Fiddling away the hours

Bill, I knew you'd come through. Joe's Mortuary, You napalm 'em we embalm 'em. I think a lot of kids are morbid because they are just coming into some reality about death.

I wish I could fiddle. Watching all this music at Strawberry makes the unskilled of us wish we had talent or ambition, not sure what it takes. We are surrounded by musicians, and they are all jamming all the time, except from about 4 am to 8 am. I went to sleep at 11 last night with about 30 people having a jam session about 50 feet away. They influenced my dreams in strange ways that I don't recall except to say they were strange. They were real good too.

Mike B. and I are in this weird isolated world where all your values have been rearranged. Ice is big (in the 90s), and lounging by the lake or in the lake, and finding a shady spot for listening to the music. Dirt and hygiene seem less important; personal space also. This is a lot like Live Oak, upgraded by the lake you can swim in, a big plus. There are cabins here that can be rented, so if you wanted to go upscale it can be done. More vendors, a bigger meadow, more camping, more people, more ants. That's the American way - bigger, better, more.

I am trying to learn from Mike and adapt, but I find my own OCD clashes with Mike's anal retentive hippieness. I needed - NEEDED - to move this rock that I thought was messing with me, but Mike told me that rock was perfect right where it was, it had been there the 30 times he had camped there. I left it. I'm trying to fit in, and my superhero pants help, and my Zerbe derby too.

No cell phones in here unless I hike 2 miles up the hill to the top, and then it is sketchy. Right now I am at the Evergreen Lodge, about a mile outside of camp. There is a nice cool cabin/great room with wifi access and public phones, quiet now but packed later, and I am checking email and doing this update before it gets too hot. By the time I bike back to camp, I will be sweating, and I will switch to swim trunks and go cool off in the lake.

Mike and I had to work Wed. night pre-banding people that were in overnight pullout areas where they could wait the night, mostly RVs and trailers. We were dropped off far from Camp Mather at Camp Bob around 5:30 pm, and given until 10:00 to get it done. There were twenty people there maybe. We finished in an hour. The third worker, Ed, was a mandolin player, and he found some more players with a spare mandolin, and they jammed to entertain everyone in little Camp Bob for a while.

Around 8pm we decided to walk the mile to the Evergreen Lodge (where I am now) and check it out. The place was jumping and was just wrapping up the Wed. all-you-can-eat BBQ, $15. We walked in and quickly ascertained that we were kings and this free feast had been laid before us, at least what was left. So we dug right in, had some steak, burgers, fruit and ice cream. We walked back to Camp Bob sated, Ed was still there jamming, and ten minutes later our ride showed up and took us back to Camp Mather. Tough night.

Thurs. morning we started work at 5:30 am, banding all the people in line to get in. We were done in 4 hours, and that was the work we had to do for our tickets. Beauch has been doing this so long he gets the plum shifts, done before the music starts. All the workers I worked with all had the anal retentive hippieness thing going on, which I find disconcerting because I never know what they will retentive about. They were anal about how to band people, which car was next, who checked the ticket, who put the sticker on the car, kissing up to the boss, and hurrying up. It was like a real job.

The radio just told me it is time to go; the music is starting, and I may put on a rastafarian wig and go wild, be the next spinning man or Fabio, I could be basketball white belly rasta wig guy, or something. Peace out, love the dirt.