Brokedown Palace

So, a friend of mine wanted me to post a certain story on this blog. This is one helluva a story, if you ask me. It has gone down in the book of legends. It is the story of my last Grateful Dead show. (The horror)

Here we are, June of 1995. My roommie, Kevin and I are pretty damn serious deadheads. All we do is trade shows, go to shows, and constantly listen to shows. This run, that we are going to is in Washington, DC. It's a run of 2 consecutive nights, and we are hoping to get into both.

At that time, I was one broke motherfucker. In fact, I quit a job just to go to this run of shows. (And I am so glad I did) Personally, I have about $70 for the trip. Yikes. We forge ahead. We pack bananas and bread and peanut butter and jelly, and water. Bare essentials, folks. We set out north in the middle of the night.

I am driving through the northeastern part of Tennessee when I almost kill us. Whoever decided to put a 55 mph speed limit on a road that shoudn't have been more than 35 mph, is to blame. (It wasn't me, I swear! :) Of course, we don't die, and keep going.

When the sun rises, we are about halfway up the Blue Ridge mtns in Virginia. I am starting to get really excited! Almost there!

When we finally do roll into DC, we go to find a campground. I forget the name of the place we stayed, but it was pretty cool. We found our spot, and set up camp. We had some really cool neighbors that were all about some frisbee, and MGD, and homemade bongs. We met them and spent some "quality" time with them. They were to be our neighbors for the next few days. Then we decide to go to RFK. (which, unfortunately, no longer exists, neither does the Omni)

We make it throught the awful traffic of DC, and yes, we did flip off the IRS building and yelled "Fuck you!" Windows were open in the building so someone had to hear us. I am such a rebel!

We make it to RFK. Wow, this place is huge! We find our spot in the parking lot and set to procuring some tix to the show. It's raining, and generally a little miserable with the heat and humidity. In fact, a guy took a piss in the lake and lightning hit and and fucked him up! When we finally get to trying to find tix..... SOLD OUT. Fark! We scour all night until half the show is over, and by then we just resigned to being outside the show. The beauty of it was that we could still hear the show. Just from a bit of a distance.

Somehow, Kevin and I separated, and I met some really cool cats that smoked me down, and gave me some to take back with me. I still thank you to this day, beautiful stranger.

We are kinda bummed we didn't get in the first night. We go back to the campground after the show and hope for a better tomorrow. We party with our neighbors, and end up getting pretty fucked up (at least I did).

We wake up the next day, and have new hope. We set out early for RFK, hoping to get tix and not make this a wasted trip. Here's were we should've known better....

A young african-american approached us with two tix. They sure as fuck looked real enough. He was offering them at face value. We were so desperate that we were easily suckered. We tried to get into the show. A test that the guy did on the tix showed they were fake.

DENIED.

What the fuck? I traveled over 700 miles to not get in? I don't think so. Kev and I pondered for a bit what to do. For me, that was the last of my money. I had no choice. What I did next, I don't and never did feel right about. But I did it.

We decided to try to find a sucka as unsuspecting as us. And pass them off. We found a couple of yuppies and figured that they could AFFORD to buy another set, after they figured out the ones they got from us were fake. We found em. A young college age couple, very well dressed.

I did the deed, and sold them the tix, then hightailed it straight into a crowd of hundreds. I quickly changed shirts and even moved my car. Just in case. I felt like shit for doing it. But I had no other choice if I wanted to see the band. And well, hell, I didn't come 700 miles for nothing.

I will burn in hell for that later, I know it.

We ended up getting tix from the box office after that. It was a Sunday night for the 2nd show, and wasn't sold out. (We should've gone there first...but who knew) We're in! Woohoo!

So we enter the show, and find the sweet spot. Right beside the soundboard. That's where ya want to be if you want the goods. We are treated to an opening set by Bob Dylan. Then and interim, with Dylan and Garcia, most noteably playing Rainy Day Women 17 & 35.

EVERYBODY MUST GET STONED!

The night is wonderful. Of course, Vince Welnick sucks, but given that it was my absolute last GD Show, I am still in great appreciation of it. We got an awesome setlist, and some serious boogie on that night. What I will never forget is the encore. Brokedown Palace. Jerry's hair blowing in the wind. The sweet words cascading from him....the music in harmony with all. I cried. Somehow, I knew this was the last I would see of him. Somehow....

I don't even remember getting back to the campground, I just remember Jerry. .. Papa. Where have you gone? We need you!

As a side note, I do remember that earlier that day we had walked through a minefield of broken glass. I was barefoot, and luckily only got one piece in my foot. But I did dance in the mud barefoot all night, and never gave it a second thought. (Minor surgury was preformed 5 days later to get it out)

Imagine.....just for a bit, the breeze blowing, the sweet notes of Jerry's guitar, the burnt up voice of an old man, an old man that is our papa.


Fare you well, my honey,
fare you well my only true one.
All the birds that were singing
are flown, except you alone.

Going to leave this brokedown palace,
On my hand and my knees,
I will roll, roll, roll.

Make myself a bed in
the waterside,
In my time, I will roll, roll roll.

In a bed, in a bed, by the waterside
I will lay my head.
Listen to the river sing sweet songs,
to rock my soul.

River going to take me,
sing me sweet and sleepy,
Sing me sweet and sleepy
all the way back home.

Its a far gone lullaby,
sung many years ago.
Mama, mama many worlds I've come
since I first left home.

Goin home, goin home, by the riverside
I will rest my bones,
Listen to the river sing sweet songs,
to rock my soul.

Going to plant a weeping willow,
On the banks green edge it will grow, grow, grow.
Sing a lullaby beside the water,
Lovers come and go, the river will roll, roll, roll.

Fare you well, fare you well,
I love you more than words can tell,
Listen to the river sing sweet songs, to rock my soul.

~Brokedown Palace
Grateful Dead

Wicked Trip Part 2

So George H. Bush comes to eat lunch with a family in Hendersonville. It is roughly 1993, around November, say 13th...

The interstates are backed up. Unheard of at that time. The bridges and overpasses had cops with sniper rifles at each end. I was tripping on at least the equivalent of 4-5 hits of acid. I had no idea what was going on, but I had developed a theory. wink wink.

My "theory" was that a man had called the police and said that he would jump off a bridge, but they just didn't know which one. So, in my naive state, I am thinking that the cops are actually trying to save someone. Not snipe them.

So we are in traffic for quite a while. We had the windows of the bus rolled down, and we eventually scooted up to another car that had the windows down. I decided to ask...

"Do you know what is going on here?"

She replies with, "President Bush is in town."

And my response is an astounding...."So?"

Nice one butthead. She says, "It's in case anyone is trying to kill him."

To which I boldy reply, "I'll do it!"

Um, bad news bears. She scowled at me at rolled the window up. I realized what I had said after I said it. What a dumbass! But hey, I was 16 and on acid.

Somehow, we make it through the traffic jam, and without being captured by men in black...whew. I don't know exactly why, but we did stop at a Wendy's after that. I remember walking in the parking lot toward the restauarant feeling like I was hovering at least 2 feet in the air above the ground. I was gliding. I giggled about it. It felt funny, good, and a little ticklish.

I remember getting a frosty and just mainly playing with it. It wasn't too long after that I had to go home. Shit, are you serious?

I was still mega peaking. 5 hits into it, and about 8 hours into it....I had a long way to go. I had to go home. To my mom, who was my worst nightmare at the time.

Oh holy hell, it's a damn wonder I didn't experience a nuclear meltdown when that time came. I arrived home and my grandmother was there too. I went into the living room and turned on the TV. I found Little Nikita. I loved, absolutely loved River Phoenix. He was one sexy bastard. So I was hooked.

I spent the rest of the afternoon trying to watch Little Nikita, and simultaneously trying not to pull out all of the carpet fibers. I just knew my mom knew something was up. I was going nuts about it inside. Therefore, when I asked her if I could stay over at Mira's house, and she said yes, I thought it was a trick. I almost fucked it up for myself.

I called Mira, and asked her to come and get me, she said....."Be there in 20 mins."

One Wicked Trip

It was November 13, 1992. I had just gotten my driver's license. So did one of my best friends. Her parents had a 1986 Volkswagon Westfalia Bus. It was awesome. So on this particular weekend, my friend, Mira, and some of my other best buds, decide....hey it would be a great idea to split a 10 strip and go into the woods in Mira's bus.



Voila, an idea is born.



It's early Saturday morning. We converge at the Waffle House. Us, in our teenage angst wasteland, decide this is a GOOD way to spend a Saturday. We eat breakfast, and head out. I am in charge of dispensing the LSD, as I was the one who procured it. I'm cutting tabs with a razor on the little countertop in the bus, while Mira is driving. Little did I know that I was absorbing the liquid right off the paper. I eat two hits, and Mira and Chris eat one. Darrah, waits. Mira drives up on the Parkway, we head south. We are having a great time on the way. Listening to good tunes, and laughing all the way. We get to Graveyard Fields. This is where we are going to play today. We start off on the trail. It goes well until about 2/3rds of the way down the trail to the first falls. I start to lose it. Everything is morphing. Roots are moving, limbs are dancing. I can hear the heartbeat of the earth. We decide to sojourn at the the first falls. It was while I was at the base of the falls that I had an incredible urge. I had to climb that waterfall.



I watched as the water came rushing down. Over rocks, roaring to the earth. I was overtaken with a primal urge. And that urge was to climb that damn waterfall. I decided to tackle it from the west side. I don't know why, this was actually the more difficult side to climb.



I set off across the rocks to the left shore. I mushed through damp earth. I reached the first of many trees. I looked up, and saw a way. I jumped, grabbed on, and proceeded, limb by fucking limb, to the top. Through at least 20 trees, all connected in some way. I am an orangutang! OOOO EEEEEE!



So I thought. I got to the top, so exhilerated, so breathless from my climb. I was ecstatic! I did it! I climbed the waterfall! I am king of the world!



Then, I turned around. SON OF A BITCH! I was at the dead beginning of the trail. The bridge was familiar. The surrounding landscape was familiar. Well, fuck me.



I turned around and looked down the waterfall, and my friend Mira was making some strange hand gestures at me, and there was (in my opinion) a really creepy dude right behind her taking pictures of her. I thought that she was trying to tell me that he had made her cry. I was gesturing to her to watch out for that guy. What she was really trying to tell me was the she just sat on a pin, and it went right in her ass, and it made her cry. Well, I didn't know this, and was going apeshit on top of the waterfall. Our friend, Chris, decided he was going to get this situation under control. He climbed the waterfall, the exact same way as I did. He got to me and let me know everything was allright. Mira and Darrah jumped into 40 degree or below water, and swam like fish.



Chris talked me into walking down the trail, who takes the trail? Me, I take the trees....And everything is going ok, until he stepped on a rock. And that rock sucked his foot in like a super sponge. I start to instantly flip out. I mean, hell, my friend is being eaten by a rock, for God's sake!



I'm yelling at him to get off the g'damn rock! And not only that, I am yelling at any passerby, "Do NOT step on that rock! You must avoid the rock!" Needless to say, I had a few really strange looks shot my way. Chris navigates me past the rock, while I am just flipping the fuck out. We make it back down to the bottom of the waterfall. By then Mira and Darah are mere popsicles. We head back to the bus. We get in and bundle up, and start to try to cook something hot. We have brocolli and cheese RiceARoni. This event will go down in history.



Mira fires up the oven. We start the rice, water, butter mixture in the pot. Check. The water comes to a boil. Super Check! We are on our way! Then 8 mins into it, the flame dies. Nothing. Dead in the water.



Hey, isn't there a little convenience store at Pisgah Inn? Let's check it out. We go. It EXISTS! We are saved! If you count popcorn, chips, and soda as salvation. It's not what we wanted, but it'll do. We go back out to the bus after what must have been 20 mins picking out munchie food.



We forget about our previous plight of not being able to finish the Rice A Roni. Mira cranks the bus and we head out of the parking lot. She takes a sharp right to manuever through. The pot of Rice A Roni skids across the countertop. I see it moving ever so slowly. It goes off the edge. At that precise point, the pot dumped it's contents into the air. I saw rice granual after rice granual flip slowly end over end, making a strange WHOOSH WHOOSH sound everytime an end flipped over. Slowly it worked it's way through the air. The mass of rice and mixture. Then all of a sudden BOOOM! SPLAT! KABLOWIE! All over Darrah!



She was sitting on the floor of the bus, and Chris and I were in the bench seat, Mira driving. The look on Darrah's face was priceless! I laughed so damn hard I thought my midsection was going to disentigrate! I will never forget it to this day!



On the way back, we ran into another scenario, Bush I's visit to the Carolinas, and that is another post entirely. So is the one that continues into the night.



We got back to Mira's house, and let Ryden, her dog, clean Darrah, and the inside of the bus. That, my friends, was only the beginning. Stay tuned for Part 2 and 3.

In Which I Become Technologically Advanced

Over the last two weeks, I have gone nuts in the technology department. I have bought a new laptop, TV, and cell in the span of less than 2 weeks. And I can integrate them all. I can put music, picture, and video files from my comp on my phone. I can put files from my phone on my comp. I can use my TV as a HUGE monitor. I can surf the web, TV (yeah, streaming TV and preloaded episodes), music (streaming and loaded), and have GPS, and On Demand. All on the phone. The comp has an assload of memory and capability. I'm downloading movies, burning them to DVD if I really like them, or just hooking the cable between the comp and TV, and watching them once. I have my sound system hooked up to the TV, and everything that goes through it gets 5.1 sound. I watched Revenge of the Sith on my new TV (Sony Bravia 32" LCD HDTV), and holy fuck, I about creamed my pants. This, my friends, was how it was meant to be seen! I am in technology heaven. I can access my comp by remote access from my phone if I want to. I can even have files from my phone, directed through my laptop, print out, remotely. Aha!

So much you can do! I have been playing with all my new gadgets a lot. And I am continually surprised.

Maybe becuase I have been hiding under a rock for a while.

Welcome to the 21st Century!

The Ho From Room One-Oh-Foh!

It's a Friday night, and of course the Sharkadelics are playing the house bar. Now, a lot of people seem to like the Sharkadelics, but I think they suck. First of all, they are a purely cover band. How bad must it suck to make your claim to "fame" by riding the coattails of real musicians. I only come down hard on them, because I have spent years learning to play music, in a lot of different aspects. One thing I do know is this, I wouldn't have kept on if I wasn't writing my own music. I'm digressing.

So the house cover band is on, and the same crowd of degenerates is out in force. Though, tonight, we have a newcomer. At least, it's the first time I have seen her. This woman, roughly around 40, was in a too-tight pair of jeans, and a tube top. Yes, ladies and gentleman, a tube top. Didn't those go out in the late '80's with legwarmers?

She had her tongue clear down this young man's throat. I say young man, how about overgrown kid. He was maybe 24 and that is if I am guessing at the possible end of this man's age spectrum. He was in baggy pants and a loose T-shirt. And eating it up. Ick.

So these two go about this same behavior for about an hour and a half, right out on the sidewalk. Several people had made comments about getting a room (we are at a hotel)...

After a while, the young man helps the "lady" through the door and asks me where room 104 is. I direct them to the front desk, and he finds out. He walks her (really it was more like half-dragging) her to room 104. Her key doesn't work. He leaves her in the hall, and comes back to ask me for a new keycard. Again, I direct him to the front desk. When, if ever, will these people see the sign over my head that denotes a different business?

The front desk lady says that she can't give him a key, because he is not a guest. So she asks him to bring the girl to the desk. Turns out she isn't the guest of the hotel either. A man that has been staying there a month is. According to the bartender, this "ho" met the guy in 104 earlier that night, and he had said she could stay with him tonight. Then he left the bar some time after that and retired to his room.

Anyhow, the front desk ends up calling the guy in the room. He comes out. The young man that was "helping" her to her "room", was like....WTF? And left. So now it just her and dude from 104. He takes her back to his room, and they are in there maybe 20 mins. They come out, and come up to my desk, dammit again. They ask for paper and pen, and I oblige. She writes her number down, and she slurs:

"You won't call me. You won't call me."

"Yes I will." and he ushers her out the door. Now use your imagination, folks. What do YOU think she did in there for 20 mins?

Well, the hotel staff and I made quite a bit of fun at this little episode. I knew that I would see her again. Just had the feeling. And sure enough, Sunday night, she was back. And with the dude from 104.

And I gave a little shout out to the front desk...."It's the 'ho from one-oh-foh!'"

Come On Baby, Light My Fire!

This past Saturday night, I was with my guy, at one of his band practice sessions. This is a band that is into heavy, dark, electronica. He drums for them, and I think he does great. The band is comprised mainly of people that work for Moog Music. If you don't know about Moog, do some research. Robert Moog changed the face of music. Not only with synthesizers, but with effects pedals, and other means of modulating signals.

Anyhow, they were running kind of long at practice, and I had been talking with one of the band member's wife all night. Practice was at thier house, and it was the first time I had really been there the whole time. She is someone I went to school with and was friends with for the short time that she was at my school. She was getting hungry, and said that her husband normally did the cooking on the grill. She had been marinating chicken and steak all day, and it was calling to her.

Being the grillmeister that I am, I offerred my assistance. She said if I wanted to I was welcome to do it. So I did.

I carefully stacked the charcoal in the grill, and asked for lighter fluid. She told me it was the pre-soaked kind. Oh boy. The last time I used that stuff, it CAUGHT my grill on fire, and damn near burned down my house. So I was apprehensive of using it, but I did anyway. I lit the coals and they flamed up so high that I thought that the roof of her front porch might ignite. I closed the lid and opened the vents. After a bit, I thought that it was burning at a reasonable rate. Then I made my mistake. I opened the lid.

A frickin' fireball shot out at me!

And it caught me on fire! Holy cripes!

My hair was on fire, my shirt was on fire, and I freaked the fark out! I was patting at both my hair and shirt like a madwoman. I got it out in the span of about 5 seconds, but it scared the bejesus out of me! All we could smell was burning hair. Then after a minute of freak out, I realized my arm really hurt. I looked down, and everywhere that was exposed was burnt. Not badly, but like a flash burn. My shirt was crispy, and all the hair on my arm and the little hairs on your face on my right side, all burnt to nubs. The hair on my head, took a good loss to the right side, but it's pretty hard to tell. I have so much hair, no one says that they notice, but I do.

Regardless of the human barbeque, the chicken and steak came out excellent.

One of Those

I read a lot of blogs, one of which deals with waiting tables and the idiocy of customers. Normally, the author of the blog will give hilarious examples of supreme idiocy from the other side of the fence. This time I have a story about idiocy from a server.

Last week, my brother was in town for a week with his girlfriend (now fiance, he proposed while here). On Tuesday, we went to this Irish pub that is about 8 blocks from my house. I love the place, it's new, and very cozy. We went so that we could get furschnickered and walk home. I had been raving about this place to him since before he came up. So he and his girl, and my guy and I, went on up to the pub.

Now, part of the reason I wanted to go there, was that they have Belhaven Twisted Thistle on tap.

We get there, sit down, and start to order. When it came my turn, I ordered the above.

"I'd like a pint of Belhaven Twisted Thistle, please."

"All the beer is warm." the server flatly states.

"ALL of the beer is warm?" I ask.

"Well, the bottles are cold."

Hmmm, ok. Just need to look over the beer list, which I do not have. So I look over to the coolers and think I see a Newcastle.

"Do you have Newcastle?" I inquire.

"Umm, yes.......no."

Let me interject and say that the server was in no way suggesting a beer, or even listing what they might have, nor offering a list. Then my brother decides to give me a little shit.

"Why do you always have to be so difficult?" he ribs me.

At that precise moment, the server rolls her eyes and says, "I get at least one of those a night."

What?

'One of those?' First off, I am not a difficult person at all. My brother was giving me a hard time, which he always does when we mess around. I finally just choose a beer they more than likely have, and the server leaves to get our drinks. Needless to say, I am a bit ticked off at the fact that she openly insulted me, so we decide to go outside to the patio area, debating on leaving because of her behavior. I do not go to an establishment to be insulted.

Let me ask a question here....if your living depended on tips, would you openly insult a customer? Especially a 4 top that just sat down? I don't think so. Oh, and it got better.

Throughout the meal, she complained to us ABOUT serving us. Then she complained about the music in the pub. Sarah McLaughlin. We were all pretty peeved at this point, so my brother decides to run with it.

"Sarah McLaughlin? I love her! What is wrong with Sarah McLaughlin?" he chides.

"It's music to slit your wrists to."

You have got to be kidding me.

We get the bill after getting griped at by her because we asked for to-go boxes. We asked for them because we were leaving as we had enough of this girl. Sensing something was amiss, the owner appeared at our table and asked us how everything was. Well, I let him know. I also added that I had operated a restaurant/bar myself, so I knew what I was talking about. I handed the guest check book to the owner and said, "I normally tip 20-30%, but this time I only tipped 10% and a written tip at the bottom of the charge slip.....'Tip: Don't call the paying customer "one of those."'

To be quite honest, she was lucky to get 10%. Most would have left nothing after being treated so badly throughout the meal. But hey, I am not a cold-hearted bitch, just "One of Those".

Birth of a Nebula

Today, Zombies With Guns was born. Today, A Force of Nature decided to show itself. Today, a new mind has come into the matrix. Today is the beginning, how far it goes, depends on a lot of variables.

This blog will be a mix of posts. It will be stories of the past, some of which are so incredible, so "unreal" that many of you may think that I am full of shit. Which would be a wrong assumption. I only wish that I had any semblance to a normal upbringing. The things that have happened to me, with me, and around me, have all truly happened. I seem to have some kind of freak magnet lodged in my third chakra.

Other posts will be about current life. Which I can guarantee you will be probably so mundane that you will wonder if I am the same person...alas, I am. As I have grown older, so have I grown wiser. Not to say that I still don't have a wild hair up my arse from time to time.

Yet, there will be other posts that deal with purely existential topics. Ones for the great minds to ponder on.

Welcome to Zombies With Guns, where you never know what you may read about.