MY MISTAKE

We all make mistakes. Here's a few classics I've committed over the years:

1. 1969- THE AQUARIAN EXPOSITION (WOODSTOCK)

My brother Bird and I attended. The last thing my parents said to me was "Take care of your brother." As that creepy Yogaville cult guru Swami Satchidananda droned on, I pulled out a five dollar bill and told Bird to go get us some food and a couple of cokes. While it was still light out he disappeared into a sea of sunburned skin and faded bellbottoms. I didn't worry. I was sure he would be back in a half hour or so with the goods.  Hours later, the field now filled with a half million souls, in the dark, put to sleep by Ravi Shankar, somebody stepped on me. "Hey man." I barked "Watch it!" "Osti?" a lost and terrified Bird uttered. He had been wandering aimlessly through the crowd with two cold hotdogs and a couple of orange sodas, lost for hours. If he hadn't randomly stepped on me he'd still be there. "Orange soda!!!? I told you I wanted a coke." I complained. I thought of sending him back, but relented. Arlo Guthrie was about to go on. Fine. Sit down. Watch the show. Ugh. Cold dogs. "What, no mustard?" Then it started to rain.

Mistake: Sending a fourteen year old to do a sixteen year old's job.

Lesson learned: Don't go to rock concerts. They suck.

2. 1991- LOLLAPALOOZA

  I obviously had not learned (or forgotten) my lesson learned in 1969. This time instead of being a clueless, scrawny kid with his little brother lost in the crowd I was accompanying Chuckles McC as a 39 year old V.I.P. guest of The Butthole Surfers to a field somewhere in New Jersey to bring in the nineties in style. I drove. As soon as we parked the car we ate a couple tabs of L.S.D. For the uninitiated, acid is the great social equalizer. As it poured outside (just like at Woodstock) we sat snug and dry in the Buttholes' backstage trailer, Ice T popping his head in from time to to blow some weed. The way I was feeling I could've taken the stage with the Buttholes or played one on one B-ball with Ice T. "Take that bitches!" I told BHS lead singer Gibby that I only knew one guy from Texas who lived in some bum-fuck town called Dogshit, Texas. His name was Don Rock. "You mean Driftwood?" Gibby asked with an angry glare. Turned out Don had bought Gibby's old house in Driftwood. My bad. I made my exit, bought a tub of beer and went out to groove in the crowd. As I took a big swig of beer a bee entered my mouth on full buzz. I spit a giant mouthful of beer and the half drowned bee all over the people in front of me. "A b-b-b-bbub-bee......" I feebly explained as the sour faces about to rip me to shreds stared back. Somehow my innocent, glazed over acid eyes saved me. Again....my bad.

Mistake:  Drinking beer, on acid, at a rock concert without checking for insects first.

Lesson learned: Don't go to rock concerts. They suck. That was my last. 

3. Date unknown- THE MUSEUM OF MODERN ART

   My old friend the famous downtown NY underground filmmaker Lady T. Whifflebottom was about to screen a selection of her work from the 1980's at the museum. Shewho, Marianna Louise and the Buddes were all in attendance. Who did I meet in the lobby as we waited to buy tickets? Don Rock. As we caught up he gave me a cookie, which I immediately popped in my mouth. After I had swallowed it whole, Don grinned and said "Hold on." I didn't know what he was talking about until Lady T's short film "Rat Trap" came on. In this notorious piece of transgressive filmmaking the "actors" drown a rat. Turned out that cookie was dosed with enough pot to bring even me to my knees. As the poor little creature gasped for air, blowing bubbles on the screen I leaned on Marianna Louise's shoulder and told her "If I pass out don't call 911." She nudged Shewho and all eyes turned my way. By some miracle I remained conscious. I'll never watch that snuff film Rat Trap again.

Mistake: Eating anything Don Rock gives you without asking what drugs are in it. 

Lesson learned: Don't watch animals (you don't eat) die for the sake of "art" while on drugs. Maybe get Don't Call 911 tattooed on my forehead.

4. Yesterday- MY HOUSE

     After cleaning up my porch I took a bunch of cardboard boxes out to my burn pile alongside the church. As I tossed them on the pile I noticed something peculiar. A bunch of little pine saplings had been lopped off around the burn pile. Huh? For those who read the blog you will remember the pissing match I got into with some so-called loggers who were taking pine boughs off the adjoining property. It turned out that they were not satisfied staying on their own land. I was not happy. A little later in the day I came across my neighbor Carlito and told him of the encroachment. He sympathized but told me that he did not know the name of the property owner or who these culprits were. Then, about fifteen minutes later I received a phone call from Carlito. "That woman who owns that land is parked on the road." I grabbed a pen and paper, put on a face mask and stomped towards her Range Rover, writing her license number down on the fly. I made the universal finger gesture for her to roll down the window. She was a rather pretty black woman. She cracked the window and asked "Yes?.....I'm on the phone." I didn't care. "Do you own this property?" I asked abruptly. "I'm not on your property. I'm on a public road." she said. "You don't own this property?" I asked again, fully prepared to ream her out for her trespassing "loggers." "I'm just trying to have my coffee, talk on the phone in tranquillity and watch the animals." she explained raising her coffee cup and pointing to the puzzled camel staring at the two of us. Carlito (and I) had made a terrible mistake. This poor woman thought I was a crazed cracker on some racist rampage to get her off MY property. It was all a giant misunderstanding on my part. I apologized repeatedly and tried to explain myself - not very sufficiently. I'm sure she thought I was nuts and racist. Thank God I wasn't on my way into the woods with my gun slung over my shoulder. 

Mistake: Pick one. Overreacting. Unleashing anger. Not knowing all the facts. Scaring innocent people. Being an asshole in public. Running out of pot two days ago.

Lesson learned: Write license plate numbers down when hillbillies are cutting pine boughs anywhere and tell you they have permission. Know the name of your neighbor. Never run out of marijuana.

I'm sure my mistakes will continue. I just hope I can keep learning from them. Again, to that poor woman just trying to find some decent cell reception and peace and quiet on a public road: I am so sorry.