Wednesday, November 19, 2008

Why Did I Keep Thinking It Was Wednesday?

By Pauly
Hollyweird, CA

I had to write TUES on my hand. I kept forgetting what day it was. I've been binging, mostly on the written word. And since I'm raging solo, I'm on my own internal clock where in my universe days are 30 hours long and I sleep for three hours every 27 hours or so.

I woke up at dawn on Tuesday and wrote for a couple of hours. I drove to O'Groats at 7:30am for breakfast. I had been going to Nick's every morning and wanted to switch things up. Traffic was light at that time of the day aside from a couple of SUVs dropping off their snooty kids at private schools up and down Pico.

The pancakes at O'Groats are heavenly and their iced tea is strong. I couldn't finish the home fries. I sat at the counter and read Home Before Daylight which written by a Grateful Dead roadie. Steve Parish was also the manager of Jerry Garcia Band. He chronicled his life on the road with the Dead for several decades.

Reading those stories about the Grateful Dead made me miss Jerry Garcia. When I was in Budapest, I finished Garcia: A Signpost to New Space by Charles Reich & Jann Wenner. They interviewed Jerry at his house (when he lived with Mountain Girl) and he shared some wild stories about the acid tests back in the mid 60s before it was illegal.

Man, I missed following the Dead and the excitement of getting dropped off in the lot and having only $20 and a bag of ditch weed on me and that was it. Not even a ticket and my goal was to score a dose, shrooms, and/or a ticket within an hour and still have some money left over for a grilled cheese.

After breakfast, I drove home and went for a walk. For the first time in days, the air was smoke-free. The fires subsided and I'm still in a bit of disbelief that it's summer-like weather in SoCal.

My goal for Tuesday was to unplug and hunker down on Truckin'. I pieced together the next issue and wrote two new stories. Yeah, fiction. It didn't feel like work, ya know? It was fun and satisfying to write about a topic other than poker. December is the pseudo-Christmas issue and will include a couple of Christmas-themed stories. However, the first story I wrote did not fit in with the holiday theme. I had a peculiar incident happen to me the other day and I wrote about it.

Here's the teaser...
I have this odd fear that I'm going to get shanked by a gangbanger with a spork or mugged by one of the homeless people who lived behind the dumpster and feasted on half-eaten Jumbo Jacks and pieces of raggedly yellow leafs that they passed off as lettuce....
A couple of hours after I wrote that story, I realized that I really should have something Christmasy in there. Last year I penned something about a dead junkie musician and this year I wanted to write something more cheery. The result was a sad tale with funny moments centering around a 80-something year old great-grand mother who interrupts Christmas dinner and announces t everyone that it's going to be her last Christmas since she's dying.

Here's the teaser...
I adore the way you look. But your mother disapproves. It's that black shoe polish you have on your lips. When I was your age, the only people who dressed like that were whores who stood on corners down in the Mission.
I wrote the first draft of my column for Bluff and then devoted a couple of hours to a different project. In all, I scribbled in excess of 10,000 words on Tuesday. It was a productive day and I lost time for a while. I forgot to play in a private poker tournament with one of my favorite British writers Tony Holden. I signed up but never showed up. I was in the zone and it wasn't until I took a piss break when I realized the time and what happened.

After a productive day, it was time to relax and go on a mini-bender. I got sloshed and watched North Carolina whoop on Kentucky. I missed college hoops.

I bought the latest live Phish release. Eight CDs. Three complete shows from 1993 in Atlanta. And yes, I went to all of them when I was in college. With a sprained ankle. I busted it during an intramural hoops game against the meathead fraternity next door to us. Anyway, it's been 15 years since that three night run, hard to grasp that concept sometimes. Man, I did a ton of acid at those shows. I could hear my buddy Bob scream out at one point.

The Roxy shows are great writing music and I stayed up all night listening to them from start to finish. I even sat through Bouncin. OK, I did wandered off to take a piss then, but it still played nonetheless.

What stood out the most was Page's playing especially to a cover of Loving Cup which kicked off the three show run. Page was the anchor and glue back then that held Phis together. I missed how the boys used to bust out the for bullhorn for Fee.

Moby Dick > Bowie made me smile because I went bonkers when I initially heard the Zeppelin intro to Bowie 15 years ago. I was in a heavy Zeppelin phase back then. And how could you not lose your shit on a head full of acid when Fishman wanders out to the front of the stage for a vacuum solo? Seriously, that Bowie was jam packed with lots of gems... Simpsons language, plenty of Moby Dick and Manteca teases, even a quick happy birthday to Fishman.

The vocal jam at the end of YEM freaked me out. At one point I thought I heard cats meowing. Page's parents were also at the show and Page dedicated Lawn Boy to them. Jimmy Herring (back when he was the the ARU) elevated the gang during his sit in for Funky Bitch. And of course, Fishman was back with a vac solo during Love You.

Ah, enough Phish talk. Time to read a bit then get back to the grind.

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