Mash-Ups Make Me A Happy Panda

"An hour of party-fest intensity sometimes followed by guilt because you're fist pumping to the vocals of a song that you probably talked shit on at some point in the past 5 months"

Sorry, couldn't resist that title.

For my mash-up heads, take note:

Get on that WHITE PANDA shit.

Confusion (quoted above) was the first one to plant the name "The White Panda" on my brain, and he recently had them on his "Underrated '09" list. Looking back, I clearly remember perking my ears up at Passion Pit vs. T.I. in "What You Know About Little Secrets" a few months ago, and even passing it on to a few people. Unfortunately, I have already fairly well achieved my resolution to repress most of my memories of 2009 - a year which I shall henceforth in this space and in conversation replace with "The Year That Was Naught" (TYTWN) - and The White Panda got lost in the shuffle.

But that was 'Naught. This is now. The new year has the mash-up duo of Procrast and DJ Griffi offering their debut mixtape, "Versus," to keep our fists pumping. Click play below to start the party, but only do so if you're fully prepared to battle. "Versus" is a hour-long assault, and you're going to have to beat back the beat to see the other side.

Versus (The White Panda Mixtape) by whitepandamusic


Or check out their web site for all the downloads and details. Get after it!

Wherein I See Phish and the World Series for $5 Total [Rest Of 2009]

We're coming down to the wire and there's no time to lose, so here's the rest of The Best Rest Of 2009.

A few months after the most glorious concert experiences of my life, a friend of mine was offering around extra tickets for the last leg of Springsteen's tour, which included a mini-residency at Giants Stadium. These concerts would be the last for Bruce in the venue that vaulted him into worldwide arena rock superstardom, as the new Giants Stadium (and I'll be calling it that regardless of whatever corporate name gets stickered all over it, so deal with it, Jets fans) is set to open in 2010. Clearly I had to be there and jumped at the chance. I was met with an interesting choice: General Admission floor seats for the second-to-last night, or 100-level seats for E Street's last ever Giants Stadium show? For some, it seems like a no-brainer. Go for the tour and stadium closer, where the band is bound to pull out all the stops and, given the historical significance of the venue, there may even be a special guest or two. However, recall my Bonnaroo epiphany and you'll see why I made the choice that I did. It simply had to be the floor. After being so close to The Boss that I could see the sweat flying off of his pumping Jersey fists, there was just no way I was opting for the seats, even if it meant gambling that the second-to-last E Street show at Giants Stadium would measure up to the finale. Observe below to see why I clearly made the right choice.



My favorite part about this is that more than once in the video you can clearly hear me muttering, "Where's The Boss man? Where is he?" only to have him emerge into view mere feet from our position. My second favorite part is the fact that we somehow managed to not notice the mini stage in the center of the floor just to our right until Bruce was standing on it. We were just in the right spot at the right time, and you're just going to have to believe me that it worked out that way. Oh, and 60-year-old Bruce crowd-surfing a solid 40 yards. I guess that's my third favorite part. It's the story of 2009 in a nutshell, really. All-time highlight memories sporadically cropping up amongst an otherwise murky sea of confusion and doubt.

This now puts us right smack in the thick of October, my favorite month of the year. If ever there was a saving grace for 2009, it was October. Not only did it include the aforementioned Bruce experience, but the YANKEES WON THE WORLD SERIES! If you know me or have read this here blog at all, you'll know how much the 2009 MLB Playoffs lifted up my Worst Year Ever. Some of you reading right now may have been there for this guy's birthday celebration, watching me jump for joy during Game 2 of the ALDS as A-Rod tied it with a HR in the bottom of the 9th and Teixeira walked it off with a wall-scraper in the 11th.

In the next round, I was able to score tickets for the Littlest Bro (who is ironically the biggest of we 3 Schiff Brothers) and I to see the Yanks take care of the Angels and capture their 40th pennant in Game 6 of the ALCS. Of course, our first attempt to see the game was rained out, but, as we saw time and time again in '09, out of the FAILstorm emerges a WIN. Because of the rainout, Littlest Bro was forced to head home, so myself and Middle Bro went to drop him off with our Aunt and Uncle who were heading back to Jersey after seeing John Stamos star in Bye Bye, Birdie on Broadway. That's right, folks, Uncle Jesse himself. Here at Schiff Happens, we have sung Stamos' praises before, but never did we expect to actually meet the proprietor of the Smash Club.* However, the stars aligned that night, leading to one of the greatest pictures ever taken of the Schiff Brothers.


Yes, I'm well aware that only half of my face is visible. I stand by my statement. Note to all of you out there who will now attempt to stake out the Stamos: Try to avoid saying "Uncle Jesse on 3!" just before you snap the picture. Ask Littlest Bro about it.

As October turned into November, the Yankees ended nine long years of frustration with World Series win number 27 and another parade down Broadway. Yes, I'm well aware that complaining of the Yankees "struggles" is ridiculous. I apologize for nothing. I also should probably mention that I was in the house to watch the Bombers take down the Philthadelph in Game 2 of the World Series alongside Middle Bro, which was especially satisfying since we got to chant "Who's your daddy?" at Pedro Martinez all night. Probably should also mention that it was free. Hey, I said the highs were all-timers.

The final positive of 2009 was Phish's fall tour. For the first time ever I decided to try and check out an entire multi-night run, procuring tickets for Wednesday and Friday nights at Madison Square Garden, and Saturday night at my alma mater, The University of Virginia's John Paul Jones Arena. Of course, Thursday - the one night of the four I went into without a ticket - was the night of note. I joined my friends at the bar near MSG for their pregame, and just as I was about to go do a lap around the arena to scour for an extra, the guy next to me at the bar leaned over and said, "You need a ticket? Here you go." He pulled out a mail order ticket, I managed to mutter something along the lines of, "Are you serious?" and he said, "Sure, why not? I was gonna eat it anyway. Buy me a beer and it's yours." So, for the price of the beer I was able to ensure that I saw "Fluffhead" for the first time live. I'd call that a victory. Of course, that was also the night I learned that Jonathan Larsen, creator of RENT, died of an aortic aneurism, and didn't even have a little bit of AIDS. I'd call that a loss. A major loss. I have never felt so bamboozled in my life, and to be honest, I'm still getting over it a little bit. The story will have to wait for another time, because I'm getting emotional just thinking about it, and because quite frankly, it's 8:30 on New Year's Eve and we've all got some drinking to do.

So before you head out to whatever loft party, watering hole, or slump buster you're hitting up tonight, take a minute to view perhaps my favorite video of 2009. I call it, "How Not To Shoot a Concert Bootleg," and when you consider that this hilarious piece of pure, unadulterated FAIL was shot just moments after the incredible joy and good fortune captured in the "Hungry Heart" video above, it's the perfect sendoff for 2009, the Worst Year Ever. May 2010 be the most epic of WIN for all of us.



Happy New Year.


*Wow, definitely didn't remember that the original Stamos post was Yankees-related. Weird. Awesome.

Welcome to 2009, Now Get The F Out! [Rest Of 2009]

Alright, so the Springsteen Bonnaroo story was a little long-winded, but deservedly so I think. If you haven't already, check the Picasa stream for all the highlights of Bonnaroo '09. The general gist of the festival is there, but with so little left of this year, we've got precious little time to waste as we continue to remember the Best Rest of 2009. I can almost guarantee that the highlights of the entire rest of the year won't take up as much space as the camera story. And we're off!

So, right after we made it back from Bonnaroo, I moved downtown and was fired from a shitty job that I hated anyway for showing up late to do something I wasn't hired to do in the first place. So it goes. It was a pretty miserable experience to have to deal with, but I figured it was life's way of telling me, "You'll thank me later."

A few weeks later, the night before I was supposed to fly down to Florida to watch one of my fraternity brothers walk the plank aisle* I found myself in the hospital with appendicitis. I figured that was life's way of telling me, "Nope, you were wrong." Looking back, though, this was a great moment. It was around this time when I decided that I'd had enough bullshit negativity. From that moment on, I would devote myself to being one of those positive people I can't stand. It has been a struggle, and while I can assure you that my cynicism and penchant for hatin' will never quite disappear, I have to admit that little by little, I started to feel the whole optimism thing coming back to me. Friends and family even told me they were noticing a change, and despite being jobless and recovering from surgery to remove a useless, vestigial organ, more quality memories emerged from the Worst Year Ever. Less than a week after the surgery, I was trucking up to Saratoga to see Phish once again, relying on my brother as a personal lean-to while nearly passing out for the entire second set to wrap up Summer Tour 2009.** Next, I hit Cape May for a week of relaxation before a bachelor party and another wedding Labor Day Weekend (this time I was able to attend), making Summer Sans Appendix a success.

Allow me to pause here, if I may, during the Cape May portion of this recap, to acknowledge that while 2009 may have been the WYE, it brought us perhaps the greatest television show of the Aughts. Of course I speak of the now-legendary Jersey Shore. I'm not going to dwell on this too much, especially since Cajun Boy has done such an admirable job of keeping us up to speed on all the fist-pumping madness over at Animal NY, but isn't it fitting that 2009, which was beyond awful, gave us a show so far beyond awful that it's truly amazing? I groaned in disgust when I first learned the premise of Jersey Shore, but I'm already hoping for a second season*** and tonight's new episode is pretty much the only part of New Year's Eve that I'm looking forward to (Aside from, of course, saying "Good thefuck riddance!" to 2009. You really can't understate just how craptastic this year was).

Actually, this seems like a good time for yet another short commercial break, but chill out, Freckles McGee - The Rest Of 2009 continues momentarily. In the meantime, amuse yourself with one of the most talked about viral videos of the year below. Snooki Punch '09, never forget.

Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

*Another 2009 phenomenon, by the way: My friends getting married. No, I have no idea what they're thinking either. I mean, uh, Mazel Tov, guys! Many happy returns! Hope getting married questionably young during the Worst Year Ever works out for you!

**Totally worth it.

***MTV, if you're out there, I have a few friends from back in the old neighborhood that you have to meet, ASAP!

The Worst Year Ever is Finally Over [It's safe to come out!]

Well hey there, stinky britches! Didn't see you hangin around. I thought everyone had left. I certainly got the hell out of there. I guess after the Thriller was gone I just couldn't see a reason anymore.

Look, I have no idea why I abruptly vanished from these airwaves way back in June. This year just sort of shook out that way. Sure, the good moments included some all-time memories, and I intend to give thanks for that. However, for me, navigating through 2009 mostly felt like spelunking through a long, dark cavern of suck. I know I'm young in the big scheme of things, but this was by far the worst year I have ever experienced. And so, with that in mind, Schiff Happens presents to you not the Best Of, but simply "The Rest Of 2009." Here's hoping that we remember the few good times and otherwise ready ourselves to say good riddance to bad rubbish in the final moments of this decade. I can't promise that 2010 will be better, but can it really get any worse?

I guess I should probably begin where I so rudely left off by finishing the story of Bonnaroo. The short version is that we saw a bunch more music, attended the lamest Lebowski-Fest of all time, and witnessed the coming-true of my live music wet dream - Bruce and Phish, together on stage - from the front freaking row. Now you might be thinking to yourself, "Schiff, what in your wide fist-pumping world could possibly top rocking out to a Trey vs. Bruce 'Glory Days' guitar battle from mere feet away?" And you'd be right to ponder that question - until you heard the tale of Schiff's Epic Bonnaroo '09 Springsteen Miracle.

This isn't even the greatest story to come out of Bonnaroo '09. I know, seriously.

Saturday night's E Street set was obviously the most anticipated moment for our Bonnaroo group, and we decided we were going to rock out from the pit, or not rock at all. This proved to be excessively easy, as all we had to do was stand in a line beside the main stage while watching Wilco's set. Tough life, I know. Soon enough after Wilco finished up, the line was moving and we were there. And I mean there. Front row. Center. FIST. I had come prepared with my new video camera, knowing that I wouldn't want to miss a moment. The show came and went and E Street of course brought the power, as they do night after night after night after night. You all have seen the setlist by now so you know all the highlights (If you haven't, Backstreets has your back. Light scrolling required). Growin' Up. Thunder Road. Hell, Santa Claus even came to town. But what made this show a life-changer for me and our crew was our spot. When Bruce came down into the crowd during the "Badlands" opener, we were feet away. When Bruce brought a delirious hippie chick out of the crowd to Courtney Cox with him during "Dancing in the Dark," we could hear her squealing with joy. And when The Boss motioned for all of E Street to join him in the crowd for the final flourish of "American Land," we were feet away from the most hard-rockin accordion you ever saw. After that, I knew I'd only be able to see a Springsteen show from the floor for the rest of my life. How could I return to the seats after that experience? The best part? I captured all the highlights in 720p thanks to my trusty camcorder.

Needless to say, after the show we were wiped, so we took a seat toward the back of the main stage field to reflect and munch on some snacks. With the big stage closing for the night, a nearby festival vendor started shouting, "Free food!" Clearly we jumped at the opportunity, powered through a plate of some sort of festival grub or another, and headed back towards Centeroo to get started on Saturday's late night sessions. Approaching the fountain, I paused for one of my famous paranoid patdowns, checking each of my pockets for vitals. Wallet. Check. Phone. Check. Car key. Check. Video camera... Video camera?! In my haste to get up and chow down on free food, I had forgotten to grab the camera, which I had taken out of my back pocket and placed on the ground beside me so as not to crush it when I sat down. I grabbed my brother and cousin and we raced back toward the main stage.

Predictably, the entire area was closed off, with security guards flanking the entrances. I pleaded my case with a few of them to no avail. "Please!" I begged. "I know exactly where we were sitting!" Refusing to resign myself to the lost and found, I raised my voice one last time and demanded to speak to someone in charge. An older gentleman approached, looked me in the eye and asked if I could really take him to the exact spot where we were. "If I don't," I replied, "then you can give me a hard time. How about that?" He agreed and we were off again, trying to put as much distance between him and us so as to maximize our search time. I mean, I had an idea of where we had been, but it was dark and that field is huge. Soon we reached what I thought was the spot and frantically started looking around. I noticed an enormous truck circling the premises and feared that I'd find my camera in the shape of a pancake. My brother and cousin weren't seeing it. The truck passed by. Still nothing. My body froze over in a cold sweat. Then I heard someone calling out to me. It was the security geezer. He had caught up to us. My heart sank, fearing our last gasp was over. I honestly don't even remember what he said to me. All I remember is looking up, and seeing him toss something towards me. A black pouch. My camera case. Inside...the camera, fully intact! In that moment, my friends, I became the Luckiest Guy at Bonnaroo '09.

The true miracle here isn't just that we found the camera. It's that if we had not, the world would have been deprived of this. And this. And of course this. And you wouldn't all get to relive with me the greatest moment of my concert-going life. Observe below and enjoy while I steel myself for the rest of what I have to believe is the first-ever "Rest Of" countdown. Clearly I thought that the highs of '09 were few and far between enough to include in a single post, but we're going to have to make this a multi-parter. I promise I won't abandon you like last time. Believe in the Promised Land that is 2010.

Hail to the King of Pop [Michael Jackson]

Michael Jackson is dead.

The King of Pop, gone.

Much has been said, many tributes have been written. As is so often the case, Dave Chappelle memorably sums the whole thing up exactly the way I would want to, but never could.

Chappelle's Show
Celebrity Trial Jury Selection
www.comedycentral.com
Buy Chappelle's Show DVDs Black Comedy True Hollywood Story

As always, Dave's absolutely right. I think all the proof you need can be seen in the faces of 1,500 orange jumpsuit-clad Phillipine inmates.

Thriller, man. Thriller.

The Bonnaroo Tales, Vol. II: Can I Live While I'm Young?

Friday morning was cloudy, which is part of the reason I was able to sleep so well. But the other major factor was our campsite itself. It was the festival setup I've always wanted. Along the way from Jersey to 'Roo via JMaddy, we picked up my college freshman cousin and 5 of his hometown buddies. They rolled down Highway 81 from Boston in a rented minivan, and from the start clearly had no idea waht they were walking into. To the yoots' credit, they did a great job festivaling once we were down there. They all seemed to have a great time, and despite being grossly unprepared -- "Whoa, you guys brought a cooler?" -- really contributed to the campsite, namely with caffeine and liquor. Friday morning I was able to chug a mugful of Starbucks right to my brain thanks to a 150 year old device that I had never seen or heard of before. According to Wikipedia, "French pressed coffee is usually stronger and thicker and has more sediment than drip-brewed coffee." Oddly, I found myself saying the same thing about the fresh pressed product I left in the toi-toi a few minutes later.


We spent the better part of Friday morning foraging around our neighborhood for various necessities and sundry items. We found a perfect flagpole and doubled the height of our crucial campsite landmark, the sweet California bruin flag. We wandered across the campgrounds and slugged through a bunch of mud to hang out for a bit with Adam's friend from college and my homegirl Hippie Katie, then wandered back and had a delicious lunch of turkey sandwiches and ham grilled cheeses, all courtesy of the legendary Meatbag Magician. Fat and satisfied, we ventured to Centeroo and caught the end of Santigold's set.

Santi kept the crowd bouncing, but capturing the attention of myself and many of those around me were a pair of sign language interpreters perched on an edge of the soundboard area. I always find this hilarious. They were mouthing every lyric, dancing to the beat, half signing, half raving with all kinds of sassy, hearing impaired gusto. I'm not saying deaf people shouldn't go to festivals, but no matter how well somebody lip-syncs and keeps a beat... I mean... they still can't really hear the concert, right? Someone might want to send me to sensitivity training for this, but I just don't get it. It was funny. Forget it, moving on.


Adam, Mike and I agreed that Al Green was not to be missed, and we were all too happy to watch one of the true legends smiling from ear to ear as he glided and pranced around the main stage, sweating through a red-vested three-piece suit as the evening sun continued to beat down. Green may not heed the farmers' almanac, but he still has the moves. He also still has his way with the ladies (although you could say he had a rough go of it with his women at first), tossing roses into the crowd and stopping more that once to lament that he couldn't jump into the audience and spread a little bit more love. "These people came out here to love me, not to hurt nobody," he declared. And damn if I didn't want a piece of the Reverend right then and there.* The most important thing that he still had -- that voice. He can still hit those sweet soulful notes, and god bless him for it, I hope he can forever.

*Guessing this is the closest I'll ever feel to being Catholic.


As soon as Al Green waved us goodbye, we realized that we had made our way up to a great spot right up against the rail dividing the pit from the rest of the crowd, and decided to stay put and stake our claim to that land in the name of Schiff during Beastie Boys, before Phish's late night set. If I could take a mulligan on one Roo decision, I would take it right here. Beasties vs Byrne was easily the most awful scheduling conflict of the weekend going in, and I agonized over it until the moment of truth came. I made the mistake of valuing our spot on the rail over seeing the music that I knew would maximize my experience. Next time I get the chance to see the man who wears the Big Suit, I'm going to make sure to take it. It's not that I didn't enjoy the Beasties' set, but I knew exactly what was coming, having seen them once before. Always opt to see a new show for the first time, especially if it's an artist you love. I consider myself a live music veteran, but this decision was total amateur hour. I knew I flubbed it the entire time, too. I just didn't pull the trigger on it because I was so into having that spot for Phish, who were involved in the second worst Bonnaroo scheduling conflict -- against Public Enemy. It would have been cool to see P.E. perform "It Takes A Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back," and everyone knows how much love I have for ya boy, but I was left uninspired to make that move after seeing the Worst Fake Flav of All Time. I must have screamed "Flava Flaaavvv!" at this assclown a dozen times, and not once did he respond. If you're out there, bullshit Fake Flav, you suck. You mean to tell me you're willing to parade yourself around dressed like an asshole, but not act the part? For chrissakes, you're sitting on your fat, useless ass reading the fucking paper! Everyone knows Flava Flav can't read! Disgraceful.

Worst. Flav. Ever. Where's EK when you need him?

Point is, you can't go back, only forward, and inevitably we made it (finally) to the first main event of the weeknd: Phish on the main stage, Friday night at 11. It was a high-energy performance right from the gate, featuring another Chalkdust Torture opener like we had seen in Camden (Best show of the early summer tour leg? Methinks yes.), and the strong set of Divided Sky, Possum and Down With Disease hyping the action in the pit and around us to its first real fever pitch of the weekend. But after 8+ hours on my feet and the never enjoyable Wading In the Velvet Sea beginning to take form, I told Adam I had to get out of there. I recharged with a festival gyro and bottle of water, and after an entire night of overvaluing our precious rail spot, packed in amongst a few particularly insufferable Phish heads, I fittingly caught the hard-charging highlight of the festival to that point from a wide open patch of grass toward the back of the field. After Wading in the Velvet Shwag mercifully wrapped, the boys rolled through Harry Hood - always a personal favorite, though this version wasn't quite the pure joy of the previous Tuesday's Jones Beach edition - then covered Highway to Hell for the first time in over 12 years, jammed into 2001, and segued from YEM > Wilson > YEM in what felt like a moment of accidental perfection to close their set at 2:15am. An appropriate cover of the Beatles' A Day in the Life shut down the main stage for Friday night (at this point Saturday morning), and we ventured over to Girl Talk to close out the late late session.


Greg Gillis provided us with a predictably fun dance party, but I think at that point, for us it was just a little bit of noise that we didn't have to think too much about. Something to keep us bobbing and energized long enough to make it back to camp and crash. Before we did, we needed one last quick conversation about our strategy for Saturday -- the big day. Bruce Day. We decided we'd drive it to Firenze (we named our camp after our second landmark flag, a purple banner bearing red fleur de lys, purchased in Florence) for a cookout dinner pregame around 5, then hit up our same spot 3 hours or so before The Boss. That same, overrated spot. We didn't know that our well-intentioned plan wouldn't come to fruition, or that this would turn out to be the best thing that could have possibly happened to us. Content with our agenda, still spinning and exhausted from our long day of music, and with the sun rising on our first nearly 36 hours of Bonnaroo, it was time to make that move.

Pillow.

Face.

The Bonnaroo Photos, Vol. I: Sleepyhead

Like I said, Bonnaroo is a time warp. It's an altered state of consciousness, where time simultaneously stands still and flies by. You feel at once isolated from the whole world and enveloped in a seething mass of humanity. And although I got a great night's sleep on Thursday, there's no denying that arriving at Bonnaroo is akin to stepping into a bizarre sort of dreamlike consciousness. So, for those of you who are either too lazy to read or simply can't process a story without a visual aid, here's Bonnaroo, Day 1 In Pictures, appropriately soundtracked by Passion Pit's "Sleepyhead." If you haven't heard of Passion Pit yet, just wait -- you will. They kicked off the festivities Thursday night with a house-rocking dance party, and their ability to pump up the excitement and anticipation of a road-weary crowd to delirious levels illustrated why this jam could very easily become one of the massive club hits of the summer.


My beard grew down to the floor and out through the doors
Of your eyes, begonia skies like a sleepyhead, sleepyhead

The Bonnaroo Tales, Vol. I: Runnin' On Empty

Yea it's taken me a while to talk some Bonnaroo. It's taken me a while to talk some anything. Well...tough. Sorry, that's all I have to say about it. Oh, that, and you're gonna wait a little longer as I recap the festival day by day. You like it.

It's often said that life isn't a sprint--it's a marathon. For this guy, the past 3 weeks or so have been some sort of delirious mash-up of the entire race. There's been a lot of talk among my circle recently of racing and running and living lots of life in a short while, and I feel like that's what I've been doing since I last posted, lo those many moons ago.

In the last two weeks I saw Phish in New York and New Jersey, drove to freaking Canada and back (a return trip that took 12 hours door-to-door and a Baseball Roadshow that deserves its own post entirely), and ran my Yankee Stadium record to 4-0 on the year so far -- all while looking for a 3 bedroom apartment in Manhattan. All this immediately followed a week that had completely rocked my world. I found myself reuniting with slews of old friends, and even a couple of exes. I have crammed what feels like a lifetime's worth of chaos, stress, action, confusion -- and yes, fun -- into a relatively short amount of time. There are many tales yet to be written, but the big one - or at least the story that best encompasses all of what I've been feeling these last few weeks - is Bonnaroo.

Bonnaroo is a literal and figurative time warp. As you make your way to the festival – at least if you’re truly road trippin' it – the miles and hours pile up and the journey feels interminable. Though we arrived in Manchester around 7:30 Thursday evening and made it inside after only a short wait (leaving us exactly enough daylight to set up camp and avoid a torrential downpour -- 'Roo Success #1!), some unfortunate souls are made to wait upwards of 5 hours to physically enter the festival grounds from the highway. The whole experience can feel like a never-ending odyssey. But once you reach your destination, the opposite effect occurs. Time seems to simply melt from one music-filled moment to the next. By the time the festival hits full stride, you’re not quite sure where one day starts and the next ends, and the places you’ve come from and intend to be going to at festival’s end feel like distant planets from a bygone time. On top of this dreamlike state of consciousness brought on by the long journey, oppressive Tennessee heat, sprawling music schedule stretching from noon until 4am daily, and never-ending stream of wild and crazy people, the state of Tennessee spans two time zones. Apparently there’s a sign that indicates when you’ve crossed over into Central Time, but no one in our car got that memo, which made for a confusing start to the trip when we had to figure out what time to go see Passion Pit on Thursday night. So it goes. If the whole festival experience has a time warp element to it, this confusion was probably the most appropriate way to start. Passion Pit were jumping at This Tent, we danced around, unnecessarily circumnavigated the entire campground in pouring rain on the way back to our spot, dried off and went to bed. It was the best night's sleep I'd had in nearly a month.

From The States, Eh?

Today, I depart for the True North strong and free, America's Hat -- Canada! It will be my first time setting foot on the shores of our northern neighbor, and if ESPN's resident blowhard assclown has any idea what he's talking about, the Canadian CVS will have just the thing to soothe my aching head, which has had just about all the stress it can take for one week. I don't need a lot, just enough to give you that POP, eh, Berman?

You always hope to have one Blue Jay game a year.
Little 8% Codeine never hurt anyone, I know exactly what this night is.

Strikes and Gutters, Ups and Downs

It's been a long, draining week -- the kind that leaves you shaking your head, speechless, numb. When faced with a similar situation toward the end of The Big Lebowski (perhaps my favorite movie of all time, and one that has been there for me time after time), the flawed, if not passionate, Walter Sobchak is left with just one timeless thought:

"Aww, fuck it Dude. Let's go bowling."

I always thought that meant that when times get shitty, you turn to the things that have always been there to comfort you, even if they seem excessively ordinary and couldn't possibly offer more than a momentary escape. Maybe deep symbolism was never intended. Either way, I'm goin bowlin tonight.

Appropriately enough, as I ready myself for my first ever NYC bowling experience, I find an abundance of Dudeness on the interwebs. First:

"The New York Yankees have announced the addition of strictly kosher food offerings and Shabbat accommodations at their November 2009 and January 2010 Fantasy Camps. Glatt kosher food will be provided by Weberman Foods with OK supervision, and a Friday “Dream Game” will be played so Shomer Shabbat Jews can participate."

Walter would certainly be there, except he has to take Cynthia's Pomeranian bowling while she and Marty Ackerman are in Hawaii.
Walter Sobchak Approves [Fack Youk]

And secondly, Bonnaroo thought they didn't completely make my summer enough when they brought Phish, Bruce and the Beastie Boys (arguably the 3 cornerstones of my proverbial musical pyramid) together under one festival, so they decided to throw in their very own Lebowski Fest at the air-conditioned Bonnaroo Cinema tent. I guess now I need to bring along my purple Jesus Quintana bowling outfit in addition to my big suit. The big 'Roo starts exactly 2 weeks from today. There's your long overdue countdown alert. Meet me there for a much needed White Russian.
Bonnaroo Cinema [Bonnaroo.com]

The Dude abides.
I don't know about you, but I take comfort in that.