JUST ANOTHER DAY IN PARADISE

I got up about 7 AM, made coffee, checked my email and....what's that out in the field? My eyes take a while to work in the morning. I pulled up the blinds and rubbed my peepers. Yup. I was right. There stood two new additions to my neighbor's farm. Lets call them Joe and Mohammed- gangly camels. I hope you can put antifreeze in those critters. Winter's coming.
I had to meet the honey dipper (septic man for you city slickers) out at WSS to see if he could engineer a system. He showed up in a shiny pickup with a pretty wife in the front seat and two coon hound pups in the back. As the hounds bellowed he laid out a plan for a system "that would look like it's been there forever." Golden.
I spent a few hours pulling nails, then got in my truck and drove to Montgomery to see if I could score a bedliner. No luck. As I was driving back up the mountain I tuned in WFMU. They were broadcasting live from Kutsher's. The old Borst Belt hotel was hosting the Brit hipster's equivalent to Woodstock- ALL TOMORROW'S PARTYS. The noise was unbearable. When I got home there were two messages on my machine from Slick. He was at ATP and suggested I get my ass over there. The tickets were $225 for the three day fest. "Security is lax. Care-a and I will sneak you in." Slick informed me. I switched vehicles and headed for Kutsher's.
In 1969 I smoked pot at Woodstock. In 1991 I dropped acid in the Butthole Surfer's trailer at Lollapaloosa. And now in 2008 I stood drinking warm Bud out of a plastic bottle, listening to Kraut-Rock Geezers HARMONIA at ATP. All around me stood a transplanted Willliamsburg, entralled to be witnessing their heroes. I had just watched FUCK BUTTON and my ears were still bleeding. Slick left to get closer to the stage and Care-a and I just stood there. No one was even bobbing their heads. It was like being at a Treky comic book convention. These people were what I would call "afficianados". No free dancing or girls taking there tops off at this festival. This was serious business. I lasted about half the set and left.
Maybe I've finally gotten too old for this foolishness. But I doubt it. I think the Brooklyn, over the shoulder slingbag, flannel shirt, bad haircut crowd is just no fucking fun. My Bloody Valetine and Thurston Moore? Who gives a flying fuck? Plus how can they compete with just staying home and watching the camels cavort in the field? Let me know when they put the sex and drugs back into rock and roll. And please beef up the security. I need a challenge.