This past Wednesday was certainly one for the record books, from start to finish. The reincarnation of Lollapalooza came rolling through the PNC Bank Arts Center and good friend Don and I had decided that this would be a great chance to hang out, considering that we hadn’t seen each other since the end of our great road trip back at the end of June. With tickets in hand we rolled into the parking lot a little after 11:30 and hopped in line by the gates, where a Tom Jones look-a-like on the security force was patroling. It was a rather gray and overcast day, with the local forcasts crying like Chicken Little about thunderstorms, but I could care less. Today it was all about the music.

And as I would find out over and over again, today was also all about the crazies.

After getting frisked down by the most touchy-feely security guard in history and walking through the main gates, Don and I took a quick tour of the setup. There were the usual assortment of booths selling mostly overpriced food and merchandise, along with the shacks for the corporate sponsors. I was also looking around for a stage schedule so I could find out who was going on where and when, but instead of using old-fashioned paper to deliver the schedule they had a system set up where you used your cell phone to text-message a special number and they beamed the line-up to your phone. Now that was freakin’ cool! There were numbers for both the main stage and second stages, along with a few other cool things like an interactive scavenger hunt that I decided to to partake in.

Speaking of the second stage, it was quite smaller than I was expecting to see. I mean, it looked like a regular sized stage had been shrunken in the wash, and from the area they had set up in front for fans I doubt they were expecting much attention to be drawn. Still that wasn’t too much of a concern to me. Usually I try to soak in as much new music as possible when I go to things like this, but i saw nothing on the lineup that really grabbed my attention. The real deal was at the main stage today, so that was where I would be.

First things first though. We needed to fill our stomachs up badly, so we decided to go check out the concession stands. Staring at the prices on the menu board nearly sent me into shock. I had been expecting to pay a lot, but I was a little unnerved that the total cost of meal and drink were nearly three times what I would have paid outside the gate at even the overpriced Parkway rest stops. My meal of choice, the chicken and fry combo and cup o’ Snapple, was $12. And beer prices? No less than $7 a cup. They were big cups, but nowhere near the size they should have been for that cost! I’m used to being taken to the cleaners at shows for this kind of stuff, but the Arts Center has certainly set a new high-water mark in that department.

They were also looking to make some big money on the sale of cups of water as well (because letting you hang onto a plastic bottle is a sin at the Arts Center), but I was expecting that little stunt. I hung on to my cup for the rest of the day and just used the water fountains to get refills as needed. It’s a great way to beat dehydration and keep some cash for the $30 dollar T-shirts…or just keep the cash in your wallet, like I did.

The main stage area still hadn’t been opened yet, so Don and I went and took a seat near the entrance to watch the myriad of people file in. And there were all kinds, believe you me. People in camouflage with heavy metal T-shirts; dress shirts, ties and baggy shorts; Vanilla Ice look-a-likes and so on. But none beat the tribe of girls walking around in furry bikini’s. Some even went to far as to add on ears and tails to their outfits.

There was also a tent out by the entrance that had it’s own mini-performances going on throughout the afternoon. The one band we got to listen to all sat on the ground indian style, mixing guitar and bass with someone working a computer and a drummer who only had a few toms and cymbals to play, using a floor tom as his bass drum. Very interesting indeed.

Once the acts on the main stage started up, Don and I picked a decent spot on the upper right of the lawn section to camp out at for the rest of the afternoon, which at times still provided for a fairly decent view, not to mention a slab of sidewalk on which to sit on and stuff. Nothing beats listening to good music out in the sun and not having a wet ass. Time to get into the rundown:

The Distillers
If you asked me to describe the sound that came from this group, I’d have to peg it somewhere between old school punk and Pennywise for the speed and intensity. They were fronted by a woman who reminded me a lot of Joan Jett, thought the raspy vocals the amps pushed out sure didn’t seem to match the pictures on the video screens. All and all it wasn’t really my kind of music, but they must be doing something right to get to the main stage, right?

Somewhere between sets is when the first of the many character’s I’d be introduced to made the scene. From out of what seemed like nowhere came this voice talking to us, running on and on about how she could finally take her sneakers off and her feet feeling like prisoners in them. OK, well that certainly was an original way to open a conversation.

Barbara, as the mystery woman was soon to introduced herself as, continued to ramble on with very little in the way of prompting. About how she had broken her foot by getting it stuck under a door. About how she traveled recently to Brazil to teach yoga masters in the art. About how she came all the way down from the Hamptons just to see Jane’s Addiction, and living in the West Village, borrowing her friend’s BMW Z8 and so on and so forth. You gave her a sentence and she’d give you two paragraphs in return. Yup, she was definitely one of those people who like to hear themselves; not that there’s anything wrong with that. Some people are talkers, and some are listeners. The world certainly needs both. She turned to head downhill and promised to return later on, the first of many times I’d hear that lie during the day. I mean, why not just say “well, nice talking to you” or something instead of implying a promise you’ll be too fucked up to remember you made later on? Don’t think I’ll ever understand why people do that.

The Donna’s
The first of the true big name bands on the ticket to hit the stage, and the first to really try and shake the grays out of the people. They wished us a good morning, which was funny considering it was around 3:30 in the afternoon. For the most part I used their set as a perfect opportunity to lie down and work on my tan. Once again, there music wasn’t really to my tastes. It almost seemed like songs were bleeding together. Then again, it might have been the sun baking my brain. Eventually they did manage to stir things up a bit when they pulled out a decent cover of Kiss’s “Strutter”, which they bled straight into there big hit “Take it off”. A decent end to the set with left me very optimistic of the rest of the afternoon. Or maybe that was the $14 worth of beer in my gullet talking.

Jurassic 5
Now we’re talking entertainment! This was the first of the acts I had actually paid to see, a group that had perked my ears ever since I ran across a cut of theirs on last year’s Bonnaroo CD. They had a great mix of three rappers and two DJ’s, not to mention some of the best rhyme style I have heard in ages (with The Roots in the same category). I figured I would go venture up and snap a picture or two for my private collection, a new hobby of mine that has become a full blown obsession ever since Bonnaroo.

I wandered down to the railing separating us lowly lawn dwellers from the lowly seat dwellers to try and get a better shot. This is when the first of the security nazi’s the Arts Center had hired decided to put a cramp in my plans. He yelled from his station some fifteen feet or so to my left that I couldn’t snap a picture. Are you kidding me? I looked over at him and he made the international hand signal for “put the camera away, jackass”. I couldn’t believe the audacity, but I didn’t want the afternoon ruined this early by a confrontation, so I backed off and held the camera down at my side, heading further up the hill and back to where Don was. I figured I’d just get out of his site and I could resume my picture taking.

But this guy sat and watched me like a hawk for the next two or three minutes, following my every step. Seriously, is he getting paid enough to worry about me taking a snapshot? What am I going to do, sell my photos on eBay or something? Hell, a spy satellite could have gotten a better shot considering how far away from the stage I was. My PowerShot is a great little camera, but I can only zoom in so far you know. He won that battle, but only for the moment because I would not be denied. Later on as I went to refill my cup at one of the water fountains I grabbed a few shots. Total saved by not paying for bottled water for the day: about $30. So saved cash on water AND I got the pics I was after. That’s 2 for me, none for the security force. I’m liking the way things are going so far today.

I joined back up with Don it time to catch the end of the J5 set. By now they had the crowd doing what they referred to as the J5 workout. It involved opening and closing your hands on command. God I love simple workouts! As they drew to a close, the two DJs walked out towards the front, one wearing a turntable and the other wearing a mixer, and both linked together through the wonders of magic…I mean science.

Don took off on a beer and bathroom run between sets and I waited, now officially trying to kill time. I figured I’d take some crowd shots to round out the whole set I was working on. This is when the security nazi’s decided to try and get even with me. Two of them, one in the standard yellow shirt and the other more aggressive dick in his special edition black shirt, came storming up to me telling me that there were no pictures to be taken at all, and I’d have to erase everything I had shot up to that point. Now for the records I saw no signs posted, nothing on the tickets, or even the web site that said photography was prohibited, so this was really steaming me. So I decided to play the stall-out game with them. I went into the myriad of menus that my camera has, figuring that this guy would have no idea if I was doing what he demanded or not. Sure enough, a call came in over his walkie-talkie that he was needed elsewhere — I think it involved kicking puppies and stomping flowers. As he scurried away, he told me to erase the pics and if he saw the camera out again he would take it from me. Well, so he thought. They could kick me out before I’d give up a $300 camera to some peon on a power trip. Of course, for the rest of the afternoon my picture taking was seriously curtailed because of the hanging threat. I score that as another point for me, considering I had kept all my ill-gotten shots. 3-0, bitch!

Upon Don’s return, I laid out the whole story of what just happened for him, just because I needed to vent to someone. But we got sidetracked by the mysterious social effects of the Bonnaroo shirt Don was wearing. It happened to be a great conversation starter, and it had just drawn over two complete strangers, later to be introduced as Dennis and Megan. It should be known that Megan can throw a pretty good punch. How do I know? Well, it was all Don’s fault. We got to talking and the two of them mentioned they worked at a plumbing supply place in Lakewood. When Don correctly guessed where it was, he got a swift congratulatory shot for his troubles. And then another. And another. Megan must be quite fond of hitting both friends and complete strangers. Don decided to continue the conversation from a distance and with Dennis in between him and Megan. I decided to be my usual witty self and joked that if she hadn’t quite finished punching Don that I’d take a few in his place. Well, that smart ass remark got me a punch right in the middle of my chest. Last time I ever make THAT offer! Like I said, she could throw a punch. We would see them in the crowd later on in the show, with Megan beating on Dennis and Dennis seeming like he enjoyed taking the abuse. Must be a masochist or something.

Yes, the crazies were all around. Thank goodness for Nick showing up when he did, because Don and I needed another semi-normal person around to help offset the madness. Yes, that Nick. Earlier in the afternoon my cell phone started ringing during one of the sets, but of course it was far too loud for me to make out who was calling me. Caller ID was of no use because the number wasn’t in my phone’s address book, so I decided to take a look at the call log. The only call I saw that actually made it’s way in was from my boss. Now this struck me as very strange, so as soon as the drone from the PA died down I gave him a call back. This only heightened the mystery, because Christian assured me that he never called. OK then, so maybe I was imagining things. But then my phone started ringing again. Same number. Great. Let’s pick it up and see who it is:

“Hello?”
(sounds of muttering)
“Hello?”
(more sounds of muttering)
“Who is this?”
“It’s (mutter).”
“Who?”
(mutter, mutter)

The joys of cellular technology, ladies and gentlemen. I hung up and headed back to my spot, figuring it was a wrong number or something. Once again the phone started ringing and I was ready to go through the same routine again, but lo and behold this time I was actually able to hear who it was. Nick was looking for someone to head to Lollapalooza with as he had gotten the urge to see Jane’s Addiction at the last minute. It just so happened that this urge came totally independent of the knowledge that we were going to be there. Talk about a lucky break! He made plans to find on of the local scalpers in the parking lot and get his concert on as soon as he got off from work.

By the time Nick joined our little party, Don and I were talking to another pair of faces from the cavalcade of crazies in attendance; oversized Steve and his skinny hetero life mate. They seriously looked like living versions of Beavis and Butthead’s father’s (for anyone who has see the movie, a very vivid mental picture should come to mind).

Hail, hail the gang’s all here now! Enough of the sideshow attractions. Time to kick this thing into high gear. The next set was ready to go, and it was one of the major highlights for myself and Don.

Queens of the Stone Age
Hell yeah, the rock is on now! This was my second time seeing the band; this time from a considerably greater distance than the first time, but still just as enjoyable. They pulled out a good mix of older material along with tracks from their newest effort to appease all the people just discovering how great a rock band they really are. They played probably one of the finest renditions of “Better Living Through Chemistry” I have ever heard, with Josh Holmes absolutely killing on the guitar solo.

QOTSA was also the first band big enough to have a decent stage setup for their act, with a setup of red, white and black cards that would flip at different intervals, pushing the color scheme from “Songs for the Deaf” more and more. Minimalist, but very inventive, not to mention visually effective.

It should also be noted that they were also determined to play fast and hard. “Song for the Dead” in particular was played at what seemed to be triple time both the beginning and the end, and at least double time for the rest of it, all without dropping a single note. Impressive to say the very least. Their last song was a spot on rendition of “No One Knows” with “Feel Good Hit of the Summer” mixed in the middle for good measure. Something for the old fans, and something for the Jonny come lately’s who are just discovering them. All in all a solid set, just as I had expected.

Incubus
The time between sets had been filled with mostly talking; no strange characters or soap-opera moments, so when the PA system started kicking out music ripped straight from Super Mario Brothers, it kind of caught me off guard. They quickly jumped into the mix with some of their well known hits that radio and MTV have been playing in constant rotation for a while, but then they did something I certainly was not expecting: they broke some brand new material. Usually you reserve stuff like that for a smaller venue tour, or something where you’re headlining, but certainly not on a summer festival tour like this. Gutsy move! On top of that there seemed to be a little more of an edge to them, which was particular that was refreshing to hear.

“Vitamin” started out being played at half speed, but the boys pulled out a wicked break in the middle at double time, then did a 180 and slammed the song straight into a rendition of “Hello” by Lionel Ritchie. Read that again if you think your eyes were deceiving you, because I can guarantee that my ears were not deceiving me. Now that’s how to fuck with your crowd’s head, and they loved every minute of it.

Audioslave
Audioslave took the stage in grand fashion. The curtain covering their set dropped straight down to the stage as they broke into “Gasoline”, revealing a stage now littered with large mirrors about 15 to 20 feet tall. What’s more, drummer Brad Wilk was facing those mirrors, his back to the audience. Talk about an original setup. Right away I had a feeling that this was going to be a great set.

Tom Morello quickly showed his skill on the guitar when it came time for the first of his many solos on the night. Each time he did, the camera would zoom right in pick up every possible detail it could. This is in stark contrast to some bands I have seen play where the guitarists try everything they can to hide their technique. Maybe Morello is just so confident in his unique abilities that he throws it all out there as a challenge to other musicians. Kind of a “copy this if you can” approach to performing.

A few songs into the set, Cornell decided to have the audience try and sing Happy Birthday to their tour manager Rick. Kind of cool, but it only sounded like half of the people there were into it. The band didn’t play the song either, so you only had Chris singing along. It was kind of weird, but the sentiment was certainly in the right place. This stunt would be followed up by a much better one, when Cornell whipped out a cassette recorder and informed the crowd that he’d be bootlegging both us and the next song with “his favorite band” so he could listen to it in 15 years “if I’m around that long”. Surprisingly enough, security escorted him out of the building after that stunt. Well OK, so maybe they didn’t. But I’m sure the guard in the black shirt would have loved to, given the opportunity.

About half way through their set, Cornell pulled out an acoustic guitar and took off shirt, getting the requisite screams from the female contingent in attendance. He then played the next song all by himself. I wish I could tell you what it was, but alas I can not. I know Cornell has a catalog of tunes from his days as a solo artist, so I’m betting it was something out of that bag. Whatever it was had a very Springsteen-esque sound to it. He continued playing acoustic for the next song, this time backed by the rest of the band.

As the set started to draw to a close, Audioslave decided to pull a cover out of their bag of tricks, pulling an awesome rendition of the White Stripes song “7 Nation Army” (as I was informed by Nick and Don — up until this point I wouldn’t have known a White Stripes song if if bit me on the ass and said howdy). This all lead into their grand finale, a slow breakdown and a darkened arena which they brought back to life with the playing of “Cochise”.

All in all, I consider this to be one of the finest performances I’ve ever seen at the Arts Center, which is certainly saying something.

Before the last act of the night hit the stage, the crowd was treated to a slight visual distraction, the Lola Girls. There were three women with supermodel frames dressed in only their underwear dancing for our enjoyment. Can’t say I didn’t enjoy the distraction. I think the promoters were just giving the guys a little something back to even up the score. I mean then ladies had multiple rock stars out there to ogle over all day so fair’s fair, right? That was followed up by having the winners of some video game contest that was held at the event come out on stage. How someone could pay $50 plus and waste their time playing freakin’ video games is beyond me, but whatever floats your boat I guess.

The night was drawing to a close and the crowd buzz was growing louder. There was only one act left.

Jane’s Addiction
Now right off the bat I’ll admit that I didn’t get to stay as long as I wanted to for this set, because I had to catch a train up to NYC later that night. Still, what I did get to see was rather intriguing. Before the band hit the stage there was some kind of strange procession that wound its way through the crowd. This kind of mellow, ethereal distraction was in stark contrast with Jane’s opening song “Stop”, which went right for the adrenal gland; Dave Nevarro’s opening chords made sure of that. As soon as Perry Farell jumped up and shouted “Here we go”, well, you can imagine the crowd reaction. The stage was set up with all kinds of ramps and bridges for Perry to run on and jump off of, and Dave was throwing in some guitar bends in a very Zack Wylde-eqsue style. For what I saw, it was quite impressive.

By the time they were breaking into “Mountain Song”, Don and I were making our way out of the Arts Center. A shame I had to walk out so soon, but I had to be in the city early the next morning to give a presentation at the office. My cousin Erin was decent enough to let me crash at her place in Weehawken so I would be able to get to the office at a decent enough hour, but I still had to get there to begin with, and NJ Transit waits for no band…I mean, no man.

My original plan was to leave from the Aberdeen-Mattawan station just a short distance up the road because of it’s frequent departure schedule, but along the way there we crossed the path of the Hazlet train station, closer but with less frequent departure times. I had Don pull in so I could check the schedule on the platform. I figured I might get lucky with the schedule and he could get on his way home sooner, so I jumped up to the south bound platform to find the time table.

That’s when I saw a girl lying on the bench on the north bound platform, seemingly out of it. She was wearing the same wristband as I was from Lollapalooza, so I figured she was on her way home. She sat up and yelled across to me “Is this where I get the train to New York”? I answered yes, kind of astounded that she needed to ask since there were signs all over the place saying just that. I decided it might be best to wait for my train here, so I could be a good samaritan and make sure this girl got up to the city OK.

Hey, what can I say? I’m a nice guy. It’s my blessing and my curse.

I came to find out her name was Staci. I didn’t ask if she spelled it with an “I” or a “Y” but she looked like an “I” to me. She had made her way down from Astoria, Queens with the assistance of one of New Jersey’s less desirable citizens. I say that because he drove her down and helped her drink away $300 in beer before deciding that he was going to strand her there. After an experience like that, I could kind of understand why she winced every time I mention Jersey to her. It must have been like getting punched in the face repeatedly with every utterance. She had managed to get one of the shuttle busses at the Arts Center to drop her off at the station, though not without some grief.

Now Staci certainly wasn’t the damsel in distress I thought she was at first glance. She was very disoriented, that was certain, but after about two minutes of talking to her I could tell that she was a fighter and little could actually stop her. Her language could put any sailor to shame, and she talked about fucking and getting laid more than any college student or long-haul trucker I’ve ever spoken to.

We compared careers and interests while waiting for the next train to show up. She was a trader working on the floor of the NYSE. When I told her I was a web designer she made an interesting suggestion that my employers should hire office strippers to fuck us, since the majority of the employees were no doubt male. Yes, you can’t make up shit like that. She certainly was an interesting character.

She continued on, talking about everything and anythign that came to mind: how NY mayor Mike Bloomberg is screwing up the city (her particular argument had something to do with the recently passed smoking ban and how he could have used it to generate revenue); how the people out on the party boats that passed her apartment building on the East River were much louder from the ground floor apartment she was renting than from the 14th floor loft that she owns in the same building but lets her sister stay in (I don’t even know how that arrangement is supposed to make any sense); about her libido, yet again (the girl liked to talk about sex, that was certain); how she wanted to own a car without a hood (which confused me for a second before I figured out she meant owning a convertible); well, you surely get the idea by now.

So finally the train hit the station around 11pm, but for some reason it was coming in on the opposite platform. Usually they make announcements over the station PA if that’s going to happen, but not tonight. We rushed to cross over and hop on board, but Staci was visibly upset by this. I guess it was the last straw on her night of calamities. As we rushed by the engine and onto the first car she was yelling at the engineer and conductor “make sure you wait for everyone”. Not just once mind you, but over and over again.

We finally got into a seat and settled down for the long trip. I thought finally being in the train would settle Staci down, but boy was I ever wrong on that one. The conductor was still half a car away and Staci was still yelling at him.

Staci: “Did you wait for everyone?”
Staci: “Did you wait for everyone?”
Staci: “Faggot, did you wait for everyone?”
Conductor: “Yes.”
Staci: “Liar.”

When he finally came to our seat the conductor laid down the law for her, saying how you don’t disrespect him. This was obviously her last chance to say “sorry” and still keep her seat but Staci was a woman of convictions, and to her credit stuck to her guns. She told him “you do what you gotta do”, which in this case was to kick her ass off the train at the very next station.

I do respect that she didn’t back down from her chosen point of view, however misguided I might have thought it was. I kept my mouth shut in the whole affair — I knew she was digging her own grave from the very start, but I also knew that nothing I said or did was going to change her disposition. She got up from her seat, wished me well, and as soon as we arrived at the next station, stepped off the train and onto the platform. An already long night for her was just made that much longer.

To this day I still can’t fathom the logic of her actions, but then again it’s not my place to judge such things. I am a simple documentarian, here to record the passing of things. Besides, I had my own schedule to keep and a long couple of days ahead. But that is another story….

I have to ask a simple, yet burning question: why do young adults hate bike riders so, and myself in particular? Granted that’s a bit of a generalization, but I have my reasons for making this generalization.

The Other night, while retrieving my bike from the Point Pleasant Beach train station I had at least two SUV’s full of young punks in training honking horns and yelling obscenities out their window at me, which I bet made them feel great inside. Too bad shooting past at 35 miles an hour tends to garble speech to the point of sounding like an irritating mosquito buzzing by. That’s something that I’ve just come to accept as karmic payback for when I used to do the same thing. For some reason when you’re at that age it just seems like a cool thing to do.

But then I reached Brick, where it seems some punks have elevated this game to new levels. While in my own housing development I was almost taken out by some asshole who through the stop sign he was at was the equivalent of a drag strip starting line. I was barley inches away from passing his front bumper when he floored it and nearly took out my back wheel. A ton and a half of car versus a considerable lower mass of flesh and bike is no contest. Now I’m a peaceful man by nature, but if I ever do manage to spot this same asshole again it will take all of my self restraint to keep from personally fracturing every bone in his body.

And it doesn’t stop there. Some young punks driving in the family SUV that they borrowed from mommy tried to plunk me in the head with an empty water bottle while on my afternoon constitutional ride. I at least was able to give them the finger, thought that was more for me than them because they were flying by at about 50 or so.

Where’s the love for the bike rider? I mean, can’t we all just get along?

There’s always an adventure waiting for me in New York City in some shape or form. How it will decide to manifest itself I can never be sure of until I’m right in the thick of it, but rarely have I come back without some kind of tale to tell.

My adventures last night were no exception to the rule. It all started when I stepped out of the office yesterday afternoon after putting in my eight hours of work. I found out that when you boiled down all the office speak and mumbo jumbo, the whole reason I had to travel all the way up to the city for about a dozen or so pieces of paper relating to a project I’m currently working on. Mental note: get a fax machine or something! Still, it was good to see my coworkers again, at least those that were in the office. Telecommuting certainly cuts out the human aspect of things to a large degree.

I decided to stroll around SoHo for a while, a pastime I indulged in many lunch breaks and evenings where I didn’t want to fight through the human cattle drive known as the daily commute. Mostly just window shopping and such to help kill time between work and the departure of the Rocks Off cruise I had bought a ticket to the night before.

Once I did start my trip uptown, things went as smooth as silk. From boarding the R train uptown on through the walk over to the Hudson River from the 23rd Street station. I was going to make it with plenty of time to spare, so I was taking my time and keeping a leisurely pace. I arrived at Chelsea Piers and started looking for the line of long-haired hippy freaks that I expected to see for this show, except I wasn’t seeing them. I took a quick seat inside a cafe and pulled out my laptop to check the departure address: 23rd and FDR Drive. That’s here right? So where is…oh wait. That’s right. FDR is on the east side of Manhattan, and I’m on the west side. Oops!

I quickly hailed down on of the nearby cabs to make the cross town trip. I sat in the back seat, quietly eating a $4 grilled cheese sandwich I had purchased while trying to get my bearings straight. I had to put something in my stomach to stop the hunger pains and I didn’t have much time to shop for a cheaper alternative. All the while I was feeling a little bit foolish. I mean, I profess to know Manhattan fairly well, so this was quite a blow to my ego. Oh well, all it really cost me was cab fare and ten minutes of my time. The plus side of this is that I’ll never make that mistake again.

I paid my six bits to the cabby and headed down to the dock, finally seeing the line of people I had been expecting. As the ship came into view, I started to get the impression that it wasn’t nearly large enough to hold a concert. But as I boarded and had a chance to look around, I slowly started to change my opinion. The floating tub called the “Half Moon” seemed rather seaworthy. It had two decks, with a bar, bathrooms and some dining tables set up on the lower one. The upper deck had an uncovered bow (which was already jam packed) and the rest was covered by a canopy with open sides.

We pulled away from the dock a little after 9 o’clock, ready for our three hour trip out to the Statue of Liberty and back. The Slip took the “stage” (a section of the dance floor on the starboard side of the ship) shortly thereafter.

Now I was going into this show completely blind in a musical sense of speaking. I had heard a lot of things about the band, but never any of there music. Still, the word of mouth was quite strong and proved to be well earned. They played a mix of styles all night with their quality jams, mixing everything from blues to jazz improvisation to rock and then some. Probably the most memorable jam I can remember is when they broke into some kind of human beat box routine, sampled it and looped it, and then started playing their instruments on top of it. They even managed to get a kazoo into the mix. Yes, a friggin’ kazoo! And it was all tight as hell.

Honestly thought, they had me as soon as they broke into their second song of the night when they busted out a cover of Steely Dan’s “Brooklyn (Owes The Charmer Under Me)”, what with me being a big time Dan fan and all. About the only thing that could have made that moment even better is if they had waited another song or two into the set to pull it out so we would be going under the Brooklyn Bridge as they played it (which is what always pops into my mind when I hear the song for some strange reason). Still, they did remarkable justice to the tune. They also pulled out an instrumental cover of Credence Clearwater Revival’s “Rolling on the River”, leaving it up to individual members of the crowd to decide if they wanted to sing the chorus or not.

I split my time between the band and the skyline of the city, which was equally as impressive. Also in the course of events we circumnavigated Governor’s Island, which I had only seen from the tops of the Twin Towers and the Empire State Building before. Eventually we moved out further into the harbor to go say high to Lady Liberty, getting close enough for my camera’s flash to kiss her sandals. Well I may be exaggerating a bit on that point, be we got close. I tried to snap a decent picture, but with the motion of the boat and the zoom lens it was quite a challenge to get anything halfway decent. I must have taken about eight shots before I got one I was happy with. Hooray for digital photography!

As midnight drew near we started to pull up twoard the dock. When I had planned this trip, I knew I would be cutting it kind of close getting from the dock to penn station, but with a half hour between docking and train departure, I figured it was well within the realm of possibility. Here’s where the adventure part of this story really starts to kick in.

The captain started to have some issues when it came to docking. Now I understand parallel parking a ship with over a hundred people on it is no simple task, but you shouldn’t have to do the nautical equivalent of donuts to line it up with it’s berth either. Even some of the crew were openly questioning what the hell was going on. My mind instantly started running through worst case scenarios; a total reflex reaction.

The docking stunt had cost me about 10 minutes or so, but I was the fourth person off of the boat, so I had a good chance of getting to the street and flagging down a cab before the rest of the masses. If I could get one right off the bat, I could still make it to Penn Station in time for the train home. On top of that, there was still one more train I could possibly catch before they shut down service on the North Jersey Coast Line for the night. As cab after cab flew on by, already full up on fares to fleece, walking to Penn Station seemed to be a better and better idea.

I managed to catch up with a girl who was also at the show, and who was the first one to disembark. My powers of observation had told me back on the ship that she was in the same predicament that I was; riffling through a train schedule, impatiently looking at her watch. If she could have swam to shore to catch her train on time she might very well have done that. Unfortunately for her she had already missed her last train, and was now on her way to the Port Authority bus terminal to try and get herself back home. As she finally managed to hail a cab, a wished her well and continued on with my own transit dilemma.

My saving grace was the time I had before that last train departed — over an hour. I decided that I already spent more on this whole experience than I wanted to, so saving the cab fare more than made up for hike I’d be making from 23rd and FDR Drive to 32nd and 7th. It only took about a half hour to get to the station. Now I had nothing but time to kill, and plenty of seats in which to kill it, not to mention rest my weary body in. That’s when I glanced up at the departure schedule screen.

Seems that in the past few months I forgot one key thing about the NJ Transit schedule: the last train on the North Jersey Coast Line didn’t run all the way south to Bay Head, like I needed it to. It instead terminates in Long Branch, a solid forty five minutes or so north.

This whole experience was getting better and better by the minute!

I called my sister up at home and asked her if she could give me a lift home when I got to the station. My original plan had been to ride my bicycle home from Point Pleasant Beach station, but seeing as I wasn’t going to be able to get to the station without paying somewhere in the neighborhood of $30 to $40 for a cab ride down there this was no longer a feasible option. Thankfully she agreed without too much fuss, thought I was ready with a backup plan if she started to give me any static. It consisted mostly of guilting her with the fact that I had helped her out of a similar situation a while back. Anyway, now with that worry in check, I sat back against a pillar in the 7th Avenue Concourse and waited for the track announcement.

Once the track was finally posted, I rushed to get myself a decent seat. The last train from Manhattan is usually just as packed as one of the rush hour trains, sans people standing in the isles. Once I got my situated, I opened up my iBook, threw on my headphones and drowned out the crowd noise with some Maktub, trying to relax. This adventure would be over soon enough.

But is anything ever that easy? Nope! Not for me! The rail car lurched forward and then stopped after about ten feet or so. I didn’t pay too much attention to this at first. I’ve had similar experiences commuting in the past where they had to slightly reposition the train to allow more passengers to load, so I just stuck my head back into my laptop. About fifteen minutes later is when the announcement came over the PA system that the “motor is shot” and they had called for “new equipment”.

It’s official. We’ve moved from bad to worse. Outstanding!!!

Now for those of you who don’t know, when NJ Transit workers talk about “new equipment”, they mean a whole new train, which also means having to pack everything back up, disembark, walk over to a different track and fight to get a good seat all over again. I don’t think I have to tell you that I was a little upset at this prospect. That anger manifested itself as delirious laughter which seemed somewhat out of place amongst the grumbling and cursing from the other passengers.

So nearly an hour and a half after the scheduled departure time we finally left Penn Station. They had been nice enough to find new equipment with plenty of rail cars, so my worries about finding decent sitting space were unfounded. I had a whole three seater to myself and I made the most of it, laying down to try and catch a few moments of much needed rest. It was close to 3 a.m. and I knew I wouldn’t be seeing my bed until around 5 at the earliest. The only bet now was if I’d see the sun rise before I saw my mattress.

I hopped off the train in Red Bank, which by the grace of geography happens to be a mere half hour from Brick by way of the Garden State Parkway. I know this because I made the trip day after day. I’ve timed it. Now all that was left was to make bets with myself on how long it would take for my sister to show up. My original guess was ten minutes.

So I more or less had the entire ground around the train station to myself, and nothing but time to kill. What to do, what to do? Well, I know there’s no more trains coming for a few hours, so why not go tightrope walking down the rails? Or even better, since there are almost no cars to be seen, let’s go stand in the middle of the crossing. Hey, I’ve never really had a chance to take a real close up look at one of those signal gate thingamagiggers before. No time like the present.

I think you get the point. I was near delirium at this moment. Given another half hour I might have started counting the petals of flowers in a nearby pot to kill time. Thankfully after only 20 minutes of waiting I spotted my sister’s car approaching the station.

Unfortunately, she didn’t spot me. She had driven right past me and pulled into one of the parking lots and slowed down. I started to walk after her, but she seemed intent to keep at least 50 feet of distance between us. This was the last indignity and I started to throw what might be considered a tantrum, flailing my arms about and shouting in an attempt to get her attention. She had now turned her car back onto the street and hadd yet to see me. I ran and stood right in the middle of her path. She would either stop or I would be hit: either way I’d have a bed to sleep in soon enough.

Thankfully she stopped and I hopped into the back seat of her car, molding my weary body to its contours. A half hour later and the adventure was over. I was finally home and in my bed. Sleep wasn’t long in coming.

So let’s recap the experience, with bullet points and everything:

• My whole reason for going to the city could have been avoid if I had used a fax machine
• FDR Drive is on the east side of Manhattan, not the west.
• The Slip are a rightously good band.
• Cabs are always full when you need one the most.
• The last train on the North Jersey Coast Line doesn’t go any further than Long Branch, so plan accordingly.
• “New equipment” in NJ Transit speak means “whole new train”.
• My sister should really be wearing her glasses to drive at night.

I hope you’ve all learned something from this. I know I sure have: I’ll never pay four bucks for a grilled cheese sandwich again, no matter how hungry I am!

Circumstances have me one again visiting the home office in New York city today, and I’m shocked and amazed with all the changes going on in and around my home away from home. For one, we now have these two massive server cases that stand close to seven feet tall and sound like the supermarket freezer on PCP in the office. Thankfully I have my headphones on hand to help drownd out the drone, thought it’s only a partial solution.

Outside there are less new stores and more new construction in the vicinity of Broadway and Houston, replacing a parking lot and a gas station / underground parking facility with some office space and/or condos, I think. Now where am I gonna get raped to the tune of $29 for all day parking in SoHo?

I’m sure that much more has happened in the months since I was last here, but that’s all I really care to comment on today. Maybe more will come to me later on while I’m listening to The Slip out on the waterways around the isle of Manhattan.

Hey, if I have to be in the city, I might as well make the most of it. Right?