Scuba Phish 12.30

Despite partying past 4 a.m. on the 29th, I was committed to a scuba trip in Miami on the 30th. My brother and I, both certified divers, had never dove together. Living 2,500 miles apart (and neither in warm climates), we couldn't figure a better time to share a dive. Scuba diving between Phish shows? Does it get better than that? We had to find out for ourselves.

I woke up on the 30th expecting to want to bail on the trip but found myself surprisingly excited and ready to go.

Bobby D, at left with Jordan, and Dan Hadl joined the Kahn brothers for the adventure; we were picked up at noon for a 6-hour trip to visit the Atlantic.

Across Key Biscayne we traveled to get to small dive boat with 25 others, many in Miami for the Phish shows. We chatted about the shows as the boat headed toward a shipwreck a few miles off the coast of Miami--I was going to do my first wreck dive!

The surf was rough and the ship was rocking, but we jumped in to sink just below all the churning and froth.

The wreck dive was awesome. The World War II-era navy ship had been sank in the Seventies, and the skyline was visible from the surface. Jordan and I buddied up and followed the rope down to the hull of the vessel. It lay large on its side, intact but for minor decay. We went to exploring. One vivid memory involved stepping off the stern of the giant ship only to fall slowly, safely, into the abyss.

All along the bottom was blue, grey, and black. There was little life to be seen, other than a few small creatures--and friends--swimming by. My air dwindled, and I was forced to swim up. Though I felt fine in the water, one step onto the boat, and my perception went wrong. I dropped my empty tank and threw up off the side of the boat. Oh well, I figured to let the fish feed upon the morsels I happened to drop.

But this was just the beginning for me.

I sat in the sun at the deck of the boat, trying to recapture the energy I had at the day's start. The boat continued to rock, and my stomach continued to roll. I threw up again. We only had 10 minutes until the next dive, but I could barely move. Bobby D, shown above (later that night), hooked up my gear so all I had to do was strap in and go. But I couldn't do either of those things. My buddies went on the reef dive while I lay comatose on the ship, paralyzed by the monotonous motion.

The waves of sickness came and went. At one point I was bonding with a fellow New Yorker over the Radio City Ghost. Then a minute later I was dry heaving uncontrollably at the front of the boat. Repeat, rinse, repeat. My body evacuated itself until I was heaving an unknown, glowing green substance. Without hyperbole, I threw up no fewer than 50 times and possibly more than 100. My guts knotted as they sored from the stress. I began to think that going scuba diving between Phish shows was not such a great idea when I overheard the on-board instructor say she was missing a student. We had to drive around to find the missing divers. What a mess. Apparently, the reef wasn't impressive; we were still in Miami waters after all.

Back on land, I kissed the Earth and considered retiring from the scuba world entirely. (Ko Phi Phi the next month reversed my opinion on the matter.)

We didn't got back until 6:45. My friends were heading to the show, but I needed rest. The bed wasn't moving and the room wasn't rocking, and I liked it. The world was still spinning, though.

Beth kissed my cheek and told me she hoped to see me at the show soon. After 10 minutes of a calming Seinfeld, I hopped in the shower. I was so dizzy that I had to brace myself on the walls to keep from tipping. I was in bad shape.

Still, I never had any doubt about making the show. There I am, at left, with the Weintraubs. (I got in at 7:55.)

After sitting a few rows up on Mike side for the show on the 28th and in center for the 29th, it was my turn to sit Page side.

I hadn't digested any food since the previous day's sushi, and I was in a bit of shock from the day's events. By all reasoning, I should have been lying in bed watching more reruns of Seinfeld. Yet Phish tapped an energy source I didn't know existed.

From the Wilson opener to the killer Bathtub Gin > 2001 (with P-Funk teases), I felt no trace of the nausea that had afflicted me for most of the day. I was dancing, jumping, and screaming--even more than usual. And I was completely sober, physically unable to have so much as of a sip of beer or a nibble of a pretzel. Yet I wasn't hungry, and I wasn't thirsty.

The middle of that set featured a rare Weigh, a roaring Scent of a Mule, and the Talking Heads cover, Cities. At left, Gabe, my neighbor for the set, displays his predictive powers with the shirt he purchased at It.

For the second set I joined Andrew (Ziggy) a section over. Ziggy had moved to China and hadn't seen a Phish show in four years.

Andrew and I turned to each other in shock as Tube segued into the Doors' LA Woman. Ziggy had been abroad for a while, but he knew something unusual was happening. Indeed, LA Woman segued into Birds of a Feather and then back into LA Woman.

Coincidentally, only weeks before the Miami trip Marcus has sang an inspired rendition of LA Woman at a SoHo karaoke bar. Phish's version was similar to DMA's, and he appreciated it.

I also met Lacy, PT's famed "Tabooty" and the original LA Woman, that night.

On the way upwards, the colors come back

Click on the image at left for a cool video from the 12/30 show. If someone can tell me what song it is, please let me know!

The madness of 12/30/03 II was just beginning with the whole LA Woman insanity.

Phish introduced George Clinton and Parliament/Funkadelic midway through the Makisupa Policeman to infuse the set with some serious funk, old-school style.

On stage with Phish was a man with colored dreads and a week-old mug shot for smoking crack; a fully grown black man wearing diapers; and a teenage boy with Down syndrome dancing like mad.

Among the jams, Clinton rapped Booty Ain't Nothing But a Butt,Get Off Your Ass and Jam, Give Up the Funk, P. Funk (Wants to Get Funked Up), and One Nation Under a Groove.

Then Fishman did a line from The Doors' Touch Me a capella. It was just that kind of night.

At right, the crowd sways during the first tune of a Contact > While My Guitar Gently Weeps encore.

During the 12/28 show, I recognized the kid a row in front of me from one of my pictures at It. His name was Matt, and he was in the picture in the middle of this It page, wearing the alligator hat. The afro was unmistakable. I had recognized him because of my site, and we'd shared Phish experiences at the northern tip of Maine and southern Florida. He happened to be in the row in front of me on 12/30 as well, and I was able to take a picture of him before the show's end. See below.

It was pretty wild seeing Andrew again. The New York-raised, Oberlin-graduated old-school Phishhead had made a solid life for himself in China. He had a good job, a girlfriend, and a pet. He had built himself a great sitution with some devotion and motivation.

It wasn't too long ago that he was preparing for his Chinese exam in the hotel at Hampton in 1997. Everyone else was raging around him, but Ziggy was cramming vocabulary in the corner of the room. It was 3 a.m. in Virginia, and the test was at noon in Ohio.

That's him at left with Adam and Carmen after the wild 12/30 concert.