You're Done Here, Buddy

It should come as no surprise to anyone that has attended a “jam band” concert that the majority of these concert goers are perpetually done here. You may have been offered a wide range of illicit substances by the aging hippie who refuses to believe that  Billy Nershi is not Jerry Garcia. Or, you may have connected with a sparkling blue eyed brunette, only to discover that she recently ingested half an eighth of mushrooms and “thinks your energy is really vibrant.” These buddies, while definitely done here, can’t be faulted for giving into the power of something greater than themselves. Let us take note of the buddy who represents the tip of the proverbial iceberg.  I present: the “setlist recorder.” Now, the “setlist recorder” has a Vishnu like quality of manifesting itself in different physical appearances at different points in time (i.e. my near and dear friend Ben Jacobs circa ’99). Nevertheless, there is one  specific attribute  possessed by the “setlist recorder” that certifies his being done here. He or she actually brings an illuminated pen and pad of paper to the concert for which the setlist can be recorded. Given the fact that setlists are readily available on the internet the day after a concert is performed, there is no reason whatsoever  to perform such an act. While I definitely appreciate Julia of the Helping Phriendly Book informing me that Trey pissed his pants during the 35 minute “Silent Jam” at Tinley Park, IL 2001, there is really no place for such behavior in today’s technologically oriented world.

This Guy Is So Done Here, Buddy

The next time that you prepare to go to a PHISH concert and think about grabbing that pen and pad, please remember that: You’re Done Here, Buddy.