The music writer at my magazine scored a pair of free Phish tickets. We had great seats in the section in front of the sound board guys, so we were dead center in folding chairs. By the time the first song was over the chairs were cleared away in our section for dancing. Everyone looked… old. I mean, there were no cute young guys and girls in hippie-dippie dreds. We all grew up and got jobs, you know? The parking lot was lined with Volvos and shiny new Hondas and the guys just wore jeans and swearshirts and looked like they were all getting grey. Remember when we used to put on our most hippie outfits? A long skirt, maybe, and Birks? It was all gone. I mean, sure, a few people had ratty hair. But mostly everyone drank a little and got super high, then packed their stuff up to go home to their job and their mortgage. Aging. It’s on the brain. Sorry: I can’t help it. You know, it comes with the imposing birthday. But the last time I saw Phish was 2003, and I was 19 and dating Dave. Now he’s got a little baby. It’s been six years. Or maybe it was 2004 in Saratoga with all the boys. It’s hard to remember. Time flies, huh. Remember our first Phish show in Camden? I threw up in the bathroom when YEM came on. God we were both so fucked up that night. Tonight, when YEM came on, I was a tiny bit high, maybe, but nothing much. And it was like the music of my adolesence had come flooding back to me, and I was dancing not because I was young and care free and on drugs, and not because I was reliving it, but because I had missed it.
Phish – You Enjoy Myself – Jones Beach 6/4/09