A PHISH SHOW

In the pursuit of love(I say this with lightness after a year of recognizing this particular pursuit yields many offerings and most of them are insightful and life enhancing NOT always leading to love) I found myself attending my very first "PHISH" show.

I went with a "friend" a guy I like very much and see potential for more with.....yet he is NOT available. Ok, so you might say "what has this girl learned after a year of dating if she is following an unavailable dude to a Phish show?" You would be right! However, he is a spoke in the wheel of my journey and momentum works in strange ways. The most under promising wave can drive you in to shore when caught at the right moment.

So, a chance to dive into the wave.....

This is a refined way of saying that my dating efforts have thankfully turned into something more and as I travel back you hopefully will witness some proof of this:)

PHISH is an amazing, brilliant assembly of talented musicians. Their music and their shows have become a "temple" for many people.

To simplify the matter for those of you readers unfamiliar this is a "Grateful Dead" type group for the younger, hipper, hippies with money.

I went with an Open heart and a genuine desire to hear and dance to music.

I come from a yoga background and I am a hippie at heart (to some degree) and more significantly I know how to adapt.

I left my "Coach" purse at the Hotel (and my ID accidentally) and donned a canvas tote with a blanket and $....

On route I am thinking of the people I know who might be at this show....(my decision to go was rather last minute)

I have two Phish Fan friends from NY and the odds of them being there....so I don't even bother.

We get there lay down our stuff and low and behold there are Kendra and Aaron out of 30,000 people 5 ft away from us.....

In yoga I call this Grace, in Phish I call this Luck....either way we are part of a flow and the magnet is working, I am blissed out and delighted to see them!

First Set....Amazing and fun...I am 1 beer into my night and the crowd....not so much! There is a lot of stuff happening that brings me back to walking the halls of Mount Sinai during my mother's hip replacement.....no idea what kind of life enhancing, pain relieving, intoxicating presence is being had by these individuals.

I am mostly sober but picking up on the crowds high....and wondering WTF?

There are alot of guys....mostly white and ones who NEVER dance out there in the real world.

But here in this magic PHISH land they groove! And boy do they GROOVE!

They have this robotic pulse and it works, I was mesmerized watching them almost like I was mesmerized watching Condolesa Rice speak....So much articulation and passion from a very ordinarily stiff person.

The intermission arrives and it is clear my companies stimulants are moving into high gear, I decide to take a walk. I ask Ronnie "if I go for a walk will it be possible to find you again?".

He looks at me from his statuesque Buddha seat and says with a slow drawl impossible to mimic "Sure.........How could you possibly miss me?"

I have no idea if he is joking or sincere. From where I sit the odds of my being able to find him in this crowd- 5-1 ratio male, white male, with tye die t-shirts male, with big heads of hair male, all dancing in this robotic Devo way male (Ronnie doesn't actually have that dance....his dance is less stiff and more rhythmic.) OK so the one guy who's dance is not robotic can I pick him out in a crowd of 30,000? I am willing to find out....I took the dive and left my secure patch of lawn to scope out greener pastures.

The Porto San

In the yoga world women outnumber men and at the yoga gatherings/workshops it is always distressing to have to pee.

You know you will miss half the session just waiting in line....

I was VERY excited when Ronnie told me that the Phish show would be 5-1 men over women mainly because I wanted the advantage on the peeing front.

So, the first thing I decide to do in my foray into the land of unknown Phishy possibilities is...Pee.

I find the lines....Wait! This can’t be right! Quelle Fucking Horrible! There are men in the porto potty lines and tiny smatterings of women, no advantage! In fact, a worst case scenario as far as I am concerned.

The men are timing the women and pressing them to go quickly.

Isn’t this a hippie event? Isn’t everybody high? How did the bathroom line get the aggressive drug?

When my turn comes I hear the guy behind me yell out my start time as if I am on a relay team....

He’s messing with the wrong hippie.

I had some text messages to send....and the porto san was such a perfect place to foster communication with the outside world:)

I heard mention outside of my sweet, ill smelling porto cave that perhaps there was a backdoor in my portopotty....I guess it was time to leave.

The Great Stairs

One of the most helpful piece’s of wisdom Ronnie gave me was to watch out for falling hippies. His tutorial came as we were ascending “The Great Stairs” on our way in to the concert.

This is a stairway that leads to the lawn area where the show is.

It is steep and severe. That was in daylight when most people were still in human form. But as the evening progressed and ingested, inhaled, imbibed substances began to expedite their way into the bloodstreams of the many gatherer’s and the sun was replaced by a sliver moon and stars “The Great Stairs” shape shifted as well...I came to the bottom of the stairs and the first thing I heard was “watch out for falling hippies!”.

I craned my gaze upward to surmise how true to form this nugget of intelligence was, my imagination and I am sure a bit of contact high allowed me to travel to the base camp at Mt. Everest. Cheap traveling, I know! I imagined the people climbing the stairs on their final ascent....summiting Mt Everest! I could feel the chill in the air and I was aware of the low oxygen level as I watched everyone struggle to lift one foot and then the other their blood so thin that each and every step is a miracle!

Witnessing the domino effect of one struggling stair climber who losses footing sway into a swarm of climbers who are barely able to stay upright holding onto the railing and the whole mass of bodies tumbling back down the stairs.

“Watch out for falling hippies!”

I am jerked back into reality thinking Mt. Everest is safer....why hasn’t the Comcast arena devised a system of pulleys and ropes so these people can be secured to something? Or a Sherpa! Oh my god, a Sherpa would be amazing right about now. I look around hoping magically my Sherpa will appear....

hmmmm, I decide against the stairs and begin to scale the side of the hill, grass is better than staircase and there no climbers here.

It’s like the Appalachian trail not so bad! Until, I come upon the Ferrel people that have used their genius to avoid the many pitfalls of the Porto Potties and chosen to urinate at a 45 degree angle on the hill. Nevertheless, I was able to avoid being peed on that took only the slightest bit of finesse...I could not have fared as well with the stairs.

Glenda The Good Phishy

When I returned to the scene my intuition was right. There was no possible way I was going to find Ronnie and his friends.

The crowd was up, they had moved and were still moving in a robotic sideways pulse that masked all remembrance of the way things were an hour ago, 20 minutes ago, 8 minutes ago....who knows how much time has passed in the land of Phish.

All I knew was I was a solo Phish fan (wanna be) here to do research and trying to find Ronnie and his friend’s was a fruitless endeavor that would only incite angst.

I chose to float rather than plumb rough matter..... I moved through the crowd and shook my hips when possible and did my best to imitate the robo dance when at a loss for hip shaking music.

That’s how I met her...my Glenda in the land of my own personal Oz. A blond Gypsy who was dressed very much in the “I dream of Genie “ getup. We managed to make eye contact in this cacophony and she crooned “You are very beautiful!”.

It caught me off guard because I felt a bit distracted, lost, sober, and I had the fog of the porto san, mountain climbers, and Ferrel pee’ers around me....

“Thanks!” I replied apologetically “I can’t find my friend’s.”
“Oh!” her face lit up assuredly “You can dance with us!” She proceeded to introduce me to her peep’s.

As we grooved to the ridiculously groove friendly music she turned to me and reached into her cleavage, “here, you want a hit of Red Molly?”

Now, as a native New Yorker I have learned that there are certain things NOT to be curious about. No matter how much you are dying to look you are better off not knowing.

The shadow’s can dart and bounce but never confront the shadow with eye contact or light....it’s just going to keep you up at night.

“Thank you so much!”, I smiled and gestured to my breasties as if I had my own Red Molly, “I am all set!” and with full understanding set in our dimples we smiled and danced some more. It was time to leave my Glenda and head out onto the yellow brick road of my night. I turned and said “I am going to try and find my friends it was so nice meeting you and dancing with you, thanks for everything!” She glowed back at me and her voice came out in a soprano swoon

"hey, just dance around in circles till you find your friends!”

Bye! I saw her disappear in a bubble of happiness and joy and I felt the bad witch looking over me in her crystal sending a daze of heavy fog and negativity my way.

I began to trip on a drug that our bodies unfortunately create this drug is called PMS.

I felt like a liability all of the sudden. I was unsafe and the lovely dancing Phish heads were also in danger from my pointy defensive elbows. I wanted to find Ronnie and yet I was miffed and agitated by the elephant in the room. Ronnie had no desire to find me. In all this time no text, no call, no search party, no Sherpa, no Ronnie...no one cared that I was flying solo in 30,000 people.

During the height of my healthiest relationship I do remember this one very clear lesson about men.

We could be in a crowded party he could be surrounded by a gang hanging on his every word and if I left the room his head would turn and he would take notice. The most touching recollection I have of this was a party on an island with all of his friends. He was deep in a competitive game of horseshoes with his friends from childhood and I dove into the Bay to go for a swim. Every time I came up for air I saw him looking, following, watching me making certain I was safe.

This is what a man does....when he’s your guy.

It was clear, and it was always clear Ronnie was NOT my guy.

Although I never would have scaled Mt. Everest, met Glenda, tortured Porto San Ogre’s, seen Kendra and Aaron if it weren’t for Ronnie. Despite the distance I had traveled I am convinced that I am that much closer!