two years younger than him and is currently south of the border. Naturally, we spent most of the night ribbing him about this new love interest. ("I'd go back to Mexico too if Customs was after me." "Remember, you have to stay married for five years before she can become a citizen." "[insert burrito joke]" etc.)

That's the Tru Tru

          I had my first lucid dream last night. I was in the nature lodge at camp, someone said something about my hands being cut off, they were still there, and I deduced that I was dreaming. Still, knowing you're not in real life doesn't mean you have full presence of mind. All I could think to do was fly, so I took off and flashed over the forests and mountains, looking down at the people below. It was one of the happiest feelings in the world. After I woke, it was time for my first day back at work. The music on the speakers this evening was fascinating, to say the least. It was a variety of what you might call slave music, interspersed with a bit of gospel and some extensive techno remix tracks. Alaric, Brian and Katie all texted me about James Gandolfini's passing, as well. Apparently Ray knew of him from his bartending days in the city and mentioned that Gandolfini was something of a womanizing pig in real life. I probably would be too if I were Tony Soprano. After work, Brian and I went to Josh's to watch Cloud Atlas, an absorbing concept film with a huge amount of star power. I should also mention that, at various points: Halle Berry plays a white woman, Hugh Grant plays a cannibal war chief, Hugo Weaving plays a woman, Doona Bae plays a ginger, and Jim Sturgess plays an Asian. Worth a couple of viewings, though it can be a little silly at times (see: the "future language" that Tom Hanks babbles in during the far future timeline).
          Quote of the day:
"Obviously it's gonna be hard to make an Asian look like a fuckin' ginger, but damn, he did good!" - Josh

The Summer of Wolves

          At least we got on the bus out of Knoxville without a problem. Though Brian and I were on different itineraries somehow, the ticket lady there said, "Just stay on the bus." We headed for Charlottesville, VA with the reassuring feeling that home was closer, if only a little. By this point I'd called home and contacted Bank of America to cancel my debit card. In Charlottesville, Nora left us after debating which way to go and we stayed on the bus to Richmond. There, I was gouged out of $20 for a ticket reissue which should have been done properly at a previous stop. The station in Richmond was chaos, and we were certain we wouldn't be on the next bus because 40+ people were ahead of us in ticket number, but three buses were appropriated for us. This was the first time I was impressed with Greyhound since the beginning of our trip. Our driver was a boss as well, a very nice man considering all the nasty people he was dealing with. (Some lady was flipping out because she couldn't share a seat with a person, even though they were going to the same station.) From Richmond it would be a straight shot to New York City, and my spirits lifted when we pulled out of the station. This is my goodbye to the South; may it have a long, prosperous absence from my life.
          We stopped at that Maryland rest stop and satisfied our Pizza Hut craving, and the rest of the ride to New York was peaceful for me. Not so for Brian, who had to deal with a very talkative man in the next seat; this guy never stopped talking, but he was a mumbler as well, so everything he said had to be repeated or ignored. In Port Authority, the baggage guy tried to gyp us again. This time, we got smart and rebuffed his "services." We met a Bonnaroovian in line for the bus to Kingston who turned out to be Nicole's boyfriend, and within an hour we were headed home at last. On the bus, some lady was prattling loudly on her cell phone about wardrobe choices for a stage production. Another passenger politely but tersely put her in her place, I exclaimed, "Preach," and all was right with the world. Soon enough, we were home.
          Quote of the day:
"This wolf pack stays small." - me

The Way Home

          Brian and I had planned to stay awake, pack and get over to the exit early to catch the first bus out. Of course, we both fell asleep. We woke around 5 a.m. to a terrible turn of events. The crushing heat had finally broken in favor of storm of unbelievable fury, and we would have to pack and leave in the middle of it. All that dust had turned to rivers of mud overnight; the prospect of walking out was not pleasant to consider. After all our belongings were packed, we ran outside, unstaked the tent and carried it under the information booth's carport to break down. We were informed that the golf cart taxis had stopped running the previous night in anticipation of today's storm. In short, we were up shit creek. We donned ponchos (thank goodness we brought those) and made an abortive attempt to start carrying our things by foot, but it went poorly. Luckily, I had a brainwave and threw everything on a couple of tarps, and we dragged the stuff across the site to the exit. Of course, this makes it sound easy. It was a 45 minute trek during which we and our belongings were completely soaked, no one offered any help (including people cruising around in empty pickups) and the rain never let up. This would not have been complete without our shitty travel luck kicking into overdrive as usual, and just as the end was in sight -- we had maybe five minutes left to walk before we reached the taxi pickup area -- a guy emerged to offer us a hand.
          He flanked us on the left and looked, spoke and acted like a drug addict. He was disheveled and shirtless, his teeth were terrible, and he had some really strange scarring on his chest and shoulder. His voice dripped with that kind of tangible idiocy and couldn't be bothered to enunciate its words, he had a mildly crazy look in his eye, and a thin line of snot tenuously bridged the gap between his nostril and his lip. At first we hardly noticed any of this, because the first words out of his mouth were an offer of a ride in a motor cart. Then he told us that it would be a short wait and invited us to smoke with him. We exchanged a glance and decided to chance going along with this guy if it would save us some labor. First, he told us that he couldn't let us walk through the eatery he worked in because he would be a bastard to do that, then apparently changed his mind. "Go grab my liquor. Go grab my liquor." I had to go pick up his tequila and rum, which we carried to his tent. Long story short, he abandoned us for five minutes, came back and forced Brian to mix him a drink, accused Brian of stealing his weed (it was on his cot), wordlessly took a chillum out of my hand which I'd just picked up off the ground, and then told us it would be a half-hour wait for the ride. At this point we practically ran out of there, and not a moment too soon. We got on the next shuttle to the bus station -- they only charged us $5 each! -- and breathed a sigh of relief. We had made it this far.
          Or so I thought. When we got to the bus station my wallet was gone, and it's probably in that crazy guy's tent too. A goodbye kick in the pants from the Fates of Bonnaroo, if you will. At the station, we joined an enormous line of travelers, but the next bus was on our itinerary -- Manchester to Atlanta (...) instead of to Nashville like normal people -- and we boarded first, along with six or seven others. Then we waited, and waited, and right when I thought we were about to leave, the driver made an announcement. We were being "sacrificed" (his words) so that the majority of people waiting to go to Nashville could get there quicker. We were to ride there, where we could "just hop on the next bus" to Atlanta. Everyone going to Nashville cheered and thanked us, as if we had any say in the decision. So, there we were in Nashville, waiting another four hours for a bus. I discovered that some of my books had gotten wet and warped in my backpack, which enraged me even further. The ticket lady reissued Brian's ticket but not mine, saying that I should just do it down the line. She also gave me attitude when I asked which gate to line up at and misheard her the first time. An emphatic "B for Board," accompanied by the stankiest of stink eyes.
          We rode the bus to Knoxville, Tennessee. Highlight: Spotting a gym called Graves Fitness; Alanna's take on this: "fit 2 the bone". Knoxville would be a lengthy layover as well, and it came to pass that after ten hours of travel, we were still in fucking Tennessee. Or, as Macklemore put it (admittedly in a more positive tone), "Tenne-fucking-ssee." We got in a completely unnecessary argument with the driver of the bus that left us there, who initially refused to let us take our bags off of the bus. Like, what? Instead of the 8 p.m. to Richmond -- we were on a new itinerary at this point -- it would be the 12:55, so we had plenty of time to settle. Brian and I made friends with a girl named Nora from New Jersey, then walked into the charming Old City in Knoxville for pizza and soda. A Myspace commercial in the pizza parlor I made conversation with a nice man from Texas, who exclaimed, "thank God there's still honest people!" after I offered to watch his things while he got pizza himself. We spent the rest of the wait reminiscing about Bonnaroo with Nora and telling concert stories.
          Quotes of the day:
"The boss in back. He good people. He countin' stacks. He countin' stacks." - the crazy man
"Pour. Pour. Pour. Pour. Pour. Pour. Pour. Pour. ... What, you tryin' to kill me?!" - the crazy man
"Oh, you pour like a white boy. You pour like a white boy." - the crazy man
"You're supposed to be agreeing at all times." - Brian

Pageant of the Nuggets

          So. Our last day at Bonnaroo. We slept in a bit, getting up at eleven or so and just relaxing. Around noon, I dropped the final tab from the batch of lucy I've had for a while. Following another ice cold shower, we meandered over to What Stage to snag a decent spot. Macklemore & Ryan Lewis gave a fantastic performance with a predictable set list, though I wish they'd included "Wings". These guys were all on their game -- Macklemore commanded an enormous stage presence, Ryan Lewis did his part pumping up the crowd, and the backup rapper and trumpet player were top shelf material also. Their set ended as a light rain began to fall, which was fitting. Brian and I sat down to wait, with Kendrick Lamar's set only an hour ahead. The sun beat down relentlessly, as it has all week, and we were lucky that Brian had found a squirt bottle last night. Before long, Kendrick Lamar appeared on stage and the crowd went nuts again. This, too, would be an excellent hip-hop performance, if a little on the ghetto side. Kendrick saved the best for last, delivering an incredible freestyle sans beat or music at the very end of his set, and I have to admit I was wowed. His rapping was solid and his DJ adequately skilled. However, it did get old when he had the audience sing his songs for him, and repeatedly yelling, "Wave! Wave! Wave! Wave! Wave!..." became pretty silly. I'll pause here to note that my experience today has been different from other experimentation I've done. I've spent less time on revelatory musing and more on just enjoying myself, though I think that the last tab may have been somewhat of a dud. Two of these rare reflections: grass as a surface rather than a plant, and how two of the sweetest words in the world are "poetic justice."
          We obtained gifts for our fathers and for Iris, snagged a couple of huge free t-shirts for ourselves, and visited the Adult Swim space. Along with a booth where you could wear a unicorn head and jump to pop balloons, there was one of those inflatable planetariums, designed to look like A.S. character Meatwad. We got into the second to last show of the day, and a nonsensical, music video-esque creation called "The Adult Swim Pageant of the Cosmos" was projected on the ceiling. I expect that some of it would have been genuinely scary to someone who was tripping balls. We made our way to A$AP Rocky next, but it was total dreck and we left after two songs. For some reason -- and despite his lack of hip-hop abilities -- A$AP's are the most fanatical and pushy of fans, so I'm more than happy that we skipped out on this set. Instead, we dropped by Which Stage very briefly to catch a song or two by David Byrne & St. Vincent. Happily, they played one of my favorite Talking Heads tunes when we arrived, "Wild Wild Life". Finally, we resolved to see Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers for at least a few songs; I particularly wanted to sing "Free Fallin'" with several thousand people. A few moments after Petty and his band took the stage, a storm crashed down, pelting rain, lightning and all. I do like a bit of Tom Petty, but not enough to stand in the rain for an hour. At least I got to sing along with "I Won't Back Down" as we headed back to the tent to relax and get our stuff together.
          Quotes of the day:
"Ten dollar joints! Ten dollar joints!" - a weed vendor at Macklemore
"Who needs nuggets? Nuggets nuggets nuggets!" - another weed vendor at Macklemore
"He asked if we wanted some molly, then did a little dance like this. He had this mask on, and then he went, 'Bwahahahahaha!' and ran away. I was like whoaaaaaa." - random girl
"You pretty, but you smell like shit. You know it's a festival when you drive on and say, 'Whew. It smells like musk and weed!'" - Macklemore
"People say, 'Macklemore, it's messed up that you're wearing these dead animals on stage.'... ... No it's not." - Macklemore
...
Brian: "Do it through the eyes of R. Kelly."
Me: "It would just say 'ladies' over and over again!"
...
Me: "Imagine if grass could think."
Brian: "Right? It'd be like, 'Fuck you guys!'"
...
Me: "He did not fuck Calpurnia!"
Brian: "It was in the extended version."
...
Brian: "Do you feel it Andy?"
Me: "Yeah, from over there."

Macklemore & Ryan Lewis raising a ruckus.

For the Ladies

          I felt awful dragging myself out of bed for our third volunteer shift, but was still a good feeling getting out of the tent, despite our precautions leaving the screens unblocked and sleeping outside the bags. Thankfully, our help wasn't required at first, and Brian took a nap while I read A Feast For Crows and unwound. A call came in eventually, apparently requesting a single volunteer at Pod 11, a considerable distance away. A coordinator took me over in a golf cart, and when we arrived the information booth people said that they were all set and denied ever calling for help. We drove back to volunteer HQ, and despite the pointlessness of the excursion, it was a refreshing break from sitting around. While we're on the subject of the golf carts: the dust here is something else. It gets everywhere, on everything. It got all over my Fujifilm camera while it was inside the tent, and it coated my glasses within a few hours once we got to Bonnaroo. Driving through clouds of it in a golf cart is not a very fun experience, though my glasses spare me some discomfort.
          There are wooden walls surrounding most of Centeroo which channel people into check-in stations, to ensure that people don't sneak into the show. They've all been painted and decorated by numerous Bonnaroovians, and are scribbled all over with numerous quotes, phrases and drawings. They range from amusing ("Roo do you think you are?") to sweet ("You're my disco") to melancholy ("Sgt. Russell Durgin - KIA June 13, 2006.") For some reason there is a preponderance of Game of Thrones references -- "Winter is Coming," "R.I.P. Ned Stark," "Fuck King Joffrey," etc. -- as well as gangsta rap shout outs and lyrics; see "Like Eli I did it" and numerous "Forgive Kanye" spray stencils. As one might expect, there are many music references as well, both to artists themselves ("Just piss on me, R. Kelly") and to music culture ("I'm okay with hipsters.")
          After some more relaxation at HQ, the call came through for some Support staff at the west tollbooths. Brian and I volunteered to go, and in a few minutes we headed to the place where we'd slipped, wristband-less, through customer service's net. Our job was simple: after people's cars were checked and ridden of glass (resulting in a number slamming down their alcohol before passing through the tollbooth), we scanned their wristbands and paint markered their windshield based on whether they were day parking, camping, access parking, and so forth. It was simple work, if mindless, but my volunteer experience has been nothing but positive since we resolved the deposit fiasco. Highlight: Three black guys in an ancient, matte black Oldsmobile with "NIGGAMOBILE" scrawled on the back window.
          Once our shift at the tollbooths was over, we took a golf cart taxi out to Pod 8 to shop for glass. On my way out to pod 11 earlier, I'd spotted several tables covered in pieces, and one booth was advertising a free chillum with each purchase. We didn't find anything worth the money and hurried back to Centeroo to catch Nas at What Stage. Tired and aching in the feet, we chose to observe this show from afar and laid down in the grass under a tent. We both fell asleep within a few songs, despite the unbelievable bass, and awoke a couple hours later during Bjork's set. This was pleasant until I started to pay attention to the music -- Bjork's voice makes me want to firebomb a puppy factory. A pattern has emerged with our attendance at shows. We originally intended to rush around and see as many as possible, but it's become apparent that it's a lot more fun to see a few with breaks in between. Otherwise it just becomes too much stress and it becomes difficult to enjoy the music. At Brian's suggestion, we went to see the Lumineers at Which Stage; my feelings about their brand of twangy folk rock are noncommittal. After this, we walked around for a couple of hours, taking photos and checking out the swag booths. I purchased a children's book transformed into a notebook (I Saw the Sea Come In) and donated $1 to a booth called Soberoo, where some dudes offer support for people who want to experience Bonnaroo without the temptation of mind altering substances. I may not share their position, but they're swimming against the tide, so I felt obligated to help out.
          The main attraction for the day came at 9:30: R. Kelly at Which Stage! He opened with "Ignition" and got everybody pumped, killed it all the way through his set, and closed with perfect crowd singalong "I Believe I Can Fly," complete with gospel choir and inflatable "birds" that took off in a beautiful cloud. In typical fashion, almost every song was prefaced by some variant of, "This is for the ladies here tonight," with the exception of the bittersweet "I Wish". The call for an encore went up quickly and enthusiastically, but it was not to be. They did play a recording of the first episode of Trapped In the Closet after he left the stage, which was a fun end to the show. We went and caught a couple of songs at the end of Billy Idol's set, including "White Wedding," which is really the only song you need to hear from him anyway. Once he left, we attempted to move forward for the next band, Empire of the Sun, but the crowd for this was the rowdy type. Brian and I were separated, I didn't feel like getting squashed any more, and I retreated to the tent to read A Feast For Crows before I slept.
          Quotes of the day:
"Bitch was hittin' up that mic like it was her first dick in a while." - Brian, on Nanna Hilmarsdottir from Of Monsters and Men
"Y'all off key like a motherfucker. Don't worry, I'll do it." - R. Kelly
"I was so spun out, I was talking to my hat for an hour." - guy in the crowd at Empire of the Sun

R. Kelly: doing it for the ladies.

Laser Light

          We learned a hard lesson this morning. There was a chill in the air during the night, and Brian and I crawled into our sleeping bags. Upon waking, we found ourselves unbearably hot and slick with sweat -- the sun had turned our zipped tent into a little furnace. The moment I opened my eyes, I clawed my way out of that back like a dying man. It was at least eighty-five degrees out, but the air coming in when I opened the screen felt like air conditioning. It was clearly time to take advantage of our free showers (it's $5 a shower for the unfortunate souls), but first I met with Harrison for a few minutes, and we caught up a bit, walked over and said hello to Jack and their other friends. We agreed to meet up for something and went our separate ways. I then woke Brian and we hit the showers. The water was unbelievably cold, impossibly sulfurous, and neither of us had shower shoes. It was not an outstanding experience, but at least it was free.
          We had a while to walk around with nothing pressing to attend, and swung by one of the tents to check out a band called Calexico. We sat some distance from the tent itself and settled under a tree -- the music is appreciably loud at each venue, and you don't need to be close to listen. Calexico is an indie rock outfit that rocks a blend of Tex-Mex/country/big brassy trumpet sounds, and it was good accompaniment while we sketched out a creature feature and sipped iced tea. Afterward, I picked up a tasty pesto and chicken quesadilla that was ordered, prepared and served in less than three minutes. Our second show for the day was Of Monsters and Men at Which Stage, and we stuck around for most of the set with a decent spot forward and to the right. The crowd was lively and the music charming, though there were some douches behind us who wouldn't stop talking trash about Mumford and Sons for some reason. (One guy shouted a joke about the singer's brain clot, which even his friends acknowledged as over the line.) We attempted to see Passion Pit at What Stage next, but the area was so mobbed that we were unable to get anywhere close. To Katherine: I apologize for not obtaining the desired photo.
          We also chose not to rush over to Grizzly Bear, though part of me did want to boost my hipster cred. Instead, we had a relaxed and fun time wandering around Centeroo signing petitions, getting some free swag, slacklining (!), and even taking a twenty-minute intro to meditation, which I thoroughly enjoyed. The word "Bonnaroo" is more meaningless by the moment, and everyone feels the need to chant it or scream it loudly and often. All of the musicians refer to their crowds as Bonnaroo, as in, "Bonnaroo! Make some noise!" How can I identify with something I don't even know the significance of? [Note from the future: It's derived from the French and roughly means "a really good time."] After some time, we checked in at the volunteer station at Centeroo and stayed there for a few hours. This was a more entertaining shift than the last, and we made friends with two girls named Jordan and Steph, as well as a crazy old woman from Virginia with an incomprehensible accent and terrifying eye condition. After the lady left, the four of us drew a creature feature and chatted about all manner of mischief.
          We were actually assigned to do something this time, and Brian and I ended up working Access at The Other Tent. Right in the center of the crowd (if somewhat toward the back), there's a raised, fenced platform reserved for people with disabilities. Our job was to facilitate their safe seating and comfortable experience, as well as keeping an eye out for medical problems in the crowd. However, the show we were put on Access for was Wolfgang Gartner, a strictly electronic/dance artist. Predictably, like two handicapped people showed up, and once they were seated, they were quite content the entire time. Basically, we got to watch the show from a vantage point above everyone else, toss glowsticks out into the crowd when they ended up on stage, dance around, and enjoy ourselves. Wolfgang Gartner rocked a killer set, the light show was brilliant, the crowd was on fire, and I had a complete blast. Crowd highlight: guy, obviously tripping balls, spraying people with a mister with a joyful look on his face as if he were the Rainmaker. He couldn't get my attention from where he was standing, so he hammered on the rail I was leaning on so I could share in the misty refreshment. What a team player.
          After our shift, Brian and I made our way to another tent. We caught three or four songs at the end of ZZ Top's set while jockeying for a good view of Animal Collective, up next. ZZ Top were rock stars as always, and the whole crowd seemed pumped for the next band. The Cool Dudes (they really were cool dudes) behind us were tripping on acid, the people in front of us were passing around some white powder that I assume was MDMA, and the air was rank with the weeds. Animal Collective was something else, and their beatboxer/backup singer is totally nuts. Up until this point, I hadn't used any illicit substances at Bonnaroo. One of the Cool Dudes tapped me on the shoulder and handed me a joint, which I puffed on almost reflexively before passing it along. It was only later that I learned that Cool Dude had referred to said marihuana cigarette as "the One-Hit Wonder," and it was true to its name. The next couple of songs were decent, and the one after that was amazing; one song more, and I was having the time of my life. I paid back the Cool Dudes after the crowd shifted, they were partially separated, and I moved to a slightly less desirable spot so they could stand together. A short while later, the combination of flashing lights, trippy vocals, and blaring volume made me feel somewhat overwhelmed, so I suggested we leave. Crowd hall of shame: two girls who violently pushed their way up into the crowd and got in front of us, only to have a ten minute conversation during the show. We enjoyed a calm walk back to camp -- it was 3 a.m. at this point -- and reflected on the day. The site was probably a mile to a mile and a half away, and we could still hear distinctly hear Animal Collective's bass booms from inside the tent. Our third and final volunteer shift would be tomorrow at 9 a.m., and by the time we got to sleep it was around 4:30. Here's to sleep deprivation.
          Quotes of the day:
"I feel like I'm slathering myself with fucking eggs!" - someone in the shower
"Mumford's all right. His sons are terrible though." - a doucher
"This is called the One-Hit Wonder." - Cool Dude  (courtesy of Brian)
"You know, science kinda ruins everything, dude." - Brian, abruptly
"You could be a godswood." - Brian
On Avatar: The Last Airbender...
Me: "How about we watch the movie instead?"
Brian: "There isn't a- oh, no. Fuck that."

Wolfgang Gartner, man on fire.

Goose Pursuit: Ultimate Edition

          The bus out of Indianapolis was over two hours late in boarding; apparently the driver went the wrong way trying to get to the station. We passed into Kentucky while I listened to the guy behind me telling stories to his seatmate. In the best one, he tried to pick up a girl who was evidently a hooker, she hopped into his car and suggested they go behind the gas station, they negotiated a price, and when he drove back there, a squad of cops was waiting. He was then jailed and had to call his wife to bail him out, pleading unsuccessfully with a female officer to lie to his wife about why he was arrested. The same guy later went on a tangent about aristocracy and the 13 colonies, which goes to show that people can be surprising. The rest of the bus ride was a blur, except for a sad moment when a driver informed us that there had been a ten-car pileup with three deaths on the way down to Bonnaroo. Kentucky was hilly, Louisville was hideously muggy, we stopped in Nashville for a little while, and finally made it to the bus station in Manchester, situated next to a highway, a Waffle House and a whole lot of not much else. The original plan was to walk a mile to the Bonnaroo entrance, but there were no signs in evidence and the last thing we wanted was to carry all of our bags on a hunt for the site itself. So we each got chiseled out of ten bucks for a shuttle ride there from some hicks, separating from a girl we made friends with on the bus, and settled in. This was around eight or nine in the morning.
          Arriving on site, we came upon a line of tollbooths. We explained our lack of volunteer wristbands and our general situation. They directed us to the customer service trailer, where we repeated the motions. They told us to go to Centeroo (where most of the important, non-camping stuff is located) and hail a shuttle to the volunteer sign-in site, which was at the Coffee County High School, some five miles away from Bonnaroo. They were at least kind enough to let us dump our stuff behind the trailer, since we weren't going to lug it all over Creation until we found out where we were to make camp. We reached Centeroo and were barred from entering because we lacked wristbands. We asked to talk to those volunteers' supervisors, who listened to our situation, thought carefully and then told us they still couldn't help because we didn't have wristbands. "How did you get in without those in the first place?" Left and right, people were giving us a problem for lacking the wristbands, despite the fact that we were clearly trying to solve that problem and weren't crashing the party/making any attempt to hide. The supervisors radioed for instructions and sent us to an information booth, who were helpful enough to direct us to C'Roo HQ. Once we got to the HQ and they heard us out, our problem was juggled around for two hours. We waited and read our books in the interim, fingers crossed.
          Finally, the volunteer coordinators called us over. We could still be registered since our names were on the list, and we could take a shuttle to the school. We walked over to the shuttle, where the stereotypical sassy black woman stopped us because we didn't have volunteer wristbands, only temporary ones the coordinators gave us. "We're going to get those wristbands, that's why we need to get on this shuttle." "No, you need two wristbands, like this. [pointing to someone else, then sees a friend coming] Oh heyyy baby!" We shuffled back to HQ, defeated, where the head coordinator did an eye roll of epic stature upon hearing this latest story. Rather than calling the woman and ordering her to let us on, they took the easy way out and put it on us. We had to call for a taxi to the school and back, which was salt in the wound of the gouging we'd taken earlier. We ended up getting a ride in the personal vehicle of the guy who's taxied us in, blowing another $10 each. Adding insult to injury, he stopped and squeezed in three more girls, charging them only $5 each and commenting, "Ah'd ruther have some pretty girls in muh car than a coupl'a hardheads!"
         We arrived at the school, jumped in a line, and were told that the wait would be a couple of hours. A couple of hours we didn't have, since our first shift started in about an hour and a half. A few glum minutes later, that same person came back to verify why we were there. "Oh, you're volunteers? Go through that door to the ten minute long line, not this one." It felt like waiting in the DMV, but after a day of struggle and two of stress, we were certified C'Roo members! We could now use the shuttle bus, and we had one all to ourselves until the driver picked up a very nice man on the way back. This guy has been involved for twelve years, he's some kind of festival manager, and he offered us free beer if we came and saw him at his stand near one of the tents. He also asked if it was our first time there, then grinned and said, "You'll be back." We will see, old man. We will see. (Afterthought: disboarding the shuttle back at Bonnaroo and giving that sassy bitch the double stink eye was almost worth the trouble, but not quite.)
          A point I never got to cover until now -- Bonnaroo is the biddy capital of the world. As well as "middy" (man-biddy) capital of the world, if some are to be believed. Everyone dresses in a very open, hippy way that would draw stares out in the real world. It's a place where young people come to get fucked up, experience great music and not take life seriously for a while, so this is not unexpected. Anyway, it provided plenty of "left or right" fodder for Brian and me as we traveled around. Returning to our heroes: Brian and I had gone through hell and back to try and salvage our deposits, and signing in at HQ, putting our names down and putting on our volunteer gear was a pleasure I can hardly put words to. In a strange twist of fate, another volunteer was Jesse, a coworker from the Red Onion. What were the odds that another guy out of the 20 or so people I work with was a) at Bonnaroo, b) a volunteer, and c) there at that particular time?
          As it turns out, Support crew shifts are not necessarily a lot of work. We were given absolutely nothing to do for our six-hour shift, just waiting around HQ for someone to need our help. Brian and I played some Advance Wars 2, tricked Josh into thinking we needed his help, and played cards and chatted with some girls until they let us go an hour early. We trudged across Bonnaroo to the tollbooths again and obtained our gear, then began the walk back. It was apparent within ten minutes that this would not be viable. Our campsite was two miles away, give or take a half mile, and we just had too much weight to carry without any kind of cart. We hired one of many rambling golf cart taxis for $5 a seat to carry us over, and though it was more wasted money, it was one of the happiest wastes of my life. We would have taken three or four hours to move everything, in all likelihood. We set up camp in the only open spot that wasn't out in the boonies of the volunteer camping (already separate from everything else), immediately next to a loud refrigeration unit/trailer. Later on, I purchased a beautiful Postal Service poster. We missed Purity Ring, the first band we planned to see, since we decided to take our time setting up. After all, it was our first real break since leaving Saugerties. We did make it to one of the tents to catch a cool band called Alt-J, a sort of electronic rock group that left me interested. (Aside: There are two stages -- What Stage and Which Stage -- and three "tents" -- This Tent, That Tent, and The Other Tent -- which are huge, open metal structures.)
          Quote of the day:
"I ran into a sting operation... It was like a wasp nest, man. There was like ten cops back there!" - Mr. Right
"If I had to. If you were breaking my arm." - Brian, on a Nashville strumpet
"I feel like I rolled for Super Senses." - Brian, on getting into the festival
"Baby, I don't take orders from nobody!" - Shuttle bus nazi
"'No Diving.' Thanks for the tip." - me, on a ~15x5 foot pool
"I'd pay more. I'd pay $420." - random volunteer, on smoking a bowl with Paul McCartney
...
Me: "Fux fux fux widdit."
Brian: "Did you just say 'fuxponentially'?"

Alt-J, our first show at Bonnaroo.

Three Little Birds

          We pulled into a rest stop at 3:40 a.m., where I picked up a Croissan'Wich horrifying breakfast "sandwich," a carton of milk and a candy bar "for the road" (I ate it immediately.) Inside, we were entertained by three small birds flying around and perching on the chairs. Fast forward to a morning arrival in Pittsburgh. I've never been there before, and I have to say that it's an impressive sight. The hills around the city are full of houses, and there are several bright yellow bridges across the Monongahela and Allegheny Rivers that inspired a sort of joyful feeling in me. (Residents of Pittsburgh may disagree.) Less touching was a sign declaring, "Penguins Go Right." I'm happy to have visited, but the ignominy of sharing a city with the Pittsburgh Penguins is bitter to swallow. When we reached the station at 7:15, our driver was rather blasé about the fact that we were 45 minutes late, and our connection was scheduled to leave at 7. Brian spoke with the ticket lady, who was also nonchalant about the situation. After taking her sweet time looking up the schedule, she remarked, "Oh, it leaves at 7. You might want to go catch it." The bus left as we reached the gate, and thus began our six-hour layover in the Pitts.
          Once again, I'll momentarily break character to say that this ticket lady was the first of several Greyhound employees to give us an attitude for no reason. The second person that spoke to us here was a police officer who screamed at us for sitting on the floor, despite the fact that the station was not remotely busy; he also yelled at a mother when her young child kicked an inflatable ball around. I would have chalked it up to "having a bad day," except that some friends of his showed up and they were all having a grand time. Power tripping cops are the worst. Anyway, at least the bus station there was attractive; I expect that the city is doing its best to put on a pretty face for travelers. We hung around and got some reading in; I began a simply incredible book called Desert Solitaire, which Alanna lent to me. It's a series of reflections by Edward Abbey on his experience as a park ranger in Arches National Monument, Utah, modern life, and the desert itself. Meanwhile, Brian was reading A Game of Thrones and found a small bit of weed between two of the pages. Oh, summer.
          After a time, we grew hungry and restless. Unfortunately, we had a large amount of luggage -- a backpack, a large duffel, and a sleeping bag for each of us, plus the tent and the sleeping mats -- and were somewhat fettered to the station. So Brian went out on a walk while I enjoyed the book, and when he returned, I struck out to pick up a couple of sandwiches at a place called Primanti Brothers, highly recommended by a friend of Brian's. Pittsburgh is an interesting place. It's decaying and irrelevant, the typification of a Rust Belt city, but somehow these things lend it a little bit of vintage charm, and a kind of sadness as well. And the smells! In the course of a mile-and-a-half walk, I encountered many different food aromas, the ocean smell from a fish market, the sickly sweet of rot, the fresh scent of a farmer's market, smoky and chemical odors intermingling, and other, still more inexpressible things. I saw trash everywhere, though some young trees were a clear sign of attempted beautification. I stopped to admire a church-turned-venue called the Altar, and noted a forlorn "Go Pens!" sign in a shop window.
          When I reached Primanti Brothers, I was expecting some kind of super-deli, like Wollaston's plus authenticity and fame. Alas, my dreams of a Huskie (hold the pickle) were dashed. This place is into hot sandwiches, and their menu is basically any meat you can think of plus cheese, coleslaw, and french fries all stuffed into a sandwich. Neither of us were too impressed with our meal, though the sandwiches were considerably improved after scraping out some of the slaw. I guess the original Primanti Brothers went pretty huge when it came to coleslaw. Before too long, six hours had passed, and we prepared to board a bus to Columbus, Ohio, and then on to Indianapolis. Of course, it wouldn't be a true Greyhound boarding unless we took flak from at least one employee. Brian asked the driver, "Is this the bus to Indianapolis?" The driver shot back, "What about it?" The baggage loader also took an attitude, blaring, "Down. Down. Down," and pointing vehemently at the ground when we attempted to hand him our duffels.
          I managed to get in a restful nap on the way to Columbus. Brian was not so lucky; he ended up next to some guy from Texas with the worst teeth ever who's going to propose to his girlfriend, and had to listen to his ramblings for some time. After a brief layover in that city, which looked about as boring as they come, we took off for Indianapolis. Once again, Brian was stuck with Tex, and I myself ended up next to an enormous guy who informed me that Dayton is the worst city in Ohio. He had just been turned away quite rudely from an empty seat by a woman who said, "I need to stretch out." He then spent a few minutes loudly talking about how bags aren't supposed to be kept in seats and thanking me for offering him a place to sit. We made a few minor stops on the way, and after that man disembarked, I was first joined by a younger and mercifully smaller guy, and later by an apparent hillbilly who asked me "how much those little video games cost". Brian and I were playing a match in Advance Wars 2 on his Game Boy at the time, and neither of us had any idea what it cost, awkwardly enough. In other news, Ohio is flat. And I mean flat. I don't think I could stand living there any longer than a few months. My mind is clouded with stress over the deposit, but I'm beginning to detect a new sensation as well: a hunger to travel, to see the rest of the United States. It's not as if Columbus was too encouraging, but just being someplace I've never been is a good feeling. During this trip, I'll have seen four states I've never visited (Ohio, Indiana, Kentucky, Tennessee). TO conclude: We reached Indianapolis, where the Greyhound station is built under some kind of rail overpass, around eleven at night. Brian and I obtained White Castle across the street, I called home, and when I brushed my teeth in the bathroom, the filling in my front tooth fell out again. It seems that Murphy's Law is in effect for the duration of our traveling.
          Quotes of the day:
"You know how to carry, I know how to talk." - Brian
"Everywhere is heaven compared to this fuckin' place." - Biggie Smalls, on Columbus
"We are literally not fucking meant to be on this trip." - Brian, after my filling fell out

The Eleventh Hour

          The first notable thing to happen today: I took the call from the law office, and instead of interviewing me further, they offered me the position! I gleefully accepted, and after we finished discussing some particulars, I ran around the house literally jumping for joy. Some challenges may lay ahead, but I can finally say that I made it through the co-op process relatively unscathed. Naturally, I ended up packing everything for Bonnaroo at the last minute. My charger arrived via overnight shipping (Dell scored a point there), so I was able to switch up some of the music on my iPod before we took off. Brian and I decided to catch the 7:30 bus out of Kingston rather than the 10:30, and rushed like madmen to make it on time. My father met us at the station and threw some extra food at me, we hopped on the bus, and it left about a minute later. On the way to Port Authority, we pondered the fact that we might not get our $300 deposits back; we were supposed to come down to Tennessee two days earlier for training, but somehow we both missed the memo. The guy across the aisle did nothing for my peace of mind, talking on his phone, blasting music and chewing an apple in the loudest and messiest way possible. At Port Authority, we had our tickets reissued by Greyhound, changing our schedule, and got ready for the haul to Pittsburgh. If left Kingston at 10:30 as originally stated on our itinerary, we probably would've been forced to wait until morning for another bus. (I will break "entry written each day" character to say that this was a shadow of things to come. Greyhound will never have my business again, as long as I have a choice.) We were harassed by a huge guy that may or may not have scammed us out of $20 while helping us check our bags, waited around forever, and finally boarded for Pittsburgh. Our journey to the South had begun.
          Quote of the day:
"More Kevin, less fun, more wife beaters, no girls allowed." - me, planning for next year

Shootout At the Phone Bank

          After my mother got on my back one time too many, I called Dell to try and get my charger replaced without blowing another benjamin. I first used their online customer service chat, and after a very brief conversation I was instructed to call the customer service phone number. Isn't the point of the chat to not have to use the telephone? So I made the call, gave my information too many times to count, and was transferred eight or nine times before a representative finally agreed that, yes, my adapter was still under warranty when it failed, and a new one would be sent along. The phone call took about an hour, but I guess it was worth it in terms of time spent versus money saved. Later on, I went to Wal-Mart with Brian and Josh to stock up on food for Bonnaroo (we leave tomorrow!) and picked up a sweet Flash shirt as well. As the rain pounded the earth, we were dismayed by the realization that everything we left in the field is probably soaked, but there's nothing we can do about it until morning.
          Quote of the day:
"If I was with somebody for that long, they'd be in a goddamn body bag by now." - Brian

Roll For Blades

          Brian and I woke up and ran to get ready for our outing to Alterniverse, resolving to take down the tents and stuff later on. Climbing out of the shower, I found a tick lodged in my chest, and attempts to extricate it ended with its head still in there. At Logan's, I literally went under the knife. Logan and Steve tried to cut and pry the damn thing out, first with a pocket knife, then an X-Acto tool, but a tiny piece still remains. With luck it'll pop itself out; Lyme disease is not an experience I wish to repeat. It hasn't been long since our last visit to the comic book shop, but today's event was a Man of Steel clix release, and I'm looking to expand my DC collection. From the booster I received, I constructed a General Zod/Clark Kent/Kryptonian Soldier team that looked solid at first glance. Things seemed less rosy after I lost a long, arduous match to a girl named Krystal (spelling unknown), though my next game was a win over Steve. My last match put me up against Cliff, and as anyone could predict, he shit on me in a hopelessly total way. After this disgrace of a draft, we returned to Logan's to trade some pieces, which landed me a Sinestro in addition to the Zod I acquired at the shop.
          We persuaded Logan to join us for a venture to Slices, which ended in tears as we discovered that the peach Joe Tea was out of stock. (The half and half is pretty good.) With pizza and many garlic knots in hand, we met up with Josh and Summer. Our party soon shrank, and by the time we got to Josh's place, it was just him, me, and Brian. We played rummy and watched Mighty Morphin Power Rangers: The Movie, which is one of the worst films I've ever seen but also good entertainment when you don't want to take life seriously. Next up were a few episodes of Law and Order: SVU, which I've decided I'm going to watch the entirety of if it kills me. We smoked a copious amount of shisha from the hookah, which I enjoy for the clouds of thick white smoke it produces.
          Quotes of the day:
"It smells like fucking death by garlic in here." - Brian
"We should watch The Help. I think you'd like it, Andy. Lots of nigger-words being thrown around, black bitches being abused." - Josh
"What 'niggaz' are you referring to?" - me

Shrimp On the Barbie

          As usual, the garage was cold as balls when me and Brian woke up in the morning. We accomplished more cleaning for tonight's party, preparing the garage in the case of bad weather driving us inside. We then spent several hours running around and accomplishing various errands. I'd like to take a moment to acknowledge some fascinating billboards that have cropped up in my area. I know there are at least four of them (that I've seen), but I can't find any explanation for them. The first one I saw is a creamy yellow sort of color with the words "It's very clear" large and centered. The second is a solid pink with a large photo of a golden retriever on it; the third is pink also, with two black and white photos of JFK and another woman who I don't recognize. Finally, the fourth is a photo of two plates of eggs, toast and bacon, accompanied by the words, "Our love is here to stay; not for a year, but ever and a day." This is the only substantial clue I have; along with "It's very clear," these are lyrics from a Gershwin tune called "Our Love Is Here To Stay". I don't know if there is some hidden message to these, but I appreciate them for what they are; when was the last time you saw a billboard that wasn't an advertisement, and hence crystal clear in its message? The mystery and artiness of these is a refreshing change.
          Brian and I ventured into Woodstock to try and find salvia, but were unsuccessful. Whatever its faults, Woodstock is a cool place on the weekend. All sorts of people were out and about, seeing the sights and enjoying the food. For once, the biddies were out in large numbers, which is unheard of in this neck of the woods. Some musicians were playing on the green, and a bunch of people were dancing. We ran into Katie working in a clothing shop, and visited Josh and Sam at work at Yum Yum. After we took several detours hunting for a place to throw out our trash (the dump closed just as we arrived), we headed back into the village to return a huge amount of cans and bottles that had been cluttering the garage floor.
          The evening's party, long planned, was a success in some ways and a disappointment in others. The weather behaved itself, so we were able to build a bonfire in the upper field at Brian's. We were joined by Josh, Summer, Julie, Sam, Amy, Matt, Logan, Shanti, Heather, and Sami. Brian's brother Sean appeared as well, coming up to "have a drink," then stayed the entire night, which kind of threw a damper on the mood. (We have little and less in common.) I shared some good conversation with Shanti, Logan and Brian, and we played some improv games, drew a creature feature and played some pong to pass the time. Shanti also bestowed a huge amount of fire truck-shaped cookies on us, the remains of a canceled order at the dessert place where she works. At the end of the night, I passed out in a tent with Brian and Sam, mercifully in that order.
          Quotes of the day:
"I feel like it'd be an asshole move to throw it in the dead guy's dumpster." - me
"I was like, 'Oh, look at that! It's free now!'" - Brian, on stealing
"Black girl fights? They're the best!" - Brian's dad
"It's not about being polite or rude, it's about being drunk." - Josh
"He had a garbage bag full of weed!" - Summer
"I need to stay radially heated..." - Logan
"Nobody sits in the front! Get in the fuckin' back!" - Logan
"You might die, but you won't get arrested." - Summer

Forty Days and Forty Nights

          It rained all day today and yesterday and shows no signs of stopping. The law office contacted me once again, asking to set up a phone interview on Tuesday "for some additional questions." This is a road with no end, it would seem. I also received an email informing me that there's a paycheck waiting for me from the small amount of work-study I used in March, which is probably like twenty bucks. But still! It's a pleasant surprise. The dishwashing shift for the day went all right, after which my father told me about how he made a scene at Ian's CVP film festival. Someone did a Rambo-style video rife with violence and stupidity, and my dear dad booed twice and walked out. I'm just glad I wasn't there to be embarrassed. Later, I devoured delicious strawberry shortcake at the garage with Brian.

Stickfights

          Another dream about Bonnaroo, except this time it was set in some kind of rave warehouse with a garden outside. I guess I've been thinking about it a lot. I went over to Brian's, where we got considerably baked and put in serious work organizing and cleaning the garage. Tried and true fact: High housekeeping is a lot of fun. We also spent some time watching a moth fight its way out of a cobweb, high-fiving when it finally got out, and reminiscing about how stickfights used to be a big deal when we were kids at camp. My shuffle was spot on and the night went quite well.
          Quotes of the day:
"The National Enquirer supporting Harry Potter." - me, explaining The Quibbler
"Yayyy, I feel so proud of it! We're such good parents!" - Brian, after the moth escaped
"Andy, that was the only class we had together in high school." - Brian, making me feel like a diq
"Yes, I may have poopstains, but at least I'm not an asshole!" - Brian, quoting
...
Brian: "Andy, you are the least-word texter in the world."
Me: "Really, is it that bad?"
Brian: "It's like, you get your point across very concise."

The Head of the Snake

          I dreamed about Bonnaroo, represented here in some kind of poolside resort setting. After a bus shift in the evening, Logan, Brian and I convened at Logan's for a small clix game. In line with the recent Fear Itself issue, Logan played a Worthy team, Brian a Mighty team, and I ran a Hydra fodder team that turned out to be extremely overpowered. Another win at home; now if I can just apply this prowess in our away games at Alterniverse, maybe I could score some second place swag. (I have zero chance of beating Cliff, who lives and breathes this stuff. The odds of a win over Dave, another regular, are little better -- he is an incorrigible rule exploiter with a suspicious pair of dice that come up with a six nearly every roll.) Brian took off to meet with Josh and Summer, and I spent the rest of the evening reading a variety of comics. I breezed through Fear Itself, perused The Punisher, and enjoyed two Batman stories: The Cult and The Black Mirror.
           Nerd rant ahead. I've found myself becoming something of a Batman enthusiast. His stories have a sort of noir grittiness, an air of mystery, a certain psychological edge that other comics tend to lack. Take Superman, for instance. When they're written well, stories about the boy in blue are everyday stories -- they contrast his power with emotion or the frailty of life or ethical dilemmas. When they're written poorly, he becomes a deus ex machina "come in and save everyone at the last second with eye beams and super strength" engine of ridiculousness. Not to mention, he has one weakness, shards of rock from a faraway planet that everyone somehow possesses. This is why he always needs bigger and badder villains (Doomsday, Parasite, Mongul, Darkseid, etc. etc.) who never seem to have any motivation other than being evil (Brainiac, Lex Luthor...) I've said my piece; now back to our regularly scheduled programming.
          Quotes of the day:
"The people on 14 are the biggest wine snobs I've ever seen. He still has his fucking sunglasses on inside." - Luke
"I can't take any more of this Sergeant Pepper dubstep shit." - Nick
"Octopus is pretty bomb, I'm not gonna hate." - Nick

Keep It Funny

Author's note: Later, I regrettably remembered that Tarantino's cameo in Django was not silent. Regardless, I will leave that sentence intact, because it was a dream worth having.

          I went to Boston with my father for a second interview at the one-man law firm. We arrived without incident, though I was mildly offended by a Good Humor ad proclaiming, "The Cooler Boston Pops." (I concede that it was clever.) We had a few hours to wait, so we wandered around near State Street for a while, seeing the sights. After grabbing lunch at an old bar called the Hub Pub a little way up the street, we walked over to City Hall. This led to a weird moment when we cut through the alley next to the New England Center for Homeless Veterans. Toward that end of the alley, there were three grim-looking vets smoking, one of them in a wheelchair; at the City Hall end, there were three young guys in Hawaiian shirts guffawing and clearly smoking marijuana. It was a strange contrast, a sort of reminder that life isn't always on your side, and made me somewhat uncomfortable.
          The interview was rife with pressure as always. I know that it didn't go poorly, but whether it went well is not a call I can make. Once again, fingers crossed for this ordeal to end happily. We took the Orange Line but found that the stop we entered is inbound only for some reason, so we had to get off and change trains at Haymarket to get back to Ruggles. My father successfully embarrassed me as usual, whistling on the train. As Mr. Classic Rock McManly himself, he also blew my mind when he started singing a Death Cab song (so hip!) under his breath on the way home. I recovered at the garage with Brian and Josh, where we watched Django Unchained. Long story short: It was an incredible film, Quentin Tarantino outdid himself once again (and thankfully played a silent cameo role), and Jamie Foxx is actually a solid actor. Also, the blue suit is the greatest thing ever -- he looks like a French prince turned pirate. 9/10, would watch again.
          Quotes of the day:
"Inefficiency through efficiency." - me
"My dad had a shit fit today. This is the condensed version." - Brian
"What's this pig-fuckin' cracka doing?" - Brian

Professor Perry

          Today, Brian and I went to Kingston to accomplish a variety of tasks. As we breezed down there, I played around with the radio and discovered that 98.5 THE CAT, the favorite station of soccer moms everywhere, has improved considerably. We sang along with "Paparazzi", "Carry On", and "Hot and Cold" while incongruously arguing about the nature of fear and chaos theory. At the mall, I had the vast majority of my hair buzzed off and purchased a sweet Joker poster at FYE's "we're moving 2 doors down" clearance sale. After leaving the mall, we purchased our bus tickets for Bonnaroo -- I do not relish the thought of the 32 hour ride ahead of us -- and discovered, with great dismay, that our local head shop has closed. At home, I had an enormous, dramatic fight with my parents over Steve's hack; this generally consisted of my mother being upset, my father chewing me out, and me not fully understanding why it's such a big deal in the first place. I'll be very happy when this all blows over.
          Quote of the day:
"I'd know that bald head from a mile away." - Brian

Smile Activated Bat Gear

          Brian, Logan and I headed for Alterniverse this morning to play a Fear Itself clix booster draft, a Marvel story revolving primarily around the Asgardians (for non-comic book people, Thor and a bunch of other mystical Norsemen.) If I haven't previously explained this, a booster draft is a small, double-elimination tournament wherein everyone buys a booster of five random figures, builds a team of a predetermined point value and battles it out. For this one, we were required to bring along an extra 100-point figure, so I added Baron Zemo to my newly acquired Monkey King and Ms. Marvel (all Thor'd up version). My first match was a complete travesty. The dice were with me, and Adam's rolled unbelievably poorly. I wiped out his entire team without taking so much as a point of damage (excluding a click of pushing damage which I took by choice), I scored two critical hits (double sixes) during said beatdown, and the game ended with his last character, Hawkeye, killing himself with a critical miss (double ones). My luck turned for the worse in my second game, a narrow loss, and my third, which was essentially the opposite of my first and a complete bad-dice-juju steamroll. Over dinner and post-draft trades at Logan's, I deduced that Steve was guilty of my recent hacking.
          Logan, Brian and I journeyed to the garage to watch Justice League: Crisis On Two Earths, an animated film of unexpected quality. Nerd highlight: Batman indisputably killing at least one, if not two, characters. We were joined by Summer and Josh, and we all had a fine time chilling out and shooting the shit. Summer told one particularly gruesome story about a local guy who was busy tagging a train car when another train flew by and severed his arm and leg with its plow. He collapsed and wasn't found until morning, but the cold saved his life, freezing his wounds shut.
          Quotes of the day:
"Asgardian Name: The Verb." - me
"You gotta go in early to get the primo cougars, they don't sleep much." - Steve
"They turned Gotham into an alternate version of Manhattan just to piss me off!" - Cliff
"I just figured out, we need Bill Cosby here to explain the rules to us." - Steve
"Jamie Foxx black? Or Cuba Gooding Jr. black, where we can pass him off as white with a quick makeup job?" - Cliff
"He pulled a Batman to deduce that it was my dad." - Logan
"Yeah, she just got Nicki Minaj'd, actually." - me
"He just shit his pantaloons!" - Brian
"I fuckin' know where she lives! I could pull into her driveway right now!" - Josh
"Andy eats chocolate as if it's his fucking day job." - Brian
...
Logan: "That's Hulk? Why does he have cornrows?"
Brian: "He's urban."
...
Steve: "We need to work that new ability into the game: 'Electric Slide.'"
Adam: "Mess up once during the dance and you're finished!"
...
Logan: "How does he activate that face guard?"
Me: "By smiling."
...
Josh: "I can dream, guys."
Summer: "Yeah, but I can live it."
...
Logan: "She used to have a huge crush on you."
Josh: "Apparently, so did every other girl in the United States."

Circle of Strife

          I dreamed about waiting in the snack bar line at Saugerties Jr. High School. (Around here, elementary is K-6, junior high 7-8, and high school 9-12.) Though the cafeteria lights were out, the room was packed with riotous students eating and cavorting about. One girl was laughing uncontrollably, and soon I was laughing along, as were all the people nearby. We were scolded by Ryan's new principal at Morse, who was apparently in charge here. I was meekly silent until I realized, "Wait, I don't go here!" I ran down a defunct, collapsing version of the main staircase, which terminated in a rubble-filled pit surrounded by old, broken windows. I climbed over a chain-link fence blocking a gap between these, walked out on to the grass, and entered a conversation with an old classmate named David. Unlike every real-world conversation we've had since after puberty, it wasn't awkward at all, and we discussed dog breeds and finals schedules. He also informed me that "a platypus is what a quahog is."
          Another day, another dish shift. I expected today to be hot as hell, but it ended up not being so bad. I also learned how to prep shiitake and portabella mushrooms; the former are kind of foamy and enjoyable to tear into pieces, while the latter are caked in dirt and have little black bugs that I was responsible for finding and squashing. I was done by 11:30, Brian came over and hung out for a bit, and then we retreated to the garage.
          Quotes of the day:
"God dammit, I just wrote on a million people's walls by accident that I beat them at Snake." - Brian
[reading Facebook drama under his breath] "...fuck you whore..." - Brian