I sit at home this weekend with a slightly heavy heart. You see, halfway across the country, Phish is back and performing in Virgina, and I'm here in Illinois trying to convince teenagers to give up a Saturday morning to paint and build a set. (I managed to convince 4 to come -- and 2 of them aren't even in the cast of the show!) I love my job, but dammit -- I want to be at Hampton! (I should add that there was never even a remotely serious consideration on my part about going. Besides work, there was just no way I could afford the trip -- tickets, air fare, hotel . . . not on THIS teacher's salary!)
Years ago, I would have been online reading the set lists and pouting like a baby and then trolling the discussion groups for a taper, hoping to land on a tape tree and get a 3rd or 4th generation copy of an audience recording. And I would have been happy with that.
Today, I sit here cozily in my living room as last night's show plays away on my laptop. Less than 8 hours after the band left the stage, I have it on my laptop. I sat this morning in my pajamas and felt the tears stream down my face as the crowd roared and the band launched into a lovely "Fluffhead."
If you had told me even two or three years ago that this would be possible, I would have laughed in your face. And yet here I am with not one but TWO copies of the show downloaded.
Thank you, Al Gore. Your internet is a true gift. Now, if you could get to work on that global warming thing, I'd be ever so appreciative.