I miss the music for one, thats a given. I had my moments where i could talk to you for an hour about how great “You Enjoy Myself” was and that a-capella jam at the end? Duuuuude!! YEAH! But that was only one part of it. Above all, I miss the food. There has not, nor will there ever be a better veggie burrito than the ones in the parking lot beforehand. You could get 2 for 5$ and it was delicious. The 1$ grilled cheese could not be topped. There would always be a dude putting garlic on that shit, OOOH. While other were looking for “doses” “Mollies” “Nugs” “Rolls” and other misc controlled substances, i’d be roaming the parking lot isles yelling “Whose got my veggie burrito!” There were also these things called “Goo Balls” which were a mash of usually peanut butter some form of sweet cereal and chocolate chips…Delish. It was very hard to find the ones Without weed in them, but it was worth the search.

In fact, at the first phish show I ever attended, with my dad, his advice to me was “Steve, don’t eat the brownies” One time i did eat a weed brownie several years later, and it just pissed me off that there were these little bits of crap in it, and the dude who made it wwas obviously not a professional baker, because it was about 78% butter. Anyhoo…

What happened to all these people? There were literally thousands of slackers who would follow this band around from city to city selling various food and goods in the parking lots. Do they just dissappear? Did they all get real jobs? My advice? Open up a fucking restaurant! One time, I believe it might have been somewhere in PA, I had some delicious rissoto on the walk back to the car that i have never quite topped. One time a dude cooked french bread pizza in an oven that was built into his truck. You could get a quesadilla with various ingredients for 2$. Man, it was wonderful. One time i bought an excess of burritos after a show, hoping to figure out the secret ingredients and have a supply for the off season, but those things done last more than a day. CRAP.

But in the later years, i must say. the quality of parking lot food definitely declined. I was not in the game for incredibly long, but i did see about 22 shows. My first show was in 97, and by my last in 2004, there was not a single burrito to be found in all of the Coney Island Parking Lot. It was a sad day, which for me, signaled the end even more than the half assed half hour jams coming from an aging band of innovators most likely strung out on coke.

There were about 4 months in 1998-9 though….Oh man did i eat so much wonderful food. At the encore, I would already be thinking- Should i have a grilled cheese? Or go for the standard Veggie? It was always a tough choice, but there was never a wrong answer.

And for that dearest Mike, Trey, Page, and John, I miss you dearly.

PS- also, i gave up an offer for like $2600 for my fucking new years eve comeback show tickets (web master T Bone will attest to this) and you guys fucking sucked. Not like “eh, they were ok” no, it was like “Holy Shit, i wouldnt pay 5$ at a bar to see those guys cover Creed and Whitesnake songs”. Really dudes, what the hell?

So I am done traveling for a little while. There is a photo documentary in the works about the Atlanta trip, me and Web Master T Bone will have it completed by the end of the year. On the final gospel recording, which took place in the bronx, we were physically forced out of the venue by the promoter, followed by the producer and I having a verbal disagreement in the parking lot. Wondeful? Yes, very.

The T Bone picked up a juicer a few weeks ago, and juice fest 06 has begun. We juice like there is no tomorrow. If it can be ground to a pulp to produce juice, we have done it. Mango? yes. Celery? Youbetcha. Carrot Apple? are you sick? who would ever do that? whats wrong with you! well, yes, we juiced that too.

Last night around 10, the crew ordered mexican food. It was not amazing, but still ok. It is now 1:24pm the day after, and all I want from this world is a burrito. Is that too much to ask? I’m pretty sure the T is still asleep, but i’m thinking of making a lot of noise so he wakes up, and i can be like “yo dude, you know what i’m thinking?” and the immediate answer on his part will be “BURRITOS” because it always is. Sometimes i say “Tarn, what time is it?” he says “BURRITO TIME!” when its like 11:40 at night and we are on the train to Staten Island. Thats just how we live, yo. On the edge at all times.

So much has happened once again since we spoke last dear Blog, how have you been? I recently returned from France, and came to realize several important facts:

1. French wine is delicious and cheap over there
2. The Panini sandwiches they sell are also delicious
3. Pastries, same thing
4. Cheese, not that far off.

It was a true food odyssey, although it felt empty lacking web master T Bone. I brought him back some Absynthe to make up for it. I’m sure that will be another entry right there.

My biggest embarassment was Speaking spanish to a french person by mistake. I dont know if you know this about me, but I cannot speak French, and can barely speak Spanish. I felt so ridiculous, I almost ran away in shame, but he was making me a sandwich, and I very well couldnt leave that one alone uneaten.

My Republican friend sent me a comment about stacking the flow. Now, I feel its important that we discuss this at greater length some time, because I dont know if Rumsfeld, or Harriet Meyers would approve of that. Young Jeezey is very stern in his democratic leanings these days, I once heard he briefly became a lobbyist and moved to DC, but got caught in a dreadful scandal when his flow was stacked incorrectly, causing a full scale audit, and rather than make a public statemenr, he resigned, leading to a life of Hip Hop.

In a blog, its most likely read by people you know, so when disclosing facts you have to be careful. Check this shit out:

We’re having a poker game at the apartment this Saturday. And you fuckers better watch out, i’m a card shark, like whoa! yes, like whoa. Ya’ll be leaving without yo pants, bitches. (now if thats because I will win them, or beacause its a no pants poker party and you might misplace them in the ruckus, well, we’ll leave that one to chance)

I havent commented on the now not so recent loss of K Rock on the blog, so here we go. Honestly, I dont care about losing the alternative rock music. I could live without it any day. Stern left on his own, that i will learn to deal with. I also happen to like FM talk, so00 it seems kind of positive, right? WRONG. What I cant deal with, is the loss of a rock and roll legend, who i didnt really admire, but appreciated. Diamond Dave himself. I once heard super drummer Greg Bissonette (does it count as name dropping if no one knows who the hell that is??) tell stories about his tour with Roth in the 80’s- how he made him stand up on his seat for a drum solo, and he fell off and broke all sorts of things, teaching him that showmanship is way more important than technical ability. Thats the rock and roll asshole i want to remember. Not some washed up 50 year old talk show host, so out of touch with reality that all he can reference is American Idol and Paris Hilton?? Come on Dave, you’re better than that. I’m too hurt to continue and fear my falling tears may short out the computer, on we go.

My friend, singer, bandmate and occasional life partner Derrick occasionally reads this blog, but i havent updated in so long, the chances are slim. But here it is: Derrick hates the hipsters. (you do right? if you are reading, you’ll agree with that) But here is the thing- he totally got a hipster haircut. It looks good on him, were i skinny female with dyed black hair and some tattoos, i’d be all over that shit. Now, if you look like a hipster, does that automatically make you one? I think it kind of does. After a long analysis of the hipster culture, i’ve realized its pretty much 85% about looks, and 15% about snobbery. It breaks down like this- if i see some kid dressed like a hipster, I assume he is one, and avoid him so i dont get the 15% attitude. I assume most do the same, so by a general conscensus, most agree. How do you tell a friend he is a hipster without hurting his feelings?

1. The Dears- A Canadian band, 6 people, lots of keyboards, delicious stuff.
2. The Potato Knish that I ate on the way home- Also Delecious.

Saturday, post Day of the Sunburnt Hipsters, was spent in Little Italy, or as we call it Mulgrew Territory. I must say, it was a beautiful evening. There is so much food on Mulberry Street, it would take a lifetime to eat it all. I am not intimidated by this, in fact, Mulberry street should be intimidated by The Odyssey(tm) and all it represents.

What would a blog be without a celebrity sighting? While taking a break from work to get a chicken sandwich with turkey bacon (yeeeeeah) at 2am, I had to meander through the sunday night bar crowd. I was playing my favorite game, Spot The Jersey Girl, when I spotted one. My thought process went like this; “look at that blonde ho, definitely from the NJ, she should not be exposing that much stomach, and that dude next to her in the NYPD hat, dude, seriously……thats Christian Slater” and thats how it went. He looked at me as if to say “please don’t recognize me, I’m with a hooker and I’m sooooooo high”.

First off, who is this Andy Melunakis (spelling?) kid who has a show on MTV? It may have been the lack of sleep or large amount of sugar and chili cheese dip in my system, but that kid is freaking hilarious. He even mocked the blog phenom. Pure genius.

The band was in the studio for the past 3 days, and let me just say, the drums sound like a massive freight train/ truck/ large moped, straight out of hell, headed towards your face, and there are no breaks in site, bitch. Lots of instruments, lots of sound. BUT, Perhaps the best studio experience, besides the music, was learning about R Kelly’s “Trapped In The Closet” video.

Now, if you have not heard about this wonderful piece of cinematic, musical, and cultural history, I will enlighten you. This is not your average R&B slow jam. no no no. This is a 10 part saga, nearly an hour in length, all set to music. It begins with our man R, waking up in the bed of a lady friend, realizing he is not with his wife, and attempting to leave. She informs him that her husband is coming up the stairs, so he must hide in the closet instead of exiting through the front door. NOW, all is fine, until a call comes through on his cell phone. Through the lyrical genius of Mr Kelly, we learn that “he tried as quickly as I could to put it on viiiiiiiiiiiibraaaaaate”, but alas, it was too late. The husband of the woman was approaching the closet door, and R is forced to pull out his Baretta. You think this is the end? no no no. thats not even the end of Part 1. I’m not going to give away the ending here, since MTV is only up to part 2, but lets just say it involves themes of homosexuality, infidelity, police brutality, and goddamn sexy R&B slow jams. As someone said while we watched, his lyrics sound like a 4th grader narrating what they did on their summer vacation. I will say though, it is a great musical confidence booster to realize shit like that is being produced by multi platnum artists.

Now, after the R Kelly rant, we must discuss the food. Playing in a band can have several different effects on the way you eat. You could be in a band like Medeski Martin Wood, and travel the world sampling delicious cuisine from Japan to South America- cooking in the kitchen of your tour bus, or you could eat McDonalds 3 times in one day, in 3 different states like I once did. I assure those days are long gone, and my stomach thanks me. In the studio this weekend, much food was ordered. We began with some sushi, which i believe to be the perfect recording food. I was not weighed down, Yet I was sort of full. We followed the next day with the standard Chinese food, kind of eh. Later saturday evening, we had some chili cheese dip, strawberry fluff-cream cheese fruit dip, and some alcohol. Let me tell you, some good stuff. None of the odyssey crew (TM) was in attendace, but I consider it my personal odyssey solo album.