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7:04 a.m. - 2005-05-31


So yeah ... so my old roomie Dave comes down for the weekend.

Sunday we sit around the house all day and get caught up on the last 25 years. He's got so many interesting stories about what he's done in the last two and a half decades (he killed him a b'ar with how own two hands jes' like Davy Crockett!) and every story I had to tell he had already read on this website so I was forced to start making up stories about being abducted by aliens and having a threesome with Jessica Simpson and Carol Channing.

About 3:00 or so, Dave got tired of listening to me lie so he called his brother, who, as I've mentioned here before, plays in the Black Crowes musical group.

His brother says he just woke up, he's downtown, come down and pay him a visit.

So we get dressed after hours of sitting around naked and head downtown.

We get close to the stage where the Crowes will be playing at our little outdoor musical festival and Dave says "Hand me your cell phone and I'll call my brother".

I say "Okay chief", reach into my pocket and pull out ... nothing.

I reach into my pocket again and ... nothing.

Shit fire.

I left my cell phone at home.

After Dave is finished beating me senseless in front of a crowd of hippies, we try to devise a plan to find a cell phone.

We notice that there's no security on the side of the stage and, putting our past knowledge of how to get backstage at concerts, we strut right through the gate acting like we know what we're doing.

Once backstage, we're wandering around in circles, trying to come up with another plan.

We continue walking out of the gate that's behind the backstage area where we encounter Barney Hitler.

"What are you guys doing back here?" the guy asks.

"We're trying to find a cell phone," I say. "You got one?"

"You guys aren't supposed to be back here," Barney says.

Now both Dave and I have two different colored bracelets on each arm as well as media credentials around our neck. So we start modeling for the guy ... thrusting our wrists up in his face as well as waving laminated cards on chains in front of his eyes.

None of these are backstage passes and Hitler's telling us we've gotta go.

Dave knees him in the balls and I give him a karate chop on the back of the neck for good measure as we walk out of the entire festival completely and head to a Sponsor Room which should at least have access to a phone.

We find a phone and Dave calls his brother to find out where he's at.

The only problem ... the brother doesn't recognize the number we're calling from and doesn't answer his phone because he's a rock star and probably gets about 607 calls a day from people who've somehow managed to get his phone number.

So we wait.

And wait.

And then, just for posterity, we wait some more.

Finally, his brother calls back and we tell him to meet us on the side of the stage where security was so lax to begin with.

He meets us there and Dave hugs him after not seeing him for several months.

He goes to shake my hand and I'm all Chris Farley on him with the "Brothers don't shake hands ... brothers huuuuug" shit and give him a hug.

He's sorta taken aback and says "I don't know you."

And I'm all "But I know YOU!"

So Steve shows us where the beer is under a vinyl tent and Dave and I pretend like we haven't had any fluids in our body in a month as we begin guzzling imported brews.

It was right about then that the clouds in the sky started rolling over each other and the sky honestly turned greenish brown in parts ... like the sky had a bruise caused by a schoolyard bully.

"Everyone take cover!" Barney Hitler yelled at us. "Thar's a twister a'comin'!!"

Now, I'm not really scared of a tornado or two.

Dave, on the other hand, had never experienced an Alabama twister and wasn't all that jazzed to be swept up and have his corpse found somewhere in a South Carolina landfill.

And seeing as how the beer tent was literally being lifted up by the winds and about to come crashing down on us, I figured maybe I'd join Dave and the rest of the backstage people in a parking deck.

As it turns out it was just sheets of rain and a lot of lightning but no twisters.

This went on for about an hour.

And it started looking like the Festival would have to be cancelled.

Eventually, the rain let up enough to where we could get back to the backstage area and coddle some more Heinekens.

By now, there were a few other guys and their wives who had grown up with Dave and Steve in Kentucky who had made it backstage and they were all talking about the time Steve caused a guy to run off the road just by whistling at him and all the other adventures little boys experience.

I calmly waited for someone to tell a circle jerk story but nobody came forward with any which made me think maybe that wasn't such an "Every boy does it" kind of story after all and maybe I shouldn't have spent so much time at Michael Jackson's house while growing up.

After a few hours, Uncle Bob was a bit twisted from the beers because ... as you might know ... it's been about 18 months since I had drank more than a sip of beer.

I had a choice to make.

I could shift into "Obnoxiously Drunk Mode" where I basically made an ass of myself by yelling things I thought were funny but were actually nonsensical.

Or I could clam up, stand there with a frozen grin on my face and try not to piss myself.

I opted for the latter.

It was decided that the band opening for the Crowes wouldn't be opening for them after all and that the Crowes would take the stage an hour late.

This pleased everyone except the band opening for the Crowes who went out into the crowd, grabbed four slutty looking sluts and went back on their tour bus with them.

I'm guessing they were getting "B.J.'s" which is rock star talk for oral sex.

Those rock stars. They have a different term for everything. What a hoot they are!


So anyway, the eight of us that are hanging around backstage are guided to some seats on the side of the stage which didn't even get used because nobody sat down on the side of the stage the entire time except for one very pregnant woman and believe me ... we gave her SHIT for sitting down. Dave yelled in her face "YOU'RE SUCH A PUSSY!!!" which made her cry and made everyone else laugh.

The Crowes were awesome. Extremely tight in their music. Chris Robinson even looked like he bathed which is always a plus when you see the Crowes.

A few pics from my vantage point.

This is guitarist Marc Ford. True Crowes fans are ecstatic that he's back with the band. He's one snappy dresser.

These are the Robinson brothers, Chris and Rich. They fight. A lot. They try to say it's all out of love, but I think it has more to do with their individual stances on which "Star Wars" movie was the best. Chris, the one who looks like he just came down out of the hills to do the show, is married to famed actress Kate Hudson. Kate was at the show and I saw her from a distance backstage. She saw me, smiled, waved and then mouthed the words "Do me, you big stallion ... DO ME!!" but I thought she was mouthing the words "What are you doing back here? I'm trying to adjust my thong!" so I scurried off rather quickly.

That's Dave's brother Steve playing the drums, or as he like to call it "pounding the skins". I told you!! Rock stars have different names for everything!!!

This is the group of us that hung out together backstage after the show with the majority of them all knowing Steve (middle back) personally except for me. Shit. I was lucky I even made it into the photo. I'm the one smiling. This photo was taken by a roadie who had more important things to do than snap photos of us.

Anyway, that's it. The only other Black Crowe I met was their keyboardist Eddie.

Eddie has always scared me because he looks so mean in all his photos. I was kinda frightened that he'd try to bite me and growl something like "Scurry away, ya scallywag!" but he was super nice and was super cool and not nearly as scary looking when he's standing right next to you.

Alright ... I've seriously got shit to do.

Scurry away, ya scallywags.

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